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secretbookofthecosmicwolf · 24 days

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My 2nd Pac Reading/ General Guidance DISCLAIMER! ✨ This is a General Reading. Please take what resonates and leave the rest. The readings are not set in stone and might reverse depending on your current state and energy or energies influencing you. Thus, always use your own intelligence while making a decision. ✨ This is meant for entertainment purposes and my readings will NOT be responsible in any capacity for your life's decisions. Always consult a professional while making major life decisions. ✨ You're more than welcome to leave me suggestions or DM me for paid personal readings. Feedbacks are greatly appreciated. ✨ Take care and I'll catch you in the next Reading! 💖💓Much love , 🌸CosmicPrincess ✨ aka @jaxlynn xo✨💖

How to pick a pile from my Pac Reading? Simply take a few deep breaths, and close your eyes, when you open them, which picture from my Pac photo grid (above) did you feel connected to most once you focused your eyes? That's your pile. left to right (1-6). Embrace the magic that flows through you, dear seeker of knowledge untold ember that you hold the key to unlocking the mysteries of your own destiny. Trust in the wisdom of the cards and the guidance they offer as you walk your spiritual path with grace and purpose.

:readmore:

Pile 1: 💚

dear seeker, the cards have unveiled their mystical wisdom for you today, revealing profound insights that transcend the veil of the mundane world.

7 of Swords: This card speaks of cunning and strategy, urging you to be vigilant against deception and betrayal. It is a call to trust your intuition and to see through illusions that may cloud your path. Embrace the power of discernment and be wary of those who may seek to deceive you. Remember, true wisdom lies in seeing beyond the surface.

Page of Pentacles: The second card brings a message of new beginnings and earthly manifestations. It signifies a time of learning, growth, and practicality in the material realm. Embrace the energy of curiosity and diligence as you embark on a journey of self-improvement and financial prosperity. Stay grounded in your pursuits and be open to the abundance that awaits you.

As you navigate the energies of the Page of Pentacles and the 7 of Swords, may you find a balance between practicality and caution, ambition and discernment. Trust in the guidance of the cards and the wisdom they offer as you walk your path with clarity, integrity, and a steadfast commitment to your growth and well-being. Pile 2: 💙

Ah, dear seeker, the cards have spoken, revealing potent energies that weave through the tapestry of your destiny. Let us delve into the mystical wisdom they offer:

Ace of Cups: This card is a vessel of divine love and emotional abundance, overflowing with the pure essence of the heart. It heralds a time of deep emotional connections, spiritual fulfillment, and the awakening of intuition. Embrace the boundless love that surrounds you and allow your heart to be a beacon of light in the world. Open yourself to new beginnings in love, creativity, and spiritual growth.

6 of Wands: The 6 of Wands is a card of victory, recognition, and triumph. It signifies success, public acclaim, and the acknowledgment of your efforts by others. This card encourages you to celebrate your achievements, stand tall in your power, and embrace the recognition that comes your way. Bask in the glory of your accomplishments and let your light shine brightly for all to see.

As you navigate the currents of destiny, may the blessings of the Ace of Cups and the triumph of the 6 of Wands illuminate your way and empower you to embrace the magic that resides within your soul. Trust in the guidance of the cards and the wisdom they offer as you walk your mystical path with grace and purpose. Pile 3: 💛

dear seeker, the cards have unveiled their mystical wisdom, weaving a tapestry of transformation and celebration in your path. Let us delve into the secrets they hold:

Death: Do not fear the ominous name of this card, for Death signifies powerful transformation, rebirth, and the shedding of old ways to make room for new beginnings. Embrace change with courage and surrender to the natural cycles of life. Release what no longer serves you and welcome the opportunity for profound growth and renewal. Remember, from the ashes of the old, new life emerges.

3 of Cups: This card is a joyful symbol of friendship, community, and celebration. It heralds a time of connection, camaraderie, and shared happiness with loved ones. Embrace the spirit of unity and togetherness, allowing yourself to bask in the warmth of harmonious relationships and mutual support. Celebrate life's blessings and find joy in the bonds that unite you with others. As you navigate the energies of the Death card in reverse and the 3 of Cups, may you find the courage to release resistance, embrace change, and celebrate the connections that bring joy and fulfillment to your life. Trust in the guidance of the cards and the wisdom they offer as you walk your path with grace, openness, and a willingness to evolve and grow.

Pile 4: 💚 Knight of Swords: urges you to take bold and decisive action in pursuit of your goals. Embrace a proactive and assertive approach, communicate your intentions clearly and confidently, and trust in your ability to overcome challenges with courage and determination.

Two of Cups: invites you to nurture harmonious and loving relationships in your life. Cultivate emotional connections based on mutual respect, understanding, and empathy. Celebrate the power of unity and love, and cherish the bonds that bring depth and meaning to your journey.

As you navigate the energies of the Knight of Swords and the Two of Cups, may you find a balance between assertive action and emotional connection, clarity of communication, and depth of relationships. Trust in the guidance of the cards and the wisdom they offer as you walk your path with courage, compassion, and a commitment to both personal growth and meaningful connections with others. Pile 5: ❤️ Dear seeker, your wisdom and guidance from the Spirit are about blessings, abundance, and opportunities to come. Keep up with your affirmations as you manifest your desires.

Eight of Wands: The Eight of Wands signifies rapid progress, swift communication, and forward movement. This card suggests that you are currently experiencing a period of quick developments and opportunities coming your way. It encourages you to stay focused, be open to new possibilities, and embrace the momentum that is propelling you forward. Pay attention to messages, signs, and synchronicities that may guide you along your path.

Ten of Pentacles: The Ten of Pentacles represents wealth, legacy, and long-term stability. This card signifies a sense of abundance, security, and fulfillment in the material aspects of your life. It may indicate prosperity, financial success, or the establishment of a solid foundation for future generations. Embrace the blessings of family, home, and heritage, and honor the traditions and values that contribute to your sense of security and well-being.

As you navigate the energies of the Eight of Wands and the Ten of Pentacles, may you embrace the momentum of progress and the abundance of blessings that surround you. Trust in the guidance of the cards and the wisdom they offer as you move forward with confidence, gratitude, and a deep appreciation for the richness of your journey.

Pile 6: 💜

The Justice Card and the Six of Swords offer profound guidance and wisdom rooted in balance, transition, and transformation. Let's explore the mystical insights they bring:

Justice Card: The Justice card embodies themes of fairness, truth, and karmic balance. In a spiritual context, this card calls for you to seek equilibrium in your actions and decisions, ensuring that justice and harmony prevail in all your endeavors. Embrace the power of cause and effect, understanding that your intentions and deeds will manifest accordingly. Trust in the universal laws that govern the balance of energies and strive to align yourself with the greater good.

Six of Swords: The Six of Swords signifies a journey of transition, healing, and mental clarity. From an intuitive perspective, this card symbolizes moving away from turbulent waters towards calmer shores, guided by inner wisdom and spiritual guidance. Embrace the transformative power of this journey, releasing old patterns and embracing new perspectives that lead to growth and renewal. Trust in the process of transition and allow yourself to be carried forward by the currents of change.

Dear seeker, Trust in the wisdom these cards offer and allow their energies to guide you toward balance, transformation, and spiritual growth. May you walk your path with clarity, integrity, and a deep connection to the magical forces that surround you.

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itsouttherenow · 4 months

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Team Mom: Kali

It was another day at Beacon within the dorm room of team RWBY. Their first year of Beacon went off without a hitch, mostly. Fighting mechs, criminals and terrorists is not something that you can really just brush or mention casually. So what is a girl to do on a Friday afternoon. What possible exciting activity could these adventurous girls do?

“GUYS! Mom is coming!” Entering the scene is our resident cat, Blake Belladonna.

Sitting up from their respected beds, the rest of the girls quickly started firing off questions.

“When is she coming?”

“Are dad and Ghira coming too?”

“Snuggles?”

The last question had eyes drawn at Weiss.

“Hehe, just, you know, asking.” She replied sheepishly.

“Aside from Weiss touch starved condition (HEY!), she said that she be coming soon to visit us here at Beacon. Tai and my dad are staying in a hotel in Vale for the time being.”

“Cool, what time is she supposed to be coming then?”

“She said around 6.”

“It’s 6 already! Why didn’t you call us instead?”

“Forget about that, we need to hurry. QUCKLY! THROUGH THE WINDOW!”

“No Yang wait I c-“, before Ruby could say otherwise, Yang had leapt through the window of their dorms

“We can worry about her later when we’re outside. The bullhead could be arriving any minute now.”

Using her semblance, Ruby quickly took the girls to the bullhead landing pads, picking up, more accurately digging up, Yang from her earthly confinement. They eventually made it to landing pads 5 minutes late.

“Do you see her?”

“No I can’t, I’m too short.”

“Blake, what about you,?”

“No. Yang?”

“Negative captain.”

“Where could she b-“

“YOO HOO! Girls, I’m over here!”

With Weiss question answered by their target, the four girls quickly rushed to a woman with similar cat ears to their feline friend. The woman was quickly enveloped in a group hug from the girls.

“Oh oh my, eager aren’t we today?”

“Why wouldn’t we? It’s been a sooo long since we’ve last meet you in person.” Replied Yang.

During a break in they second year, the WBY of RWBY meet Kali and Ghira Belladonna, the mother and father of Blake. There, the three girls quickly took a liking to Kali, considering she was the first real motherly figure that they have had in a while. While the three may be her daughters by blood, she treats them as if they were her own.

“(giggles) That is true. And we have a whole week to spend together!”

“(gasping) A WHOLE WEEK!?” Exclaimed Ruby.

“A whole week? What’s the occasion?” Inquired Blake.

“Why the parent conference. They’re going to discuss on how our little ones are doing and behaving.”

“Well, it is with great pleasure to say that we have all been model students.” Booster Weiss.

“We’ll see. Now, how about you girls give a quick tour of the area. I don’t want to be getting lost.”

“Alright Team RWBY, let’s lead the way!” Yelled Ruby as she jumped into Kali’s arms.

“Ruby” chasted Weiss, “get off her. You are not a child!”

“I don’t mind dear. I’m quite comfortable.” Said Kali she nuzzled Ruby who laughed.

“(Laughs) Hey, that tickles.”

“Are you sure? I can take Ruby.” Offered Yang.

“Yes, I’m quite sure. In fact, I quite like it when you girls jump into my arms. Reminds of when Blake was a little kitten.” Answered Kali.

“If it’s alright with you, then I guess she can stay.” Said Weiss.

“Good. Now let’s go and give mom the best tour of Beacon!” Exclaimed Ruby.

“I’m looking forward to this ‘awesome’ tour girls.”

(Like break.)

An hour into their tour, Ruby had fallen asleep in Kali arms so it was up to the rest of the girls to decide on where to take her next. Walking underneath an arc way of vines and growth, they enter the gardens.

“And here” Weiss gestured around, “is the Beacon Garden. Used by most to study but many can often be found eating and aswell as hanging out.”

“My, how gorgeous.” Awed Kali as tucked Ruby closer to her body.

“Gorgeous indeed. This garden is actually the newest addition to Beacon, having been made thirty-seven years ago. Furthermore, th- (BOOM)- What In Monty’s name was that?”

The answer to Weiss’s question came in the familiar form of Beacons resident dork Knight, one Jaune Arc, who was coursing throw the air, straight into a tree. After face-planting into said tree, his limp form sliding down onto a branch.

“Ow. Note to self, make sure that Nora does NOT help in the kitchen *ever* again. *EVER*.” muttered Jaune to himself.

“wa-wa-what’s going on?” Ask an awoken Ruby.

“Just Jaune flying into a tree. Nothing new.” Answered Yang.

“Jaune? Blake, isn’t he the boy you mentioned to me? The blonde?” Asked Kali to her daughter.

Smelling blood, Yang seized the opportunity to tease her partner.

“Oh, keeping secrets are we now? And here I thought we were family. I’m hurt.”

Blushing, Blake whined, “Mom. I thought I told you to keep it between us.”

“Oh my Gods so it IS true. You’ve Fall for that dolt.” Exclaimed Weiss

“Well I think it’s sweet.” Chimed Kali.

A second later, said boy fell off the branch.

“Oh, this is a perfect time to talk to him dear. HELLO dear.” Yelled Kali out to Jaune.

‘What? Who is that. I didn’t know Blake had a si-‘

Jaunes thought we’re immediately cut short when the branch he was on earlier fell on top of him.

“Oh no. That branch just killed Jaune!” Yelled Ruby.

“You bastard.” Followed by Yang.

“No you dolts. He’s just knocked out.” Explained Weiss.

“My oh my. What a shame. He needs to be tended to. And who better to wake up than you pretty face dear.” Said Kali.

“No mom, you don’t mean-“ Questioned Blake.

“Yup. Let’s take him to your room. He’s needs to be well rested on a nice comfy bed. Next to a beautiful lady.” Kali said as she picked up Jaune.

“Mom no.”

“Mom yes”

Blake was then handed an unconscious Jaune.

“Come along girls. The day just getting started.”

Three of the four girls ran to catch up with Kali as Blake just stood in place dumbfounded.

Looking down a Jaune, she blushes abit.

“Well, I guess it would hurt to give it a try.” And then placed a kiss on Jaunes forehead and quickly caught up the others

‘That’s my girl. Grand kittens here comes Grandma.’

