#how does one obtain from an object a Joy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

penguinpeace · 5 months

Text

Personal and Impersonal desires

Disclaimer: The words below are from this article

Most of us will have encountered the idea that desires are a barrier to enlightenment. It occurs in Mr Ouspensky’s system, in the Shankaracharya’s teaching and in many other spiritual traditions. We are instructed to have fewer desires or to reduce all our desires to just one desire – the desire for liberation. But is this the only way? Is it really possible? How can it be achieved?

This is how Francis Lucille answered a related question:

Q: Is desire a hindrance and should certain objects be avoided?

This is not a path of detachment from objects, of depriving oneself of life. On the contrary, life should be a celebration. We need to discover what life is before we can truly celebrate it. When we find out what life really is, a natural detachment takes place. This detachment is effortless, because our discovery gives us such absolute happiness, cures us so radically of fear, gives us such an ease of being and freedom, that the usual objects of desire seem pale in comparison. In other words, we are not detaching ourselves from objects through practices or disciplines; they are detaching themselves from us as a result of understanding and causeless joy. The objects are all still available but the difference is that we no longer use them to obtain happiness. We use them to celebrate happiness.

There are no regrets on this path. We can still do whatever we previously wanted to do but we do it in freedom, because we understand everything we do as a celebration of our freedom, not as a means of fulfilment. When we have this understanding and attitude towards life, the universe cooperates with us. It becomes our accomplice. [The Perfume of Silence, ch6]

That does not mean that after enlightenment all desiring thoughts disappear. If we are thirsty, then it is natural to desire water. And isn’t listening to music, going for a walk in the countryside, enjoying a meal with friends all part of the celebration of happiness? All those activities must surely spring from an initial desire. So are some desires ‘good’ and others ‘bad’? Here is Rupert’s explanation:

There are two essential types of desire: one is initiated by the separate-inside-self thought and always seeks to acquire happiness and love through an object, situation or person; the other proceeds directly from our being, unmodulated by the sense of separation, and expresses, shares and celebrates itself in the world of form, that is, through objects, activities and relationships.

In other words, one goes towards happiness and love; the other comes from it.

Ultimately all desires are an expression of the peace, happiness and love that is our self, but if this is not clearly understood, happiness and love will always seem to be the goal of our activities and relationships rather than their source. [Presence: The Art of Peace and Happiness, p82]

So when a desire arises, how can we tell which sort of desire it is? And if it seems to be centred on a feeling of being a separate self, on one of those illusory I’s that Mr Ouspensky described, what should we do about it? Trying to get rid of desires is just like trying to get rid of thoughts or feelings – it doesn’t work. Here is Rupert’s advice:

Try to have thoughts, and therefore desires, that are in line with your deepest love and understanding. When you have a desire, as it arises, before you rush headlong to fulfil it, just pause. Ask yourself ‘on whose behalf is this desire arising?’ Does it truly come from love? From intelligence? From peace? Or does it come from a sense of lack, that is seeking, through the desire, to acquire an object – a substance, an activity, a state or a relationship – in order to give this fragment happiness. And if the desire is coming from that place, instead of seeking to fulfil the desire, through the acquisition of the object, turn around and question the fragment – the sense of lack, or dis-ease, or discomfort, from which the desire is arising. Because what you are really seeking through the acquisition of the object, is in fact lying just behind the discomfort. You have to go back through the discomfort this way [inwards towards the Self that feels the discomfort] in order to find what you are truly looking for in the object out there.

But if the desire does come from a sense of fulfilment, then feel free to act on the desire. You can pursue the desire, and if the desire is not fulfilled, you won’t mind in the least. Because it was coming from fulfilment, you were already fulfilled, so it doesn’t matter to you in the least if your desire is not fulfilled, it leaves no trace of longing or disappointment in you.