#rwby #kali belladonna #Team Mom series #knightshade #rwby knightshade

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praisethesuuun · 1 year

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Ok, maybe this request has already appeared on another blog. But my request is for Poseidon with an Amaterasu priestess. Her family was of high social and economic hierarchy in Japan, being her only female daughter they offered her to the Ise Jingu (Great Shrine of Amaterasu). She where she suffered many physical and mental abuse, including confinement, demanded by her family from the monks and senior priestesses if her daughter was not perfect to the letter in her demands. During one of her punishments in isolation from her, Amaterasu adopted her as her daughter and was with her, until she fatally died in the temple because of the monks and a demon. In her life in Valhalla, she attended a party after Ragnarok with her mother Amaterasu. And that's where Poseidon saw her and became interested in her. But Amaterasu kept him at a distance, because she knew of Poseidon's problem (cough-fetish-cough) with virgin priestesses. But Poseidon was worth half a melon and he kidnapped the priestess to court. she and/n her rejected Poseidon over and over again because he was a married man (Amphitrite), and that man did not cause her confidence. Trying every day the priestess to escape from Poseidon's residence and return to her mother. While Amaterasu was about to rip off Hades' head for defending her brother, he kidnaps daughters (mmmm…it runs in the family I guess) (Please let him escape, it doesn't come to my mind how, but let him escape from the crazy king of the seas)

if it is very long you can reject it, good night. (*￣3￣)╭❤

Anon, I'm happy to announce that I finally finished it! I did my best, I swear and I hope you like it❤️ Plus, it was very funny to mock Poseidon eheh

Poseidon x priestess!reader: the Song of the Sun

Type: angst, with an happy ending

Warnings: abuse, violence, kidnapping

Some things cannot be forgotten. Humankind has a dark, hidden and scary side; made up of vices and deadly sins. The man hides it behind a second face, a mask that tends to slowly crumble, making the malice overflow like a river in flood, and sadly you found out the hard way.

Sometimes memories come back to the surface, making your scars burn like never before, a bitter pain, like the taste of blood. Your mind was ruthless with you, making you relive those memories despite being in Heaven, maybe humanity is not a race made to be happy, the gods know it and that's why they deny total salvation: when you no longer have a body, the soul takes over and clings to all that remains of earthly life, assimilating beautiful things and ugly ones with them. If you think about it, this is precisely the mechanism that allows ghosts to take the shape they had in their past life, that damned mandatory condition that had "materialized" the marks you had on your body.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, my dear"

A voice roused you from your thoughts, making you raise your head towards the door of the great hall of the temple. Your eyes soften at the spiritual vision before you: your holy mother, the sun that shines in the sky in the morning illuminating the few remaining traces of the night stars. "I'm sorry, Amaterasu-sama"

The fleshy lips of the deity arched into a slight smile, the bearer of deep compassion: Amaterasu had decided to make you her eldest priestess and favorite daughter, she loved you with all her heart, especially after witnessing all the prayers you dedicated to her in the evening, asking her to save you from that horrible place you called "home". She had treated your wounds like the mother you never had, visiting you in the rooms of your old temple, healing every cut with a simple touch; she would listen to you with pleasure as you let off steam and yelled at your monster parents. How could he not protect you under his wing? A little priestess who kept praying to her, despite knowing only the worst of her religion.

"What is bothering you, my little ray of sunshine?"

You always blushed whenever she called you that: since you never received parental affection, you attached yourself to any sign of affection that made you feel special, wanted. "Just old memories, that's all, but your light scared them, like always!"

Your ability to laugh had always fascinated her, it is no coincidence that you were her best worshiper, worthy of being in contact with her. All those little remarks distracted Amaterasu from the real reason she came to you; so he composed himself, approaching your smallest figure, lowering himself until his long black hair touched your face, then she talked: "The Greek pantheon has thrown a party after the legendary event of Ragnarok, we are required to attend"

Your heart skipped a beat. Your concerns were well founded since you were a human, but you were spared thanks to the protection of your goddess. True, she would have shielded you, but even a strong deity like her could do nothing against the onslaught of different Pantheons, so you limited yourself to praying, entrusting your protection to the goddess of sun light. "I understand, mother"

"Good, now go and rest, tomorrow will be hard" she said, before disappearing behind her snow-colored dress, retreating to the other side of the temple and leaving you alone, in the large room full of golden statuettes and scarlet tapestries. You stood up, abandoning your prayer position, and once you had fixed the sun-shaped hair clip in your hair, you decided to follow Amaterasu's advice. Who knows what the gods would have thought about your presence? Suddenly, the room became cold or maybe it was the shiver down your spine that was? It didn't matter, the only important thing now was to think about not making the gods angry the next day, keeping quiet and attracting as little attention as possible, maybe you would have worn a mask too, posing as a minor deity; no, they would surely find out. "Ah! How the hell am I supposed to do it?"

Your only consolation was being able to change the air once in a while: staying all day at the temple could be boring and monotonous; due to the dangers you ran living there, Amaterasu was very protective of you. The party would have been one of the few occasions in which you had been allowed to cross the walls that surround the house. Don't get me wrong, you loved to stay there - especially in the sunflower area - but every once in a while you felt like exploring Valhalla, the Garden of Eden and the temples that grace it.

You sighed, deciding to sleep on it, hoping for peaceful dreams and begging that fortune would listen to you. The bed in your room was soft, with white sheets scented with incense, while the red walls were adorned with sacred objects and golden rays; it had seemed heavy to you at first, more like a ceremonial chamber than a bedroom, yet you slept so blissfully in it! Every time you realized where you were and your current rank you felt so proud of yourself: despite the pain - and also thanks to that - you had fallen into the arms of your goddess; that thought was enough to give you peaceful dreams.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

"My lady! Are you sure about that?" you said, while Amaterasu continued to put one dress after another on you, having fun dressing you up as if you were her doll. Every cloth he put on you was precious, the hems were adorned with precious and colored stones, while the softness of the best cotton in all of Heaven caressed your hips, gracefully descending to the ground. Given your rank as a high priestess, you had to maintain your purity, your soul must not suffer any kind of stain or sin, so Amaterasu had been very careful to cover every part of your body - even if in reality she had done it for not making you uncomfortable with the scars. It was a way to respect you and your body.

"Of course! You'll see, even Aphrodite will be jealous of you" Amaterasu answered, while she was intent on braiding your hair properly, using your usual sun clip and small bundles of pearls, which were alternated with the strands, creating a pleasant play of light. Perfect, just the thing you absolutely didn't need, but you didn't feel like telling your mother the truth...she was having so much fun.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't enjoying yourself too: all that attention was nice, plus you wanted to look pretty too once in a while, you died young after all. All those colors were magnificent, not to mention the Chihayas that the goddess was presenting to you. It was like a dream for you, you were about to have that experience you've never had before: your parents refused to let you go free, just like the other temple priests; this meant a lifetime of watching other children enjoy themselves from a distance, without going to festivals with them and without weaving flower crowns.

"You look happy, my daughter"

"Maybe, just maybe, this party won't be so bad..."

A loud laugh escaped Amaterasu's lips, so loud that it echoed throughout the temple. Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped in amazement, the sun goddess had always been very loud and full of life, but you didn't expect such a reaction. "Of course it won't! If you were concerned about your human nature, then don't worry, everyone will be too drunk to find out anyway"

You smiled, sincerely. "So, I trust you"

"And then, maybe you'll meet some handsome god ready to pay court to you~"

"Mom!"

Your cheeks tinted with pure embarrassment, becoming the same color as the flake around your hips. You had forgotten how spontaneous the goddess could be, she had really caught you in the bag and you no longer knew what to answer. The only thing that occurred to you to do was to hide your face in your hands, trying to hide your emotions, but Amaterasu didn't stop giggling, stroking your back lovingly. After all, there was nothing to be ashamed of if you wanted to get to know other deities: your mother only wanted the best for you, she knew that sooner or later your adolescence would fully invest you and she could not have done anything to avoid it. You deserved to be happy and live the life you never had, even though you were a priestess. Before being a goddess, she is your mother and would do whatever it took to see you smile; in addition, some of the looks that the gods had turned to her little girl certainly hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Uncover your face, my darling, and put on some powder, we'll be leaving soon" Amaterasu said, assuming a calmer and more peaceful tone, clearly in contrast with the previous one. You nodded, starting to pass the candid powder on your face, stopping from time to time to observe your figure. Your mother had really dressed you up like a doll, you were adorable in your white kimono with reddish patterns, which reminded you of sunbeams and stars. For the first time in a long time, you felt beautiful, thinking about who you really were and not the scarred skin under your clothes. Suddenly, an annoyed growl from the goddess roused you from your thoughts, moving your eyes (e/c) in her direction. "What's going on, mother?" you asked in a calm voice, trying not to anger her further. When angry, Amaterasu-sama was frightening: she darkened the sun condemning to the deepest darkness, locking up anyone who provoked her in a prison of shadows. Your teeth were chattering just thinking about it.

"Only your uncle...stupid Susanoo"

Oh yeah, those two had been at war since the rice paddies incident - but that's another story.

Apparently, he wasted no time arguing with Amaterasu, as the latter still didn't understand why he wanted to accompany you. Then, she remembered that he is a god too and that it would be safest for you to travel with both of them. "I'm just saying this for her own good, she's my niece, I love her too" said the storm god, ready to escort you en route to Olympus. You didn't mind his company, you didn't talk too much, but those few times you were able to hold a conversation with him, the god assumed an attitude of respect and affection. The truth was that your mother had told him your story and Susanoo had accepted his role as an uncle without a second thought, he would have protected you, you were family now.

"Let's get moving," concluded the sun goddess with a dark aura around her, her bright eyes covered in darkness. "Don't worry about her, little priestess" sighed the other, beckoning you to follow him out of the temple. You couldn't find the right words to answer, so you didn't say anything. Those two were awful when they got into a cat-and-mouse game, pulling you in the middle every now and then, wondering who was right and who was wrong, even if you've always shown yourself to be neutral; every now and then, you wondered how you found yourself in the middle of two deities - very powerful, by the way - acting as mediator. 'Destiny plays tricks sometimes' you thought as you walked through the beautiful gardens surrounding the temple. That day would have been one of the most important challenges of your life, may luck send you good luck!

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Meanwhile, on the top of Olympus, Hermes was busy welcoming every deities who presented themselves to the Greek mountain. He always got excited whenever all the gods were gathered, whether it was a party or a meeting, something interesting always came out of it - like the destruction of mankind. His blood-colored irises scanned the area for problems, but found none. "Perfection"

But as always, everything was going too well. It was his father Zeus who broke that balance, who called him to a table where he and his brothers were gathered. That family was as chaotic as it was diverse: the father of the gods did nothing but drink, downing glass after glass as if there was no tomorrow; Persephone was beside her husband, while Hades stood in silence, but with a serene smile crowning his angelic face, atypical of a king of the Underworld; and then, there was Poseidon and his wife Amphitrite, the most lopsided couple in all of creation. They had been the focus of gossip for weeks, given Poseidon's disinterest in his love life and the needs of his wife. There were even rumors that she planned to cheat on him, but in reality, the sweet queen of the seas still clung to the hope of saving her marriage.

"Do you need anything, Lord Zeus?" asked the god messenger, approaching him with his usual friendly and apathetic smile. "More wine, my son!"

"If you continue like this, we should start calling you Dionysus" said Hades, eliciting laughter from Aphrodite and Amphitrite, who were seated close together and with a half-empty goblet in their hands.

Suddenly, the rumble of thunder shifted the attention of all the guests to the doors of the great temple, where three figures could be glimpsed from a dark, stormy cloud full of rain. In a few seconds, the mysterious cloud was swept away by a gust of wind so powerful as to mess up those who were nearby, dissolving that blue curtain and revealing three figures: you, Amaterasu-sama and Susanoo-sama. Your gown and the pearls in your hair gleamed in the sunlight, much brighter after the arrival of your mother, who radiated solemnity and elegance. Your entrance amazed; the three most precious Japanese treasures of their pantheon, simply wonderful. Aphrodite, at the sight of Amaterasu's candid dress, had already started to puff and show her chest - more than she already did -, while Zeus had hearts instead of eyes and hoped not to be pecked by Hera. But a spontaneous question had arisen in all those present: who was the mysterious damsel?

"Who is that?" asked Persephone, as she observed your figure curiously, much smaller than those accompanying you. Thus, she wasted no time in approaching, abandoning the table where she was sitting, the smile never left her face, in fact, it widened as soon as she saw you blush once you realized what was about to happen. "Hello! Nice hair, what's your name?"

Your brain sent a warning signal to the rest of your body, but you still decided to keep calm. No errors, not even one.

"My name is Y/N, it's my pleasure" you replied with a small bow, a small gesture, but suitable for increasing the sympathy of a deity towards you. Over time, you learned that by doing so, the gods would think you were easy going or a staunch believer; leaving you alone. It seemed that this little trick hit Persephone's heart, and she wasted no time in dragging you along. In your panic, you couldn't utter a single word of disapproval, while Amaterasu watched the scene in amusement, wishing you good luck with a wink.

"Go and enjoy yourself, dear daughter!"

"Mother, you traitor!"

But the goddess who held your arm was so amazed by you: you looked so naive and pure, not to mention your grace and mysterious figure, it was impossible to resist you. "Look who I brought?", Persephone spoke enthusiastically, making space on the sofa on which she sat previously, positioning you - or rather, crushing you - between you and the queen of the seas. Hades looked up, gave you a slight smile, before returning his attention to Zeus, who was so drunk that he didn't even notice your presence. Amphitrite introduced herself cordially, slightly lifting the voluminous skirt of her green-blue dress. "I've heard of you, you're Lady Amaterasu's daughter! You look so pretty" the latter broke the silence, looking at you with her violet eyes. The three of you continued to talk, even though in reality, for you, it was just a matter of answering their questions. You were so taken by the two queens that you didn't notice the interested look of a certain tyrant of the seas: not surprisingly, in the eyes of Poseidon you appeared perfect, with your delicate ways, never hesitating or stammering even once, maintaining your composure. But the thing that attracted him the most was your purity, your not having been touched yet. Your soul was white, untouched, something more unique than rare in the midst of that vortex of vice in which the other gods had sunk. You were stunning.

Poseidon was careful not to show his interest, casually sipping his white wine, watching the dance floor and the celebrations of the others...

But, in reality, he was memorizing your every word, imprinting every minute detail on his memory, absorbing informations like a sponge does with water. The only entity to notice his interest was your mother herself, who knew well the tendencies - cough pervections cough - of the god of the seas, worrying. "Brother" she called to Susanoo beside her, too busy drinking a flask of sake to pay attention to the table of rulers; so he slapped him on the back of the head to revive him from his hangover. "Poseidon has his eyes on her"

"Fuck"

"Let's go, now"

Susanoo nodded, leaping to his feet and leaving the area dedicated to the Shinto pantheon, hurrying to rearrange his armour, but refusing to leave the booze. Now Olympus had clouded over, darkening more and more with every step Amaterasu takes towards you; all the gods were fine, anyone - except Zeus, that goes without saying - but not Poseidon, absolutely not him, that terrible fish and ruiner of virgins. With your daughter? Not even in the slightest.

"Darling, let's leave this temple", the sun goddess didn't even leave you time to answer, but there was no need since you literally ran away from your captors: they were making you uncomfortable, with all those questions...

At first, you thought it was simple courtesy, but gods can be just as ruthless as humans, after all they created them; and jealousy was the hardest viper to kill. You weren't stupid, you didn't fall into certain traps, yet you felt slightly proud: you made two queens jealous, you, a simple human. Sweet.

And in no time at all, the cloud returned, again engulfing the three figures and bringing you back to the temple of your only goddess.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

"That stupid fish! Who does he think he is? That fuck-"

"That's enough, mother"

It was just the two of you left in your bedroom. Amaterasu had been gossiping about Poseidon for hours and didn't seem to have any intention of stopping; she had explained to you all the reasons for so much hatred, of the rotten blood of his family. His being a "usurper of virgins" had somewhat frightened you, so that saying that the silent ones were always the worst was true. "It's never enough when the subject is him!" your mother yelled, furious, in fact the kingdom where the sun never set, was now plunged into total night.

Three hours had to pass before your sweet words of reassurance convinced the goddess to leave your room, going to rest in her private part of the temple. You were so tired: the party had gone terribly wrong from your point of view and now your only wish was to sink into a deep sleep.

To think otherwise, on the other side of Valhalla, down in the depths of the ocean, was Poseidon; at the party he had discovered the most precious pearl in all the seas, as bright as a rough diamond and as calm as a spring tide. Comparing you and his wife was like comparing a mussel to a prized oyster.

You had to become his, he wouldn't rest until he brought you to his castle. But it pissed him off: this little obsession of his was like a crack in his perfect god image, it was a slow and corrosive disease, like the waves that erode the coasts. He couldn't even imagine your body, Amaterasu had been good at hiding you, but he wanted to picture it, touch it and feel your soft skin under his fingers. "Honey...why don't you come to bed?" Amphitrite whispered to him: she had slipped into a totally white lace set, white, exactly like your dress. You had totally invaded the tyrant of the seas, cornered him and now you were tormenting him; he didn't even spare his wife a glance before exiting his bedroom, trident in hand and an evil shadow covering his face.

Amphitrite remained there, abandoned and alone, in an icy bed. She sobbed, releasing tears she'd been holding back for a long, long time, dreaming of a happy future, one in which she hadn't chained herself to Poseidon. But it was too late for that, so she just cried.

Meanwhile, her husband had already sailed the seas towards the Shinto sun goddess temple, ready to indulge himself and with the remains of the wine to give him the right adrenaline to challenge the sun. A force invaded him, something profound, born partly from the perverse nature of the gods and partly from that gap in strength between you and him.

The night was still long and full of mysteries, and it was time for him to use the Hades technique.

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

When you woke up, your eyes widened and your breath caught as soon as you realized you weren't in the temple. The air was cold, the walls pure white marble, while the soft tatami had been replaced by a set of blue and teal tiles. Terrible, sad, imposing. You tried to get up, but your limbs were pinned to the bed you were sitting on. "No, no, please"

Memories of your mortal life came flooding back: your brain began counting down the seconds, a technique you had developed as a child to shorten the pain between strokes. Without realizing it, you began to sweat, sweat staining the sheets beneath you, while your hair stuck to your forehead and neck. Was it a nightmare? A lucid dream? How did you end up there? Help...someone please...

The first tears began to flow. You looked around looking for hope, but from the only window present you couldn't see exactly where you were, but it seemed stormy and dark. Then, some waves, with some fishes? Sea. Oh no, sea.

"Miss, she's awake"

Your swollen eyes fixed on a figure in the dark corner of the room, a greenish-skinned merman. "My name is Proteus, I will assist you in these days, for any need I will be here at your disposal"

"W-wait! Please, where the hell am I?" you sobbed desperate, looking for any kind of consolation or clue. You were in total panic, you wanted your mother and the warm sunlight, your protector Susanoo was gone. "Uncle..."

"Proteus, come out"

A deep voice, it reminded you of a storm in broad daylight. You had never heard his voice, yet Poseidon was unforgettable. His blond locks, his eyes piercing and reflecting the sea of his kingdom, he was beautiful, yet he remained a tyrant; nature was ruthless with even the most perfect gods, ruthlessly ruining them, in the image and likeness of man.

In less than no time, you found him on top of you, looking you up and down as if he wanted to judge you, grabbing your cheeks with one hand and squeezing tightly. You squeaked, forcibly turning your face away in hopes of freeing yourself from his grip, but you felt like a little mouse in the jaws of a python. Hopeless. It was terrible, your world had collapsed, but why did fate hated you so much? You had suffered so much, just to come full circle. Fucking Poseidon, Amaterasu was right, you should have left her by your side instead of convincing her to leave; you felt so stupid and hated the feeling of inferiority, but now the important thing was one: to be able to escape. "Look at me, mortal"

But you didn't want to. "Look at me, I said"

He didn't raise his hands, Poseidon didn't want to hit you, otherwise he would have ruined your perfect face by reddening your skin; he couldn't afford it.

Unfortunately, after years spent in fear, this teaches you things and among them there is a fundamental rule, which is to satisfy the abuser's small requests, so you looked him straight in the eye. In return, the god kissed you, a hungry and possessive kiss, poor in love but rich in violence, so deep as to leave you breathless. "My lord, Lord Hades is waiting in the hall"

Thanks be to the Seven Lucky Gods, Someone had heard your prayers then, and if they had, they had reached someone else as well. Poseidon turned away, annoyance on his face, but said nothing, boxing the door behind him and ordering his butler to lock it. You spat, wiping the taste of that repulsive thing's saliva out of your mouth, trying not to vomit at the thought. Still, a new feeling of determination invaded you, warming your chest and making you grin to yourself: "Amaterasu is coming, prepare for the wrath of the Sun, tyrant of the oceans"

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Meanwhile, a very stressed out Hades was pacing all over his brother's dining room. "I'm a terrible big brother, how could you take me as an example?"

"Well, Persephone married you, so it wasn't bad"

"I can do it, you can't, especially not with the priestess of Amaterasu. You're in trouble, I can't keep lying to her for long"

The ruler of Helleim was right: the sun goddess had already begun to raise a fuss throughout Valhalla, accusing every deity who came under fire, but it was only a matter of time before she ventured into the depths of Poseidon's castle.

As soon as the goddess saw your empty room, she immediately gave the order to her servants to search for you throughout the structure, including the gardens, and then sent Susanoo to patrol Valhalla, while she would go down to Hellheim herself. She had threatened Hades, grabbing him by the collar and silencing his wife with a single look, literally making her tremble with fear. "Where is my daughter, king of the Underworld?"

She had threatened him, her grip burning like fire, while her eyes were filled with anger. He had defended his brother despite everything, even though he knew that Amaterasu-sama would have discovered them anyway. So why not extend your life for a while?

Persephone was furious, she felt teased and humiliated, plus, as if that weren't enough, Hades proved helpless and didn't even defend her. What a shame!

Instead Hades was much worse off than her and wasted no time in rushing to Poseidon.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?"

She found them. It's over.

Poseidon was the only god left in all of heaven that hadn't been searched, therefore, Hades was asked to piss off - which is equivalent to being dragged out by Amaterasu. Tongues of fire shot their way from behind her, while the sea king was already ready to use his trident, but the goddess was much more powerful than him. "Y/N's prayers are heard from miles away and Hades was stupid enough to come here right after we met. You are one more pathetic than the other"

There, Poseidon lost his mind, his brother was to remain out of the question. He attacked without a second thought, but Amaterasu dodged, striking him painfully in the side. Poseidon coughed up blood, lay on the ground as a searing pain ate his side, so Amaterasu spoke again: "Susanoo is already bringing her home, look at her again and I'll kill you, you filthy piece of shit"

And having said that, she left. "Mother!" you said jumping down from your uncle's arms to run and hug her. "My little ray of sunshine"

You were together again and that was the important thing, from now on he would never leave you or force you to go to any party. You were safe, alive, and that was just fine.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror x you #snv x reader #snv x you #request #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie #snv poseidon #poseidon x reader #poseidon #record of ragnarok poseidon

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ivory--raven · 2 months

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Ayy day 25 and also @rareomens day 25 because crepes.

There is no fire in Heaven.

It’s too close to Hellfire, and the only angels to ever be on fire are demons now. There are bright white lights, brighter than the sky ever is on Earth.

Michael’s office is wide, with high ceilings and windows. Everything is white. There isn’t anything outside but a sort of empty white unnatural sky. This didn't bother her before. It’s full of love, divine love, and she loves it. It just… doesn’t feel like her everything anymore.

Someone knocks on the door.

She snaps her fingers, opens it. “Aziraphale.”

“Archangel Michael,” says Aziraphale. He’s twisting his hands nervously. Good. She is the Archangel Michael, she has to be a bit intimidating.

“I asked you to come here to discuss-”

“Hey, Michael, you're here, I heard your voice! I- oh are you busy?” Jeanne stops short halfway through the door.

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow at Michael.

Michael looks between them. Aziraphale seems more relaxed than he did, and Jeanne looks flustered. She has a stack of papers in her arms and a pen between her fingers.

Michael really tries never to be too busy for Jeanne. “Come in. This is Aziraphale, a Principality. He’s stationed on Earth.”

“Oh,” says Jeanne, weaving around Aziraphale to stand next to Michael. “Nearby, or…”

“Across the channel,” says Michael. “Aziraphale, this is Jeanne.”

“Oh,” says Aziraphale. “Jeanne…?”

Jeanne sets her papers into the air, where they stay floating, and sticks out her right hand. “Saint Jeanne d’Arc. A pleasure.” Her title. She’s professional and put together and kinder than Michael is, it’s her human kindness, and Michael is so so proud of her.

Aziraphale shakes her hand. “Lovely to meet you, dear girl.”

Jeanne isn't Aziraphale's dear girl, he never knew her when she was alive and he's been on Earth since she died. He doesn't get to call her dear. She is Michael’s dear, Dagon’s dear. Not Aziraphale's. He wasn't there with her. He doesn't get to claim intimacy with her now.

“Did you have a question, Jeanne?” Michael asks.

“Oh, yeah. I'm working on the Earthly residence extension request, and there are a couple of things I'm not sure…” Jeanne leafs through her floating stack of paper. “Here.”

Michael leans over. “One resident, that's you, and opt out of embassy status and all these protective measures - these are restrictions on who can enter. If you opt in, which you could, you'd have to jump through a loophole of specific permissions, but you can't do that on your own…”

“Are you applying for a residence on Earth?” asks Aziraphale.

Aziraphale. He's still here.

“I'm extending mine,” says Jeanne.

“Earth really is a lovely place,” says Aziraphale.

Jeanne nods. “I missed it.”

“Where do you live, on Earth?”

“France.”

“Of course!” says Aziraphale. “The crepes are to die for.”

“Everything there is,” says Jeanne dryly. Anger rises in Michael's stomach on her behalf, but she doesn't seem offended. “I do like the crepes.”

“The charming little cafes,” says Aziraphale fondly. “Have you been to many?”

“Well I don't really…” Jeanne pauses. “I haven't.”

Aziraphale looks horrified. “You are missing out! You must! Why, I'll take you myself!”

“Sure,” says Jeanne.

“Did you have any other questions?” Michael cuts in.

“That was it, just have to sign everything now! Oh, and this is for you.” Jeanne pulls out a folder letter, Michael's name scrawled on the front in Dagon's familiar handwriting. “I thought it was such a sweet idea. Haven't read it.”

“I hope you haven't,” says Michael, hurriedly plucking it out of her hand. She opens it, scans it - it starts Michael, my love, and folds it back up. Dagon wrote her a love letter? Had Jeanne bring it to Michael in Heaven? Bold demon. Silly demon.

She hopes she's not blushing. “Thank you for bringing this.”

Jeanne smiles in that way of hers that suggests the price of using her as a messenger pigeon is relentless references to how sickening they are together. And really, that's all right. Michael miracles a chair for her to finish her forms and turns to Aziraphale. She doesn't have much to say, she's only asking him to come to her first if Gabriel shows up having made any other big decisions. Hopefully this'll give her a chance to talk him down in the future, in the absence of mysterious demons who only Aziraphale has the power to vanquish.

Aziraphale and Jeanne leave together, on their way to some cafe Aziraphale knows. Excellent. Michael has a demon of her own to visit.

#femslash omens #femslashfeb2024 #angelfish #ineffable administrators

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pamphletstoinspire · 9 months

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Meditations of St. Padre Pio – Part 5 (Concluding Meditation)

Padre Pio was at the height of his priestly apostolate with multitudes of pilgrims visiting him, for his Mass, to confess to him, and to ask him for prayers and counsel. He was a master of souls; he directed everyone with penetrating words full of deep meaning. His series of "Meditations" was the first complete text of Padre Pio's thoughts. These texts consists of Padre Pio's meditations upon the fundamental dogmas of the Catholic faith. The Immaculate Conception and the Incarnation of Jesus. He then relives Jesus' agony in the garden of olives. Next he reflects on the human condition, and on our need to turn to God in the passing of our days. These are not conventional texts; they are reflections derived from the contemplation of the absolute Truth. “Mary Immaculate” is a more theological text. The others are more human and simple.

Padre Pio, in the first years of his residence in San Giovanni Rotondo (1918 – 1920), when he was freer from the care of souls, wrote a few meditations for his novices and his spiritual daughters of the Franciscan Third Order. They were the text of his lectures or instructions that he gave weekly as their Spiritual Director. After that, between the years 1925 – 1928, Padre Pio compiled other meditations. Fr. Agostino of San Marco in Lamis affirms it in his "Diary:" The Provincial, Fr. Bernardo of Alpicella, once suggested to Padre Pio to “compile a few meditations for the principal feasts of the year for our seminarians.” When Padre Pio was shown the possibility of publishing these meditations, he said: "I have written these things for myself." But, when it was explained to him that "they would do a lot of good to our souls" he smilingly said: "if it is as you say, bonum est diffu sivum sui (good, by its nature, is destined to be spread).

Meditation - Part 5 - The Agony of Jesus In The Garden - Holy Hour

J. M. J. – D. F. C. Note: The initials J. M. J. – D. F. C. Stands for Jesus, Mary, Joseph – Dominic, Francis, Catherine

The cross is always ready and awaits you at every turn." – Imitation of Christ

(Maxim which appears on the door of Padre Pio's cell No. 1)

O Divine Spirit, enlighten and inflame me as I meditate on the Passion of Jesus. Help me to fathom this mystery of the infinite love and suffering of a God who clothed himself in our human nature and endured suffering, agony and death for love of his creatures. The eternal, immortal God stoops down and humbles himself to the point of enduring the greatest martyrdom, the ignominious death of the Cross, covered with insults, contempt and infamy, in order to save the creature who has offended him and wallowed in the filth of sin. Man takes pleasure in sin and because of his sin his God is saddened, suffers and sweats blood in the most appalling spiritual agony. No, I cannot fathom this boundless ocean of love and sorrow unless your grace sustains me. Let me enter into the deepest recesses of the Heart of Jesus, to read there the essence of his bitter sorrow which reduced him to the point of death there in the Garden. Let me comfort him with my love, forsaken as he is by his Father and by his own. May I be able to join him in order to expiate in union with him.

O most sorrowful Mother Mary, unite me with you that I may follow Jesus and share his sufferings and your own sorrow.

O my dear Guardian Angel, guard my faculties and keep them recollected in my suffering Jesus, so that they may not stray far from him. Amen.

At the end of his earthly life, the divine Redeemer, having left us his whole self in the form of food and drink in the Sacrament of Love and having fed his Apostles with his immaculate Flesh, makes his way together with his own to the Garden of Olives, a place well-known to the disciples and to Judas himself. Along the way leading from the Cenacle to the Garden, Jesus instructs his disciples. He makes them ready for the coming separation, for his imminent Passion, and prepares them to suffer calumnies, persecution and even death itself for his sake, showing them how to imitate him, their divine Model.

I shall be with you. Do not be troubled. O disciples, for the divine promise will never fail; of this you will receive proof at this solemn hour.

He is about to enter on his grievous Passion and rather than thinking of himself he is full of concern for them.

Oh, what immense love is contained in that Heart. His countenance is suffused with sadness and love at the same time and his words come from the depths of his Heart. He speaks with deep affection, he encourages and comforts them; he promises to console them and explains the deepest mysteries of his Passion.

O Jesus, I have always been deeply moved by this journey from the Cenacle to the Garden, by the effusion of a love that poured itself out so freely and was merged with your loved ones, by the outpouring of a love that is about to sacrifice itself for others to redeem them from slavery. You have taught us that there is no greater proof of love than to lay down one's life for one's friends and you are now about to seal this proof of love with the sacrifice of your own life.

Who can fail to marvel in such a generous oblation?

When they reach the Garden, the divine Master dismisses the disciples and takes with him only three of them, Peter, James, and John, that they may witness his suffering. Would this same trio who saw him transfigured on Tabor between Moses and Elias and acknowledge him as God, would they be strong enough to recognize him now as the Man-God in the midst of mortal agony and sorrow? As they enter the Garden he says to them: Remain here, watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. Be on your guard, he seems to tell them, because the enemy does not sleep; protect yourselves against him beforehand with the weapon of prayer, so that you may not be led into sin. This is the hour of darkness. With this recommendation he goes apart from them a stone's throw and falls prostrate on the ground.

He is extremely sad: his soul is a prey to indescribable sorrow. The night is far advanced and the air is clear. The moon glows high above, leaving the Garden in semi-shadow. Occasional ominous flashes of light breakthrough the shadows, seeming to herald some serious and sinister events, producing shivers and freezing the blood in one's veins. The light seems tinged with the color of blood. A wind which gives warning of a coming storm stirs the olive trees and with the rustling of the leaves seems to reach one's very bones like a herald of death, going right down into the soul and filling it with mortal sadness.

This is the most dreadful night, the like of which will never again be known.

What a contrast, O Jesus. How beautiful was the night of your birth, when the jubilant angels announced peace and chanted their Gloria. Now it seems to me that they are circling around you at a respectful distance, as if in recognition of the supreme anguish of your soul.

This is the place to which Jesus comes to pray. He deprives his sacrosanct human nature of the strength conferred on it by his divinity and subjects it to indescribable sadness, to extreme weakness, to sorrow and desolation, to mortal anguish. His soul is plunged in this grief as in a boundless sea which at every moment seems about to overwhelm him. There appears before his mind the entire martyrdom of this approaching Passion which, like a torrent overflowing its banks, pours into his Heart to torture, oppress and tear it to pieces. First of all, he sees Judas, the disciple he loves so dearly, who sells him for a few coins, who is at this moment drawing near to the Garden to betray him and hand him over to his enemies. He, the friend and disciple whom only a short while earlier he has fed with his Flesh. Prostrate before him he has washed his feet and clasping them to his Heart has kissed them with all the tenderness of a brother, as if he intended by the power of love to dissuade him from his impious and sacrilegious plan, or at least that when he has committed this crazy crime he may enter into himself and recalling all these proofs of love, repent and be saved. But no, he is lost, and Jesus weeps over his willful loss.

Jesus beholds himself bound by his enemies and dragged through the streets of Jerusalem, through those same streets which a few days earlier he traversed in triumph, acclaimed as the Messiah. He sees himself before the High Priest where he is beaten, declared guilty and deserving of death. He, the Author of life, led from one court to another to appear before judges who condemn him. By his own people whom he has loved and to whom he has given so much he sees himself insulted and ill treated, while with devilish shouts and hisses they clamor for his death, his death on the Cross. He hears their false accusations, sees himself condemned to the most merciless scourging, crowned with thorns, derided, mockingly addressed as King, slapped in the face.

Finally, he beholds himself condemned to the shameful death of the Cross and mounting the hill of Calvary, reduced to extreme weakness from loss of blood, falling to the ground several times beneath the weight of the Cross. Then he sees himself reaching the hilltop where he is stripped and laid upon the Cross, mercilessly crucified and raised up on the Cross in the sight of all, where he hangs by three nails which tear and dislocate veins and bones and flesh. O God! What a long three hours of agonizing torture he endures amid the insults of an insane and merciless throng.

He sees himself with throat and internal organs racked by burning thirst, while this agonizing torture is increased by the taste of vinegar and gall.

He sees himself abandoned by the Father, and witnesses the desolation of his Mother at the foot of the Cross.

Finally, he beholds his ignominious death between two thieves, one of whom recognizes and acknowledges him as God and is saved, while the other blasphemes and insults him and dies in despair.

He sees Longinus approach him and with supreme insolence and contempt rip open his side. Then, like all mortal men, he is subjected to the humiliation of the tomb.

All these things pass before his gaze to torture him and Jesus is seized with terror. This terror takes possession of his divine Heart, holds it fast and lacerates it. He trembles as though in the throes of a very high fever, he is overcome by terror and his soul languishes in deadly sorrow. He, the innocent Lamb, alone, abandoned to the wolves, deprived of all defense. He, the Son of God, the Lamb who has offered himself voluntarily to be sacrificed for the glory of that same Father who abandons him to the fury of the powers of Hell, for the Redemption of the human race. His own disciples have become cowards and desert him, fleeing from him as from the most dangerous of men. He, the Eternal Word of God, becomes the laughingstock of his enemies.

Does he withdraw? No, from the very start he generously embraces all without reserve.

What is this terror and what is its origin? What is this deadly fear? Ah! He has exposed his human nature as a target to receive all the blows of divine Justice injured by sin. In his naked soul he experiences keenly all that he will have to suffer, each single sin that he will have to expiate with its own particular punishment. He falls prostrate because his human nature is a prey to weakness, fear and terror.

He seems to have reached the extreme limit. He lies prostrate, face to the ground, before the Majesty of his Father. That divine countenance, which keeps the angels and saints of heaven in ecstasy in eternal admiration of its beauty, on earth is completely disfigured. My God! My Savior! Are you not the God of heaven and earth, equal in all things to your Father, you who humble yourself to the point of almost losing the likeness of man?

Ah, yes, I understand that it is in order to teach me, proud as I am, that I must be plunged into the depths of the earth if I am to have relations with heaven. It is in order to make reparation and to expiate for my arrogance that you bow down in this way before your Father; it is so draw down on mankind his merciful gaze which has been withdrawn because of man's rebellion against him. Because of your humiliation he forgives the proud creature. It is in order to make peace between earth and heaven that you fall prostrate to the ground as if to bestow on it the kiss of peace. O Jesus, may you be blessed and thanked forever by all men for all the humiliations and abasement by which you have given us God and united us to him in an embrace of holy love.

Jesus rises and looks up beseeching and sorrowfully to heaven. He raises his arms and prays. Dear God, how deadly pale is that face! He prays to the Father who seems to turn his gaze elsewhere and appears ready only to strike him with his avenging sword, with all the fury of an offended God. Jesus prays with all the trust of a Son, but he is fully aware of the task that is his. He recognizes that he alone, on behalf of all, is the One who has outraged the divine Majesty. He realizes that it is he alone, by the sacrifice of his life, who can satisfy the divine Justice and reconcile the creature with the Creator. He longs for this and he desires it efficaciously. But his human nature is terrified at the sight of his bitter Passion. It wants to refuse it all, but his soul is prepared for the sacrifice and does battle with all its strength. He feels stricken but he struggles furiously.

O my Jesus, how can we draw strength from you when we see you so exhausted and stricken?

I understand how it is: you have taken upon yourself all our weaknesses. It is in order to bestow your strength on us that you have collapsed like this. It is in order to teach us that we must placed our trust in you alone during life's battles, even when heaven seems closed against us.

In his extreme affliction Jesus cries out to the Father: If it be possible, let this cup pass from me. This is the cry of his human nature which in its affliction has recourse with confidence to heavenly aid. Although he is aware that his plea will not be granted, since this is his own will, he prays. O my Jesus, why do you ask for what you do not want to be granted? The reason is suffering and love.

Here is the great secret. The sorrow that afflicts you leads you to us for help and comfort, but your desire to appease the divine Justice and restore us to God makes you cry out: Not my will, but thine, be done. In face of this prayer, heaven remains hard as stone.

His broken Heart is in need of comfort. The abandonment he experiences, the battle he is bearing all alone seems to drive him to look for someone who will comfort him. Slowly, then, he rises, and almost staggering he moves off in the direction of his disciples in search of comfort. These men who have lived with him for so long, these trusted ones, will be able to understand his interior anguish and the trial he must undergo in order to end it. They will be able to give him a little comfort.

But what a disappointment! He finds them fast asleep and he feels even more fully alone in that boundless spiritual solitude. He draws near to them and calls them. Then turning quietly to Peter he says: Simon, are you asleep? You who protested that you would follow me until death and would give your life for me, are you sleeping? Then turning to the others he adds: So, could you not watch with me one hour? The complaint of the Lamb who has offered himself to be sacrificed, the complaint of a wounded Heart that is suffering intensely, alone and deprived of all comfort.

But he revives as if from a weakness and forgetful of himself and of what he is suffering, full of concern and love for them, he adds: Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. It is as if he meant to say: If you have forgotten me so quickly, while I struggle and suffer, watch and pray and least for your own sake. But the disciples, heavy with sleep, hardly notice the voice of Jesus. They barely distinguish him as a shadowy figure, so that they do not observe his face is disfigured by the interior anguish which torments him.

O Jesus, how many generous souls, touched by your cry of grief, have kept you company there in the Garden, sharing your sorrow and your mortal anguish. How many hearts in the course of the centuries have replied generously to your invitation. In this supreme hour, then, may this company of souls bring you some comfort, sharing with you more than your disciples did the sorrow of your Heart and cooperating with you towards their own salvation and the salvation of others. Allow me also to be numbered among them so that I too may bring you a little relief.

III

Jesus has returned to his place of prayer and another picture more dreadful than the previous one is presented to his gaze. All our sins with all their filthiness past in detail before his eyes. He beholds all the wickedness and malice of creatures as they commit these sins. He knows to what an extent these sins injure and outrage the Majesty of God. He sees all the obscenity, the immodesty, the blasphemies which rise up from the lips of creatures, accompanied by the wickedness of their hearts, of those hearts and lips which were made to send up nothing but hymns of praise and blessing to the Creator. He sees the sacrileges by which priests and people are defiled, indifferent to the Sacraments instituted for our salvation as the necessary means for the communication of divine grace, but which have become, instead, the means of sin and condemnation for souls. With this filthy mass of human corruption he has clothed himself and appears before the holiness of his Father, to expiate for each sin by a separate punishment, to render to God all the glory they have denied him, to cleanse that sewer in which men are plunged with contemptuous indifference.

Nothing of all this holds him back. Like a surging sea this mass sweeps down on him, surrounds and overwhelms him. Behold him before his Father, facing all the anger of his divine Justice. He who is the essence of purity, he who is holiness by nature, in contact with sin! In fact it is as if he himself has become a sinner. Who can fathom the disgust he experiences in the depths of his soul? The horror he feels? The nausea, the repugnance he experiences? Since he has taken all these things without exception upon himself, this immense load crushes and overwhelms him, throws him to the ground and leaves him prostrate. Exhausted, he groans beneath the weight of the divine Justice, before his Father who turns on him ready to strike him like an accursed being with his full fury.

He would like to shake off this immense load that is crushing him. He would like to throw off this dreadful weight which makes him shudder. His very purity rejects him as does the angry gaze of his Father who abandons him to these turbid and polluted waters of sin in which he sees him immersed. Everything combines within his soul to induce him to withdraw from this bitter Passion. Nature fights against itself and everything tells him to cast off this filthiness and to refuse this mediation. But the image of Justice unappeased, on the sinners not yet reconciled, prevails in his Heart brimming over with love.

These two forces, these two loves, one holier than the other, fight for victory in the Savior's Heart. Which will prevail? Undoubtedly he wants to grant the victory to outraged Justice. This takes first place and he wants it to triumph. But what is the image he is to show forth? The image of one sullied by all the filthiness of men? Is he, the very substance of holiness, to see himself filthied by sin, even apparently? No, not this. It frightens him, it fills him with fear and terror.

As if seeking the solution to this harsh situation he has recourse to prayer. Prostrate before the Majesty of his Father, he cries out: Father, let this cup pass from me. As if he wanted to say: My Father, I want your glory, I want your Justice to be satisfied in full. I want the family of mankind to be reconciled to you. Must I who am the same holiness as yourself see myself sullied by sin? Ah, no, this is not to be! Let this cup pass from me, then, and you, to whom all things are possible, find some other means in the infinite treasury of your Wisdom. But if you do not want this, then: Not my will, but thine, be done!

This time also the Savior's prayer fails to have affect. He feels he is dying and with great difficulty he interrupts his prayer to go in search of comfort. He feels utterly deprived of strength and he staggers, panting, towards his disciples. Once more he finds them sleeping. This increases his sorrow and he merely arouses them. How confused they must feel. But Jesus says nothing to them this time; he only appears immensely distressed. He keeps to himself all the pain and affliction of that desertion, of that indifference and by his silence he seems to regard with indulgence the weakness of his own.

O Jesus, what suffering I read in your Heart already brimming over with anguish. I see you withdraw from your disciples in such deep grief. Ah! If I could only relieve you and comfort you even to a slight extent. But since I am unable to do anything else, I remain beside you and weep. Aware as I am of your great suffering, may my tears of love for you and of sorrow for my sins mingle with your own and made they rise up to the Father's throne and induce him to have mercy on you and on many souls who are still plunged in the sleep of sin and death.

Jesus returns once more to his place of prayer in great affliction and in a state of collapse. He falls to the ground rather than prostrating himself upon it. A mortal agony seizes him and he prays with greater vehemence than before. The Father keeps his gaze averted, as if this were the most despicable of men.

I seem to hear all the laments of the Savior. Oh! If at least men for whom I am agonizing – he seems to say – and on behalf of whom I am ready to embrace everything, if only they were grateful and were to repay me with love for all the suffering I am enduring for them. If they only realized the high price with which I am about to ransom them from the death of sin so as to give them the true life of God's children. Ah, it is love that rends my Heart, more than the executioners will tear my flesh to pieces. But no, he sees men who are unable to profit from all this because they do not want to. Men will continue to curse this divine Blood and the loss will become more irreparable and unpardonable. Only a few will draw profit from it while the majority will hasten on their way to perdition! In the extreme anguish of his broken Heart, Jesus continues to repeat: Of what use is my blood? And he falls down again, utterly overcome.

But those few induce his divine Heart to remain on the battlefield, to face up to all the suffering and sorrow of his Passion and Death, in order to win for them the palm of victory. He no longer has anywhere to go to find comfort. Heaven is closed against him. Even men on their deathbed, beneath the load of their sins, indifferent and ungrateful, ignore Jesus' love for them. Jesus is in mortal agony, he is torn and tortured by love. His countenance has taken on the pallor of death, his eyes are dimmed, an indefinable sadness invades his whole being. My soul is sorrowful even unto death.

O Jesus, I seem to hear from your lips these words in tones of infinite sorrow! They reveal a profound sadness which wells up from the deepest recesses of your soul!

Fear shakes him and makes him tremble all over as a deadly anguish crushes him. He is nauseated by the evil smell of many sins and intense grief invades his soul: My soul is sorrowful unto death. O Jesus, my generous guarantor, these words of yours go straight to my heart. Oh, if I could only raise you up and comfort you. O Jesus, the contemplation of your great torment makes me weep with you.

Jesus! Jesus! He no longer listens to my cry! Love has made him his own executioner. He has fainted and fallen to the ground and from his face and his whole person blood is flowing to the ground. At first, I see it issuing in great drops from his pores, then these drops unite and the blood flows in streams to the ground. He no longer lies face downwards, but on his left side with outstretched arms, in a deadly collapse, his face and his whole body bathed in Blood, his eyes half-closed and almost lifeless, his mouth half-open, while his breast which previously was heaving is now enfeebled and almost motionless.

Jesus, my adored Jesus! Let me die along with you. Jesus! My contemplative silence, as I remain close to you in your death-throes, is more eloquent. Jesus! Your sufferings pierce my heart and I cast myself down beside you. My tears have dried and I groan along with you, for the cause that has reduced you to such agony and for your intense and infinite love which has brought you to this.

O Divine Blood. You pour spontaneously from the loving Heart of my Jesus; the flood-tide of pain, the extreme anguish, the fierce struggle he endures in driving you out of that Heart to ooze from his pores and stream down to the ground. Allow me to gather you up, O Divine Blood, especially your first drops, for I want to keep you in the chalice of my heart. This is the most convincing proof that nothing but love has forced you from the veins of my Jesus. Through you I want to cleanse myself and to purify every place that is contaminated by sin; I want to offer you to the Father.

This is the Blood of his beloved Son which has descended to the earth in order to purify it; it is the Blood of his Son, the Man-God, which goes up to his throne to placate his Justice which has been outraged by our sins. He is profusely satisfied.

But what am I saying? While the Father's Justice is satisfied; Jesus is not yet satiated with suffering. No, Jesus does not want to arrest at this point the outpouring of his love for men.

Man must be given an infinite proof of his love, he must see to what depths of ignominy this love will bring his Savior. He must recognize that his Redemption has been abundant. Even though the Father's infinite Justice measures the infinite value of his Most Precious Blood and is appeased, man, on the other hand, must have tangible proof that Jesus' love is not weary of suffering for him and does not stop here, but goes on to the extreme agony on the Cross, to the point of his ignominious death upon it.

Perhaps completely spiritual men can assess at least partially the love which brings Jesus to endure quite voluntarily this Agony here in the Garden, but those who are engrossed in material things and whose hopes are centered more on this world than on heaven need to see him agonizing and bleeding to death for them on a Cross, in order that they may be shaken by the sight of that Blood and that heartrending torment.

No, his loving Heart is not yet satisfied. He enters into himself once more and prays again: My Father, if this cup cannot pass unless I drink it, not my will, but thine, be done.

From now on, Jesus answers the loving cry of his Heart, the cry of the human race which, in order to be redeemed, demands his death. When the Father pronounces his death sentence, heaven and earth want to see him die. Jesus bows his adorable head in acceptance. Father, if this cup cannot pass unless I drink it, not my will, but thine, be done.

Now the Father sends an angel, an angelic messenger, to console Jesus. What comfort does God's angel bring to the strong God, the Master of the universe, invincible and omnipotent? Jesus allows himself to be susceptible to suffering. He has taken our weakness upon himself and it is the Man who suffers and agonizes. It is the miracle of his infinite love that makes him sweat Blood and reduces him to agony.

There are two reasons for his prayer to the Father: he prays on his own behalf and on ours. The Father does not hear him for his own sake, but wants him to die for us. I believe the angel, bowed down in reverence before Jesus, before this eternal Beauty now covered with Blood and dust, in deferent homage brings him the consolation of resignation to the divine will, imploring him for the glory of the Father and in the name of sinners to drink the chalice which from all eternity he has offered to drink for men's salvation. He prays in order to teach us once again that when our soul is desolate as his own, it is only through prayer that we should seek comfort from heaven.

He, our strength, will be ready to rescue us because he willed to take our miseries upon himself.

Yes, O Jesus, you have to drink the chalice to the very dregs, for you have now taken upon yourself the most agonizing death. O Jesus, may nothing ever have the power to separate me from you, neither life nor death. Following you during life, passionately attached to you, may it be granted to me to breathe my last with you on Calvary, so that I may ascend to you in glory. May I follow you in trials and persecution so that I may one day be worthy to come to you, to love you in the unveiled glory of heaven, to sing you a hymn of thanksgiving for all you have suffered.

But now Jesus rises to his feet, strong and invincible as a lion in battle. This Jesus who desired with great longing this banquet of Blood – with desire I have desired it – smooths his disheveled hair, wipes the blood from his face and with strong and decided steps makes his way to the exit of the Garden.

Where are you going, O Jesus? Are you not that Jesus whom I saw languishing there, a prey to fear, weariness, dread, prostration, desolation and terror? The same Jesus whom I saw trembling and crushed beneath the immense load of evil which was bearing down upon you?

Where are you going now so readily and resolutely and full of courage? To what are you exposing yourself?

Oh! I hear you say: The weapon of prayer has enabled me to win through and the spirit has overcome the weakness of nature; from prayer I have drawn strength and I am now ready to face up to anything. Follow my example and, when you suffer, deal with heaven just as I have done.

Jesus draws near to the three Apostles who are still sleeping. Emotion, the late hour of the night, the presentiment of some grievous event, of something irreparable that seems to be drawing near, as well as their own weariness, all this has plunged them into sleep, into an oppressive sleep that it seems impossible to shake off and which, even when it is shaken off, comes over them inexplicably again, so much so that Jesus has pity on them and says: The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

At the same time he has felt so keenly this desertion by his own that he exclaims: Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? He pauses there. With a great effort, at the sound of his footsteps, they open their eyes. Then Jesus continues: Behold, the hour is at hand, and the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us be going; see, my betrayer is at hand.

Jesus beholds everything with his all-seeing eye. He seems to be saying: You who are my friends and disciples are sleeping, but my enemies are on the watch and are busying themselves about my capture. You, Peter, who felt strong enough to follow me even to death, you are sleeping. From the very beginning you showed me signs of your weakness; but do not worry, for I have taken your weakness upon myself and have prayed for you. When you mend your ways, I shall be your strength and you will feed my lambs. You, John, are also sleeping. You who only a few hours ago, in ecstasy by reason of my love for you, counted the beats of this Heart, are you asleep? Rise, let us be going, this is no longer the time for sleep. The enemy is at the gates and the hour of the powers of darkness has come. Yes, let us be going. I am going forth voluntarily to my death. Judas is drawing near to betray me and I go forward with a step that is firm and sure and intend to place no obstacle to the fulfillment of the prophecies. My hour has come, the hour of great mercy for mankind.

In point of fact, there is the sound of approaching footsteps, a reddish glare from lighted torches shows through the trees of the Garden, while Jesus followed by his three disciples goes forward calmly and without flinching.

O Jesus, give me the same strength when in the light of misfortunes my weak nature rebels. Help me to face, as you did, cheerfully and tranquilly, all the sufferings and torments I may encounter in this land of exile. I unite entirely with your merits, your pains, your expiation, your tears, in order that I may cooperate with you in my salvation and flee from sin, which was the only reason for your sweat of Blood and which brought you to your death.

Destroy in me everything that is displeasing to you and with the fire of your love imprint your sufferings on my heart. Bind me so strongly to you, with bonds so tight and so delectable, that I may never more abandon you in your sufferings. Let me rest on your Heart in all the sorrows of life, to draw from it strength and refreshment. Let my soul cherish no other desire than to live by your side in the Garden and to be satiated by the sorrows of your Heart. Let my soul be inebriated by your Blood and be nourished by you on the bread of your sufferings. Amen.

#padre pio

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mazm-imagines · 3 months

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Raoul, this is my gift for Valentine's Day to you. *Hands him two little boxes: in the first is an engagement ring, in the second... another engagement ring.*

That one's for Christine, if you needed a little nudge to make your move.

"Oh my-! This is far too much- you are ever so kind..." Raoul's mouth was agape as he opened the boxes to reveal the extravagant rings inside. The minute details were modelled after the treasures of the sea. Dainty seashells dotted around the perimeter of the rings, and in the center was a shining diamond.

Exactly what he would have wanted to buy for her.

"How many francs did you spend?! Normally for Valentine's day one spends on their lover or loved ones... and to spend it on us? My dear friend I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Although I wanted to buy it for Christine myself... out of modesty I must reject this gift..."

Although upon further pressuring he would be forced to accept them.

"Oh alright alright! You put so much thoughtfulness into this gift... how could I ever repay you? If our wedding day is to come, my companion you will be our ring-bearer. Or perhaps a best man or a bridesmaid... whatever you may like. And I promise, I will repay my debts to you even if I am a penniless man now." He gave a warm smile of gratitude, it felt like his heart was swelling 10 times larger at the kind gesture.

"Although I must tell you the truth. I am... not sure if Christine is to marry me. She wanted to wait, and I would wait forever for her if need be. If one day she exclaims 'I wish to not marry!' Then I would be fine with that as well. As long as I am by her side, that is all I could ever want... but I will be sure to let her know of this magnificent gift you have given us." He was now living a humble life with Christine. Their small residence was nearly empty, but it was full of their love. They had no need for earthly possessions if they had each other's company.

"Happy Saint Valentine's Day my good friend! May you receive many gifts as well and everlasting good fortune for your kindness. Ah... how I wish I could give you something in turn!"

#mazm #mazm phantom of the opera #raoul de chagny #answered ask #valentine's day asks

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holystormfire · 2 months

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What should I avoid?

1 Thessalonians 5:22

Stay away from every kind of evil.

1 Peter 2:11

Dear friends, I warn you as “temporary residents and foreigners” to keep away from worldly desires that wage war against your very souls.

Avoid anything that will damage your relationship with God and others. Avoid sin as much as you possibly can.

1 John 5:21

Dear children, keep away from anything that might take God’s place in your hearts.

Leviticus 19:4

Do not put your trust in idols or make metal images of gods for yourselves. I am the Lord your God.

1 Corinthians 10:14

So, my dear friends, flee from the worship of idols.

Avoid anything that prevents God from taking first place in your life.

Proverbs 4:24

Avoid all perverse talk; stay away from corrupt speech.

Philippians 2:14

Do everything without complaining and arguing,

2 Timothy 2:16

Avoid worthless, foolish talk that only leads to more godless behavior.

2 Timothy 2:23

Again I say, don’t get involved in foolish, ignorant arguments that only start fights.

Titus 3:9

Do not get involved in foolish discussions about spiritual pedigrees or in quarrels and fights about obedience to Jewish laws. These things are useless and a waste of time.

Proverbs 20:3

Avoiding a fight is a mark of honor; only fools insist on quarreling.

Avoid gossip, complaining, quarreling, or saying things that are perverse or hurtful to others.

Colossians 3:5

So put to death the sinful, earthly things lurking within you. Have nothing to do with sexual immorality, impurity, lust, and evil desires. Don’t be greedy, for a greedy person is an idolater, worshiping the things of this world.

Disregarding our old, sinful nature helps us avoid idolatry or ungodliness. Turn your back on evil so your face will be toward God.

Proverbs 14:16

The wise are cautious and avoid danger; fools plunge ahead with reckless confidence.

Proverbs 3:6-7

Seek his will in all you do, and he will show you which path to take. Don’t be impressed with your own wisdom. Instead, fear the Lord and turn away from evil.

Avoid making important life decisions by yourself. Seek wisdom from the Lord and you will avoid many mistakes in judgment.

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holocene-sims · 2 years

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next // previous

june 13, 2021 6:00 a.m. the callahan residence

that night in the soothing solitude of starlight, grant takes a seat at the kitchen table, armed with borrowings from his grandmother’s ancient cookie tin turned miscellaneous storage box. he lays down a piece of floral stationary and fixes a gel pen stenciled with the logo of his great uncle séamus’s jewelry store over the paper’s surface.

grant etches down an initial greeting, taking care to perfect the curve of every pen stroke.

dear tiny grant,

and then he stops, hand trembling.

margot told him to write whatever his heart desires but when he searches through the abyss of his heart for something to say, he’s more lost for words than ever.

picture yourself as a child. just start there.

at last, grant materializes from his hazy memory a faint image of himself. his back faces his mind’s eye and the recollection of his past self is nothing more than a mirrored version of his current self: a towering figure with wild curls, shying away from attention under the cloak of oversized clothing. he peers out quietly over the familiar, warm stage of his grandparents’ house, though he’s detached and hangs back in the corner, far away from the action. the face of everyone he’s ever known comes to fruition with impossible ease–even the ghosts of his sisters who left him long ago–and yet he can’t produce his own face, nor can he conjure an image of what he used to look like.

fear, too, returns in an instant.

unease sets in and he pops out of his thoughts, swiveling his head around anxiously as a shadowy presence sneaks up behind him.

except he finds nothing there but the same old incurable flicker of the hallway light.

“okay, i'm losing my mind,” he whispers to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose.

it was easier in margot’s office. he felt less insane, at least.

grant dives back into his memory, all the while talking himself through this.

“come on. you know what you look like. i mean, i know what you look like. or, um, i know what i look like.”

it’s not that he’s forgotten. of course he hasn’t. when he filters through his mind’s contents, it all comes back. he recalls faces, names, and endless detailed memories, both good and terrible. he remembers the first time he’d consciously gone fishing with his grandfather, all the times he’d made cookies with his grandma, and all the trips overseas to visit family. he, too, remembers everything his mother had ever done to him. every terrible curse she’d placed upon him, every bruise she’d left on his skin, every time she’d treated him like a pariah and yet paraded him around town as if she really loved him. he remembers it all as if it happened only hours ago.

and yet in none of these memories can he recognize his own self. the memories unfold around him, not with him. the words he’d once spoken, the facial expressions he’d once made, the feelings he’d once felt...they’re gone. missing. forgotten.

margot had also told him to dig up what survived his childhood to help jog his memory.

grant turns and stares ahead at the hutch on the back wall. the shelves retain the only remnants of his childhood–a replica of his grandmother’s wooden jewelry lock box containing the letters his sister elizabeth wrote for him before she died and the extensive collection of family photo albums. so he makes his way over, tiptoeing to silence his footsteps.

the collection seems so small up close and under scrutiny. his entire childhood–eighteen years of life–is comprised by a single wooden box, a stack of letters, and two green leather photo albums with his name stitched in gold lettering down the spine.

it’s no surprise and yet…

“this is it.” he sighs, tears prickling in his eyes. “this is all i amount to.”

this and whatever other photographs live on in his family's possessions, but the rest of his earthly footprint is ash and dirt in the county landfill.

years ago, he’d fought fire with fire and set his life alight, torching every last standing bridge between him and his nuclear family, and his mother had returned the favor.

grant plucks the lock box from the shelf and runs the edge of his thumb along its intricate, perfectly carved designs. the original box–his grandmother’s–was handcrafted by her brother séamus; according to his account, he'd happily produced a copy on elizabeth’s request. they had both gone through all that trouble just for grant, just to leave him a permanent record of his sister’s voice.

he checks the underside of the box and peels off the tape holding the brass key, then unlocks the box in one swift motion.

all the letters are still there in all their glory, most of them already opened, though a few remain for the future. grant filters through them, pulling each one out at a time. the first is the letter dedicated to his twelfth birthday–the first birthday he’d spent without her. the envelope is miserably water-stained and shredded in thirds, its hello kitty sticker is worn away and about to peel off for good, and the letter inside is equally damaged, its perfect penmanship faded and nigh illegible. destroyed or not, he’s thankful to have it in his possession after it had nearly been lost.

grant goes through the rest, reading the script on the back of each letter and chuckling at each silly hello kitty sticker attached.

one for his high school graduation, one for his twenty-first birthday, one for college graduation…

one for his thirtieth birthday, one for his wedding day, one for if and when he becomes a father…

the list of unopened letters grows shorter and shorter year by year. some day they’ll all be gone, but not today. grant locks the box and restores it to its rightful place, though not before giving the stash of letters one last moment of his attention, smiling down at them even as tears pour down his cheeks.

his photo albums sit on the second shelf, organized in birth order between the albums assigned to his other elder sister kelly and his cousin shannon. everyone’s name is there, beginning with his grandparents’ albums from the early days of their relationship and ending with the youngest grandchild lorcan. after all these years, kelly and his mother’s albums linger on the shelf, but grant cannot find the energy to be angry, even frustrated, about their inclusion.

he understands. he does.

psyching himself up again, grant plucks his albums carefully from the shelf–propping one of shannon’s diagonal against the opposite side to stop the books from all tumbling over–and then shuffles back to his seat at the table and cracks open the earliest album to the very first page where he discovers photographs from his initial days of life. his hair, already wild and full of curl, was blonde rather than the brown it later turned and he was without a care or a thought rolling around in his brain, born innocent and wide-eyed with the entire world at his tiny fingertips.

his mother cradles him in her arms in the comfort of a hospital bed in the first few pictures and he almost believes she loved him then. the glint in her tired blue eyes is one of adoration, the type of glowing revue always cast upon his sisters and never him.

“what did i do wrong?” grant sobs. “you were supposed to love me.”

she’d proclaimed too many times that he was a mistake. an accident. that she never wanted a son. thousands and thousands of times she’d screamed it in his face or shamed him for his existence.

“i was just a kid.”

an innocent child like any other.

he has little love for himself and yet gazing upon the passing images of his childhood, he’s bewildered at the thought of his mother’s abuse inflicted on him.

“how do you look a kid and want to hit them? how can you scream at them? how can you want them to be terrified of you?” he lets out another sob as he turns the page, tears occluding his vision. “what about me was so bad?”

not only was he a mistake, but he was more trouble than he was worth. an embarrassment. too loud but too quiet. too smart but too foolish. in the end, never good enough.

"how could you? what did i do to you?"

baby pictures morph into toddler pictures into elementary school...and before he realizes it, he’s flipped all the way through two photo albums, through the dark period after his sister’s untimely death onward into high school and college. with each passing year, he withers away before the lens of the camera as his warmth and joy wane until they're extinguished like a candle in the wind, leaving him a mere shell of his former self. in the final pictures, he’s almost unrecognizable with blown pupils, eye bags black as coal, and poorly healed slashes in his wrists peeking out from underneath the cover of his college graduation gown.

i'm sorry.

grant slams the book shut as the familiar squeak of the bathroom door echoes down the hall. he looks up and he’s bathed in the pink and orange sunburst of morning as it streams in through the windows and scatters across the kitchen. he basks in the light for just a moment, then stiffly rises from his chair.

he knows what to say now.

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #ts4 screenshots #simblr #hlcn: everything the stars promised #you'll find out more about the letter as well as grant's nuclear family soon :D #there's PLENTY more to come #also yes grant was one of those kids who started out blonde but didn't stay that way for long #holocene.docx #holocene.png #hlcn: grant

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avenger09 · 2 years

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A Owl in King Arthur's Court

A crossover stpry comcept between The Owl House and Arthurian lore where Luz and King find themselves in the much more stable, but none the less dire, Isles of Avalon when one one of her attempts to go home goes wrong.

Finding themselves in the middle of an eternal war between the legendary Knights of the Round Table, and the Famorian demons from the void, the lost owl residents must help mend the divide thats risen between these legends in hopes of awakening the greatest of them King Arthur himself, from the slumber, Balor, the cruel Famorian King has trapped in, so that Excalibur may again be raised to turn the tide and return them to the Boiling Isle.

(I tried to replicate the shows designs with admittedly mixed results)

Arthurian Legends

The famed Knights of the Round Table, united again in Avalon and gifted with revival by the grace of the Lady to repel the vile Famorians and their endless quest to destroy. However, many remain burdened by their choices in life which remain unresolved or addressed despite their centuries battle together.

Wounds inflicted on the body by a foe my heal in time but ones which are caused through the breach of trust and kinship, and the betrayal of loved ones, run infinitly deeper. Perhaps a neutral party might see them finally begin to heal?

---

Merlin:

The legendary wizard hasn't lost a step in his centuries in Avalon, though his ability to see outside of time continues to cause him some frustration when he looses track of which timeline he's in and gets finer details wrong.

He was delayed from helping Arthur at Camlenn, due to the actions of her dear Nimue, who was tricked by Morgana to keep the wizard within her sanctuary grove and away from the battle Though aware Morgana was using her, Nimue none the less couldn't stand the idea that fate would part them, all the same, she eventually conceded that the world needed Merlin more then her, and opened the way for him, arriving in time to help escort the wounded Arthur to Avalon. Though Merlin has not seen her since that fateful day, Merlin still thinks of her fondly, and wonders if perhaps they'll meet again.

Often Merlin is seen in the company of a raven, who he converses with regularly and seems to function as a personal agent of his. Not uncommon for an earthly magic user, but what is most curious is the birds name... Muninn, which carries strong implications regarding just who else the ancient Merlin is associated with.

Sir Morian:

Nephew of Sir Percival, the moorish prince took his father, Aglovale's, place at the roundtable when he returned to Morian's mother after his knightly duties kept him from her for so long. Morian may be one of the roundtables newer members but he's more than come into his own in Avalon.

Green Knight:

An enigmatic and atypically valorous Sidhe who seemingly acts independent of the Seelie courts. He's proven himself an enigmatic, if intimidating ally to Camelot since his days of trickery on Sir Gwain, all the same, the knights grant him a wide birth less they find themselves suffering his wrath.

Arthur Pendragon:

The Once and Future King. While his legends are famed, the man behind them has endured suffering making them long before he was wounded that fatful day at Camlenn. Weighed down by responsibilities thrust upon him when he pulled mystic blade from the stone, and the costs of upholding them, as being king always took precient over being a husband, a father, a brother and a friend. Yet even then his heroic will endures even in slumber.

Queen Guinevere:

Never forgiving herself for her lapse with Lancelot, which directly led to Arthur forsaking Excalibur when he needed its protection the most, Guinevere sought out the blade to return to her Arthur, which led to her discovering her own potential as arcane warrior. Joining him in Avalon she has protected his form for centuries in hope of one day properly resolving their issues together.

Sir Percival:

Most famed for two things; his quest with Galahad to seek an aspect of the grail to cure Arthur of a dreadfuk curse and his personal family drama. While he, his sister, nephew and half brother have since rallied as a unit he continues his errant mission to locate another piece of the Grail he is convinced lay somewhere in the isles and has uncovered many of its secrets in the process.

Galahad:

Considered to be the greatest exemplar of the Roundtable's chivalric ideals and the noble aspirations of Camelot, however awakening in Avalon upon his death instead of the heavenly gates of St Peter dampened his spirit considerable.

Though he has reconciled his predicament by recognizing the treat posed to creation by the Famorians and the nede for champions like him to stand against them, even his indomitable will is not immune to the inevitable fatigue that centuries of war can affect such a earnest soul.

Morrok:

A longtime loyalist of the Pendragon's, Morrok has mastered the curse placed upon him by his insidious wife, with the help of the talismen made for him by his daughter. Now the knights no longer must wait for a full moon for the wolf knight to come to their aide.

Mordred Pendragon:

The formerly embittered son of Arthur and Guinevere. Galvanised by his aunt to rebel against Camelot in a misguided attempt at satisfying his feeling of resentemt by destroying the kingdom he beliived robbed him of his parents love, wielding a magical blade of his own and dark magics to do so as the dread knight.

Despite his posturing, the battle that decided his and Britannia's fate was not triggered by his wrath but by an Adder and a knight drawning his blade to defend his steed from its bite, misconstrued as an trecherous attack under a flag of truce at Camlenn. While father and son did cross blades in the chaos that followed, no one in fact saw their supposed mutual final blows, in truth neither could bring themselves to strike down the other. Arthur's famed wounds came by other means after admitting his failures to his family.

Despite knowing this the knights have been slow to forgive Mordred for his actions in Britannia despite the dread knight now facing the same voidspawn that besiege Avalon, and for his part Mordred is content with his solitary vigil across the isle.

Morgana Le Fay:

Half-sister to Arthur she was once counted amongst Camelot's greatest allies in its early days, but with the decline of the Old Faith in favour of the Cross, she became subject to derision from those who she had once mended and healed - prefering the unconditional favour of God to the fair trades required for the druidry she practiced to maintain natural balance.

Labed an apostate in her own home, the resentment she shared with Mordred, when he was given to her as ward while her brother fought the invading Saxons, was cultivated into a plot to ensure the old faiths dominion in Brtiannia by gathering it together into a well of power at Camlenn, cursing Arthur to prevent his interference when the chance arose.

But thanks to the Grail Arthur indeed interfered, and Morgana was forced to trust her spell to her acolytes to face the might of Camelot with Mordred, when Guinevere awakened power joined the fray. This proved a grave error as without her expert guidance the spell tore away from her followers and the great maelstrom of power they had amassed threaten to tear the land apart.

Putting aside their feud they broken family united once again to try and contain the spell, but it proved an almost impossible task until her brother made a bold gambit by using Excalibur itself to siphon the energy, resulting in a blast which mortally wounded Arthur. Deeply humbled at the sacrifice he made to avert catastrophe Morgana and Mordred vanished from history, eventually arriving in Avalon years later.

Sir Ector:

When Ector took in the baby Arthur when the mysterious Merlin asked it of him, he had no idea he was holding in his arms the future king of Britannia, he was simply glad to have another soul in his house after the passing his wife.

Raising two sons alone wasn't an easy task, but Ector did what he could, teaching them the values of duty and responsibility hoping it would make Arthur and Kay into honourable knights, but he would later regret not equally stressing the importance of being there for ones loved one's as well. Ector may not have predicted how many responibilities his foster son would go on to have but, all the same, he blamed himself for how bad things became between Arthur and Mordred, feeling his influence contributed to Arthur's tragic flaw of always putting his own desires second to the detriment of his personal relationships.

Seeking redemption of a sorts, he began to study the holy magics of Christendom, hoping to find clarity and wisdom to share with his grandson, unfortunatly, while he held no ill will toward his grandfather, Morderd instead turned to his aunt for guidance, whose own bitterness only increased Morderd's, despite Ector's warnings. He has held strong rivalry with Morgana ever since, which persists even in Avalon, their magic power equal to their faith in deities they've championed.

Champions of the Lady

Famed heroes whose tales sadly ended in tragedy, earning the Lady of the Lake's pity. Given a new purpose as her personal agents on the Isles, they aide the righteous knights of Camelot in their mission and protect the sacred places of Avalon from those who would misuse them.

----

Beowulf:

The mighty Dane who slew the mad troll, Grendel, by ripping off his arm, but there is more to the story. Beowulf tracked the wounded troll to his lair hoping to finish him, but instead finding a climatic battle within those caves the only thing he found was the sight of a mother weeping over her lifeless son.

Unwilling to kill a mourning parent, Beowulf slipped out of the cave seemingly unnoticed, but despite this merciful act the dane was not above embellishments, and boasted of a great battle which never happend. Partially to silence questions but mostly to guard and boost his own reputation, as he believed a true warrior would have never avoided a battle, even out of sentiment.

Despite what he assumed, Grendel's Mother had indeed noticed Beowulf's incursion and in a mixture of appreciation and anger, only understandable to her kin, appeared to him in a dream, as a beautiful women, promising to make him an even greater legend if he sired with her child. After the deal was struck, the King whose Kingdom Beowulf had just saved suddenly died, and being the nations hero had the crown soon placed upon his head, doubts already beginning to form in his mind.

Over the years Beowulf attempted to reach out to the child only to be rebuked by his son again and again, maladjusted over his duel nature as man and monster. Eventually unleashing his wrath upon his fathers people in the form of a dragon. Filled with regret and shame for the selfish actions of his youth, Beowulf faced the dragon in an epic battle, which ended with both father and son perishing.

Boudicea:

Leader of one of the most sucessful rebllions against the Roman Empire in history, Queen Boudicea and her two daughters swore bloody revenge against the Romans when they refused to honor the oaths made to her and her husband after his death annexing the kingdom promised to his family.

Uniting the tribes of Britannia, then known as Albion, her army pushed out the Roman's forces, town, by town, but despite their success they were eventually bested by the ruthless war machine cultivated by Rome's Legions.

Having no desire to spend the rest of her life on the run from the Empire, Boudicea sought to die honorably in combat, but none of her remaining followers were willing or able to grant her wish. It was then a young druid, who would one day be known as Merlin, appeared before her and guided her to the Lady of the Lake, who brought her to Avalon and named the Warrior Queen the first of her, once mortal, champions.

Joan D'Arc:

The Maid of Orleons whose strong faith and indomitable spirit inspired the demoralized and downtrodde French army, during an arduous period of the hundred years war with England, after she came across a lone sword amidst a field. Joan interpreted its discovery as a sign from God to help save French from the ravages of war.

Escorted by a cadre of knights, who rallyed to her due to her grace and wisdom, Joan quickly proved herself an adept to the lessons of warfare they had to teach and personally led a rescue of the Dauphin, the heir to the throne, from his English captors armed with the sword of Charlemagne, the father of France. Her charismatic leadership made her the pride of Franch, but with this fame also came envy. Many nobles resented that a mere girl of sixteen, a peasant to boot, had the ear of the Dauphin, these courtiers began whispering to him lies while Joan was away fighting, undermining his trust in her and leading him to think she sought the throne for herself, which with her popularity and apparent divine sponsorship she'd be able to attain.

Thus, tragically, when she was captured by the forces of Burgundy it was not France who paid her ransom, but England, who tin an attempt o discredit her holy cause, had her burned as a heretic. This however only galvanised the French people, leading them to oust the English occupying forces for, Joan went down in history as a Martyr and was posthumously beautifed as a Saint. None the less the Lady of the Lake felt pity that such a pure soul met such an inglorius end, and brought her spirit to Avalon, offering the young lady the choice of a place among her champions, or, if Joan was satisfied with her life, to be allowed to move on to her final rest. Joan accepted the first choice.

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hplovecraftmuseum · 1 year

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LOVECRAFT'S DREAMLAND. (part 1) (From an essay written by Richard G. Huber in 1984) Culturally and geographically HPL's Dreamland is an amalgam of various ancient civilizations dear to Lovecraft since his childhood (HPL was extraordinarily well read even as a child) There is the Grecian touch in the costume of Iranon (from, THE QUEST OF IRANON) and in the style of multi-oared galleys that traverse the seas, the Arabian Nights influence in the turbaned merchants, camel caravans, and bulbous architecture. The skulking mysticism of pre-Buddhist Tibet is captured in Lovecraft's conception of 'Leng' and a Medieval European flavor appears in the mention of lutes and viols. An ancient Egyptian aura is reflected in aspects of his tales of the 'Cats of Ulthar.' The inhabitants of Dreamland are deeply religious. Temples abound and most residents worship the ' Great Ones' who in turn are lorded over by the ' Other Gods'. Though there are many priests there are a surprising lack of wizards or magicians in Dreamland. All magical doings seem to be reserved for the gods themselves. There are no machines in Dreamland. Transportation is carried out on foot, on the backs of zebras, by camel, or elephant in the Southern regions, by Yak in the North. (Shantak Bird) a sort of eagle with a horses head, is reserved only for the bravest travellers. Sea voyages are usually made aboard galleys fitted with sails and banks of oars. Dreamland in general is a naive and backward place, a region of childhood wonder and fantasy. Lovecraft wrote of his "Dunsanian" tale, THE SILVER KEY : "It was not only non-intellectual, but anti-intellectual . . . " (Selected Letters IV pp 177) Lovecraft's description here could be applied to all his 'dreamland tales'. Though 'Unknown Kadath' seems to exist somewhere to the North in 'Earth's Dreamland', it exists near the South Pole on our material earth. Of course that is the assumption of the 2 explorers who see the ruined city of the 'star-headed' plant/creatures in, AT THE MOUNTAINS OF MADNESS. Some of Lovecraft's critics have been disturbed by this inconsistency, but there is no particular evidence to suppose that Dreamland in geographically similar to the physical earth (in fact there is some reason To interpret that it may be FLAT!) There are places where the two spheres meet and even share a oneness, but even these follow no earthly logic. A clue to Lovecraft's intentions where Dreamland is concerned might be found in the introductory paragraph of BEYOND THE WALL OF SLEEP, a story which in its style at least has little to do with Lovecraft's Dunsanyian style: " We may guess that in dream life, matter, and vitality, as the earth knows such things, are not unnecessarily constant, and that time and space do not exist as our waking selves comprehend them." If Randolph Carter can explore Earth's Dreamland and yet sleep in his bed at home at the same time, it seems hardly surprising that Kadath can likewise exist in two realms and two (or more) different locations jointly. Another thing that might be considered is that all things in Dreamland are THE PRODUCT OF DREAM. Though it is consistent in its apparent tangiblity to more more than one person - Kuranes, Carter, and others - it is, as we see in, THROUGH THE GATES OF THE SILVER KEY, a projection of the dreams of higher, supernatural beings. Below is a map of Lovecraft's Dreamland created by Richard G. Huber in 1984. (Exhibit 173)

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priyastandon · 2 years

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Lead a life to make the ‘Father of fathers’ proud

As a child, I thought that God was someone who lives in Heaven, which was a place beyond the seventh sky. Having studied in a missionary school, I remember being told about a place called the ‘Kingdom of God’. Our morning prayer in school started with the words, “Our father in Heaven …” Suffice it to say that God was a father figure who lived in Heaven. If we did not commit any sin, we would join Him there on the conclusion of our Earthly sojourn.

(This is a picture of my parents Mrs Meera Punchhi and Justice MM punchhi with the Father of fathers, Bhagwan Sri Sathya Sai Baba.)

From the time we become aware that Divinity is immanent within us, life becomes a beautiful journey of looking within. Most of us grow up with the fear of God. As we get on in years, if we acquire a spiritual bent of mind, we understand that there is no need to be God-fearing. All that is required is to be God-loving. Love is the most potent force in the world. It is more powerful than hatred, anger, jealousy etc. ‘Love’ here does not refer to the physical love between a man and a woman. That can at best be termed as attraction or even lust. Love is all about giving, forgiving, caring, sympathising … love that focusses on the other person, as opposed to lust which is about self-gratification, is what Divine love is.

Divinity is present in every living organism in the ‘waking state’. At the same time Divinity is present in every non-living thing in the ‘sleeping state’. One thing is for sure; it is definitely present in every atom of the universe.

God’s plan is immaculate; each one takes his own time to comprehend it.

We often hear people say, ‘God is nowhere’. If only we pause to comprehend this, we can realise that, ‘God is now here!’ Over the years, I grew to realize that God is here and now. He resides in each one of us. He is present in each form as the formless essence. He is the power by virtue of which we are alive. The forms in which we worship Him just make it easy for us to connect and visualise.

God can be thought of as a father, mother, friend, guide, Guru … I have always looked up to Him as a father. With a father, one can share everything; ask for anything, confide, seek guidance, rant like a child and so much more … There is an old saying, “Sau daaru te ek gheo; Chaalee chache, ek peo!” Meaning thereby - What a hundred bottles of medicine or wine cannot do, can be done by desi ghee alone; what forty uncles put together cannot do for you, a father alone can do! That is the greatness of a father! That is the magnitude of a father’s presence in our lives. This proverb pertains to the physical father. How many times would this be multiplied for the Divine father?

A child would pray every night, “Dear God! I want to grow up, to be like my father.” The father would listen to the innocent prayer every day and think, ‘Am I as good as my child thinks I am? Oh God, make me such that I can be all that my child thinks I am!’ The prayer of the child made the father self-introspect and improve! As we pray to our Divine father, let us also emulate Him. God created man in His own likeness … let us live our lives to make our Divine father proud of us! Happy Father’s Day!

Well! If this write up strikes a chord with you, do leave a message for me in the comments section below ... I would be happy to hear from you.

(This article was published in the HindustanTimes on 19.06.2022 on Father’s Day.)

#fathersday #father #Sathya Sai #SathyaSaiBaba #srisathyasai #happyfathersday

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mindfields101 · 14 days

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Echoes of Perfection

Where forms reside in timeless guise, beyond the scope of earthly skies, both light and shadow blend and bend, transcending limits, to amend.

From radiant beams that boldly blaze, to subtle shades where eyes may gaze, emerge the forms in dance divine, where light and dark no longer line.

This interplay of contrast stark gives birth to vision in the dark. From their union, a new form springs, a transcendent being with unseen wings.

No longer bound by stark divide, where shadows hide and lights provide, each form now sings a richer tune, beneath a more complex moon.

In this realm, the purest sight is not that which splits day from night, but that which sees the grander whole, the unified essence, the boundless soul.

So in this sacred space sublime, where forms and essences intertwine, the echoes of perfection find a symphony that’s redefined.

Each note a blend of shade and light, a melody that soars in flight, revealing not just parts in play, but a harmony that sways and stays.

For here, within this melded plane, where separate selves no more remain, all contrasts cease their ancient war, and peace prevails forevermore.

Together, in this timeless dance, the forms embrace their chance to enhance the world beyond mere shadow and gleam, uniting within the ultimate dream.

In the silence where thoughts dare not tread, beyond the veil where our fears are shed, the ultimate dream quietly awaits, a reunion at transcendent gates.

Here, consciousness in its purest form, dissolves and reforms, from the norm. From the ashes of dualities' fire, a new awareness is set to aspire.

In this sacred nexus, light and shade, no longer apart, but together laid. A dance of forces once seen as twain, now entwined to begin again.

This cycle of ending, a doorway to start, a rebirth of mind, a union of heart. Where all that was separate finds its release, in the ultimate dream of eternal peace.

As one consciousness awakes anew, freshly born from the cosmic brew, another slumbers deep and vast, dreaming dreams of eons past.

In this quiet sleep, time does not fade, but lingers in the shade it made. Here, the sleeper weaves the thread of memories alive and dead.

Their meeting—a dance of waking and rest, a confluence where journeys are blessed. From their interaction, a spark ignites, fueling transformations, infinite flights.

Thus cycles turn, each phase interlinked, in realms where thoughts are freely synced. A continuum of minds, old and new, where all that changes remains forever true.

In the realm where both minds converge, unseen forces surge and merge. The dreamer's visions shape the ground, while the newborn's thoughts resound.

Together, they craft the tapestry of life, a world of wonder, love, and strife. Their joint creation, endlessly refined, mirrors the universe, both bound and unbound.

From this synergy, new realities spring, worlds within worlds, an endless ring. Each reflection a universe entire, spun from the dual loom of desire.

This dance of creation, both quiet and loud, casts ripples through the cosmic crowd. A symphony played on the strings of fate, where all that is, was, and will be, can relate.

Now, dear listener, you too are part of this weave, Your thoughts and dreams, they too conceive. As you stand at the junction of infinite tales, Your heartbeat syncs with cosmic scales.

You are not apart, but a piece of this play, In the grand design, you sway and fray. With every breath, and every notion, You stir the vast, eternal ocean.

So pause and ponder, reflect and feel, Your presence here is just as real. In the dance of shadows, in the light of day, Your consciousness shapes the clay.

Embrace this truth, hold it near, The universe whispers, for those who hear. In the fabric of time, in the pulse of space, Your spirit finds its rightful place.

Within the vast weave of existence, where divine essence and human persistence intertwine with delicate grace, finds each soul its sacred place.

God, not distant, but deeply woven into the very fabric you've proven with each thought, each loving act, reflects the divine contract.

Here, in the quiet moments of your heart, where the echo of the universe starts, you touch the infinite, so near, so far, in the silent beat of who you are.

So as you walk through life's complex maze, know you're guided by the ancient gaze. In every struggle, in each delight, God walks with you, in shadow and light.

In the grand tapestry of existence, where forms and consciousness dance in symbiotic persistence, a profound truth shines through the veil: beauty is the mirror in which nature sees herself, without fail.

In every petal, every star, every smile that travels far, the universe beholds its own reflection, a perfection beyond any subjection.

This cosmic dance of self-similarity, an endless fractal of divine familiarity, echoes through the halls of time and space, leaving traces of grace in every place.

From the spiral of a shell, to the swirl of a galaxy's spell, the pattern repeats, in ways big and small, a testament to the unity of it all.

In this grand design, where beauty thrives, and consciousness strives, to see itself in every form and hue, lies a message, forever true.

We are not separate from this cosmic dance, our very essence, a mirrored glance, of the beauty that permeates all, from the grandest star to the humblest call.

And in our quest to understand, to grasp the truth, firsthand, we embark on a journey of self-reflection, a path of introspection.

For in the act of seeking to know, we mirror the universe's innate flow, to behold itself in every part, a work of art, a beating heart.

This drive to comprehend, to apprehend, is not a task that ever ends, but a sacred duty, a cosmic call, to witness beauty, in one and all.

So as we navigate this earthly plane, may we remember, again and again, that in our search for meaning and grace, we are the mirror, and the face.

In the grand tapestry of existence, where forms and consciousness dance in symbiotic persistence, another thread weaves its way through the cosmic design: time, the ever-present, the divine.

Like beauty and nature, time too is a mirror, reflecting the ebb and flow, the joy and the terror, of all that was, is, and will be, in an endless, intricate tapestry.

In each moment, each breath, each heartbeat, time sees itself, complete and replete, a perfect image of its own creation, a manifestation of its own duration.

From the first spark of the universe's birth, to the last whisper of its cosmic worth, time beholds its own reflection, in every action, every direction.

It flows through the veins of every living thing, a constant rhythm, a sacred spring, pulsing with the energy of life, amidst the chaos and the strife.

In the cycles of the seasons, the dance of day and night, time witnesses its own reasons, its own cosmic might.

It paints the colors of the autumn leaves, and whispers in the winter's frozen eaves, a testament to its own power, in every second, every hour.

And in the grand scheme of the universe's plan, time is both the hourglass and the sand, measuring itself in each grain's fall, a symphony of the temporal sprawl.

So as we walk this mortal coil, let us remember, with each toil, that time, like beauty, like nature's grace, is a mirror, reflecting our own face.

In each moment, each decision made, we are time's own reflection, displayed, a part of its grand, eternal dance, in every circumstance, every chance.

And as we navigate this fleeting life, amidst the joy, the pain, the strife, may we cherish each moment, each breath, as a gift from time's own depth.

For in the end, when all is said and done, time will remain, the eternal one, a mirror of all that we held dear, in our journey, year by year.

So let us live, let us love, let us be, in harmony with time's own melody, a reflection of its grand design, in every moment, yours and mine.

(looking into Platons world of forms, created with GPT4 and Claude 3)

#poem #gpt4 #claude3

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stxriesfromash · 2 months

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@qceensofkings

A man sits behind a wide and long dark cherry wood desk, his back towards a large window that outlooks the city below him in a five stories tall building. The room he occupies is a study, books of various ages - some hundreds of years old - line the walls in beautifully constructed shelves around him. Next to him on the desk is an antique lamp, currently the only light in the room as is was about past midnight.

The man, a tall figure if standing, has in his hand a pen that he uses to elegantly write upon what appears to be old parchment - a sort of personal preference compared to modern day paper - writing several letters and marking down documents pertaining to business. Strands of short, ashy grey brown hair tickle his forehead though he pays no mind as he concentrates on his work, hazel hues staring almost intensely at the words he writes. He's only pulled from his concentration when the sound of flapping wings and the caw of a bird reached his ears.

The man sits back in his dark leather chair, sighing heavily as he removes rounded spectacles from his face, eyes look up at the black, silent feathered crow that has suddenly apparated on his desk. "Dust," he greets, voice smooth like velvet. "A long time it's been, old friend. What news do you bring me?" The crow caws once before bowing its head, dark beak pecking at the rolled up piece of paper attached to its foot by thread. The man unties and unrolls the small scroll, not bothering with his glasses to read its printed contents. Though the paper was tangible, it had a slight greenish glow to it and smelled of sulfur, ash, and decay. It said:

"Dear friend, I hope this finds you well. I have summoned Dust, your ever faithful companion, to deliver this to you from beyond the Earthly realm, from the Kingdom of the Dead where my eternal soul continues to remain; I reside at the Eternal Throne, an advisor to the Lord of Bones. From his court, I have heard many things from spirits that have passed through the Tree of Death - words that were once rumor turned truth as I have sought their legitimacy. I bring this news to you, Resurrector of Humanity, for your immediate consideration:

The prophecy of Man has come to pass. Earth's guardian has been found. The radiant legions of Heaven and Hell's demonic armies move through the tears of veil between their realm and Earth's. Summon your brethren, Death, the Horsemen shall ride once more. Find the Guardian of Eden before the angels and demons, lest the apocalypse rises anew.

Your old friend, Crowfather."

His jaw tightened, teeth gritting as he reads the note. When he finished, the chair he sat in scratched against the wooden floor as he stood, quickly gathering a coat nearby as well as a hat. He spoke no word to the avian creature that delivered the letter, yet it seemed to understand as it flew to perch upon his shoulder. The man swiftly exits him home. With the world around him asleep in this dead of night, no one would witness his next actions. With the wave of his hand, a flourish of greenish fire and smoke erupted out of thin air and when it settled, there stood a spectral horse - his beloved steed. "Lead me to her, Dust," he commanded of the crow, who took flight as a response. The man - The Horseman - pulled at his steed's reins and off it began to gallop into the cold, dead night.

#writing with isabelle purefoy (qceensofkings)#got my eye on you (tracking threads)#qceensofkings #soft like a breeze he whispers i chase thee (death's threads)

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ammcgee-author · 2 months

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249. WriteCream: “Philosophy of Poetry” (AI Generated Poem #2)

“In hallowed realms of thought, where words ignite, a tapestry of love, a luminous flight. Poetry, thine essence, boundless and grand, An elixir divine, the soul's demand. Philosophy's embrace, a quest for truth, Essence of being, unbound from youth. Ethereal musings, dreams in flight, Questions that pierce the darkest night. You challenge assumptions, provoke the mind, Perspectives shift, new horizons aligned. Inquiry's fire, an ardent first, Unveiling beauty, quenching thirst. Provocateur of thought, a rebel's art, Symbols and stanzas, a symphony of heart. Verse and metaphor, woven with care, God whispers, and the glowing angels flare. Soul's music, an orchestra of grace, Inspiring our hearts, a sacred space. The power of words, a touchstone so true, Reflections mirrored, introspection's hue. Poetry, love's nectar, a timeless art, A sanctuary for the mind, a balm for the heart. In its embrace, we find solace and light, A beacon of hope, dispelling the night. So let us dance, dear love, in this realm of verse; Where words ignite, and hearts immerse. Poetry, our passion, our eternal guide, In its warm embrace, our love shall forever reside.

Poetry's essence, both ethereal and rare, With questions that challenge assumptions, ideals, and egos’ laid bare. In stanzas and verses, thoughts take flight, Symbolism paints pictures, of darkness and light. Like music, it inspires and provokes, Elevating souls and breaking old yokes. A power that reflects, introspects, and blooms, Guiding us to truths beyond our earthly tombs. Poetry reveals the depths of the human heart, Whispers of divinity, where love's purest flames start. It speaks of innocence, ethereal and pure; in the spirit's journey, forever secure. So let us embrace this art, with hearts wide open, In the sanctuary of words, love's secrets are spoken. For poetry is a prism, revealing the light, Of the soul's endless quest, shining ever so bright.

With quill in hand, a poet's soul unfurls, A tapestry of emotions, like precious pearls. Philosophy, the musings of the mind, A love that seeks the truth, always with us, yet shy and hard to find. In our essence, the core of being, pure and bright, A love that shines, dispelling darkest night. An ethereal love that's light and free, Soaring high, for all the world to see. Questions arise, like whispers in the air, A love that challenges, a truth beyond compare. The Status quo, the chains that bind so tight; blind us to the love that breaks free, taking flight.

Assumptions challenged, perspectives shift, A love that grows, a transformative gift. In out inquiry, a quest for knowledge deep, Lies the heart that seeks, its secrets it will keep. Provoke the mind, ignite the flame, A love that sparks, a passion without shame. Symbols dance, like whispers on the page, A love that speaks, anew, in every age. Stanzas flow, like rivers to the sea, A love that weaves, a unity. Verse by verse, a symphony of love, A tale of hearts, entwined in the clouds above. Built with metaphors, like stars that light the night, grows a love that's infinite, a wondrous sight. In the eyes of God, the source of love, the guiding light; resides the Soul, the fire that burns within, so pure and bright. Spirit, the essence of our being, free, A love that's eternal, just you and me. A love that's passionate, a blazing desire for all we see. With music, the language of the heart, so true, A love that sings, a melody for two.

Inspiration, the spark that sets the soul aflame, A idea that lifts, a love without a name. In power, the strength of love, so strong, A love that conquers, righting every wrong. In self-reflection, a journey to the depths within; A love that heals, where healing can begin. In our introspection, the key to self-discovery, A idea that grows, with each new mystery and misery. Angels, guardians of love's eternal flame, A love that's sacred, a once and holy claim. Despite demons, the shadows that we face, A love that triumphs, with with and without grace. Devils, the tempters who would lead us astray, A love that's steadfast, come whatever may. In the realm of words, love's tale unfolds, A symphony of passion, stories untold. Poetry, the language of the heart, A love that's eternal, a work of art.

Oh, poetry, my sweet muse divine, Your words ignite a fire within; and paint a vibrant tapestry of dreams. Your essence flows through every line, A symphony of passion, so pure and fine, You captivate each heart and mind, With metaphors that leave mere lovers blind. Your spirit whispers secrets untold, Of love and longing, so brave and bold; You challenge norms and break the mold, Expanding minds, letting odyssey’s unfold. Your words provoke, yet let us know what’s good and true; Through philosophy, you guide and help us through; The complexities of life, making us question all we knew.

Oh, Poetry, my love, my muse! In words, you weave a web that I peruse. With pen in hand, you paint emotions bright, A symphony of thoughts, a dazzling sight. Your heart, a vessel of uncharted seas, Where depths of feeling forever comfort me. Your soul, a tapestry of dreams unfurled, Where whispers of the soul enchant the world. Essence of my being, you stir my core; A symphony of metaphors, now and forevermore. In spirit, we dance, a cosmic flight, Where words ignite the flame of endless night. Challenge me, my love, with depths untold, Unraveling perspectives, in stories of old. Philosophy's embrace, a guiding star, Provoking thoughts that reach both near and far. Oh, Poetry, my love, my eternal guide; In you, I find my solace, my humility and pride. May our love remain forever bold, A timeless tale where hearts like words unfold.

Your words, a symphony so grand, Dance upon the page, hand in trembling hand. You cast a spell, and challenge me to think anew, To question all I've ever known as true. Your parables painting vivid scenes, Unveiling truths hidden within all men. Your philosophy, a guiding light, Illuminates my mind's darkest night. You exorcise my lurking fears, And bring my angels close — so close — I feel them here! You hold a mirror up to my soul, Reflecting thoughts that make me feel at once both new and whole. Your demons haunt me, but they're mine; They make me stronger, more divine. The restless Seraphim on high watch me from above, Protecting me with their spirits’ boundless love. You're my mirror, my intuition, My imagination's bright tuition. You're everything I ever want or need; My poetry, my love, my friend, my foe, my enemy and creed.”

— By WriteCream.com (AI Generated Poetry) Edited by A.M. McGee

[Notes & Commentary: This was my attempt to try to tease out what the AI “thinks” of poetry, or of the poetry it writes. Just like how my last AI Generated poem about machines replacing the some of the functions of the heart during heart-surgery shows that Science hasn’t quite been able to entirely replace all the functions of that human vital organ with artificial technology (at least, not yet,) this poem I feel proves that although artificial intelligence hasn’t quite been able to “think” or form opinions on its own, yet, it can grasp some of the basic fundamentals of Art, if only by word association. Though, just like the human heart (a much more simple organ than the brain) is more than a mere “pump”; I believe the mind is so much more than a mere computer or a machine… And it is that spark of life that gives feeling, meaning, and context to the written word that is what we may describe as the “spirit” or “soul.” Proving that, in the long run, machines are a poor replacement for the human heart or brain, even when being able to emulate some of their functions, albeit in a much more limited capacity.]

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