[Video clip, 14/11/2013: The Universe Fulfils Impersonal Desires]

Rupert describes those desires that come from happiness and a sense of fulfilment, as impersonal desires, and those that revolve around a separate self, as personal desires. Here is some advice he gave at the recent retreat in Wales about how to tell the difference:

One way to tell whether our desire is impersonal or not, is that if the desire is not fulfilled, we don’t mind. If the desire is coming from a sense of lack, then if it’s not fulfilled, we will feel frustrated. But if for instance, let’s say the desire for a companion, if it’s coming from a desire for love, then if we don’t get the companion, we will feel empty, we will feel frustrated, unloved and unloving. But if the desire is coming from love, from a desire to simply celebrate that love and express that love, because it is natural for love to be celebrated and expressed, then if the desire is not fulfilled immediately, then we are just left with our love. There’s no frustration there. So that’s a good way to test on whose behalf the desire or the request is rising.

[Buckland Hall retreat 26/04/2016: The True Safety of Awareness]

It is sometimes said that if you want something strongly enough, you will usually eventually get it.

This often seems to work, but we need to make sure the desire is an impersonal one:

Q: Would you say that when you would like something to happen, you better ask it clearly?

RS: Not clearly - impersonally. Because the reason why an impersonal desire is fulfilled is because the one who is asking is the same as the one who is asked. But what you desire, or ask for, has to be asked for on behalf of the whole – not on behalf of the person. Therefore, it must be an impersonal desire. So if you ask the universe to send you a companion to fill up your sense of lack, beware! You won’t enjoy your companion. But if you ask the universe to send you a companion to share and express and celebrate the impersonal love that you feel, then the universe will send you a very sweet friend. …

Just make sure that what you are asking for is on behalf of truth, love or beauty.

[Buckland Hall retreat 26/04/2016: The True Safety of Awareness]

What about the desire for enlightenment? Is that personal or impersonal? It often seems to start as a personal desire for an object or objective experience, but as Francis Lucille explains, it has a very different quality from a personal desire for a house, a car or a girlfriend:

The desire for the Absolute comes from the Absolute. Although everything is the deed of consciousness, to seek consciousness knowingly is a special kind of deed. It is not an ordinary type of activity. It comes from grace. Everything is grace, but to seek grace is a special grace.

[The Perfume of Silence, ch14]

It is that special grace that guides our search and leads us to our heart’s desire:

For a mind that has become accustomed for so many years to knowing only objects—that is, to focusing its attention and interests on the body, mind and world alone—it is inevitable that the desire to know oneself as some kind of a subtle object will persist. We will search for this aware presence and try to make it an object of our knowledge or experience.

However, if we return again and again to the experiential understanding that our self is the knower or witness of all objects, it becomes clear that it cannot itself be an object.

We may find ourselves again moving out into the so-called world but this time without motive. The inclinations of our particular body and mind are undertaken spontaneously, without calculation, and they leave no trace of a separate self. We may find our self still having desires but they are no longer motivated to find peace, happiness and love; they seek only to express, share and celebrate it.

[Rupert Spira: Presence - The Art of Peace and Happiness, p155.]

Most of us were brought up with the belief that in order to get what we want, we need to work hard and be persistent. But enlightenment doesn’t work like that. Here is an extract from a dialogue I had with Rupert on that subject:

RS: The energies of the separate self can only be directed towards objects. They can only be used

for the acquisition of some kind of a state, or an object, or a relationship. It is a dissolving of

those energies, not a redirecting of them. We cannot go towards enlightenment: we can only go

towards an object. Any direction that we take is the wrong direction.

…

JB: But the focus has been on remembering that I need to allow attention to sink back [into its

source].

RS: But the focus in this case is an activity of your mind. It’s a directing of your mind. It’s more a

relaxation of that focusing. You can’t direct the mind to its source. You can only direct the mind

to an object. It is the relaxation or the falling back of attention – not the redirecting of attention.

JB: But something initiates that.

RS: Yes. What initiates it from the separate self’s point of view? It seems to be initiated by a

desire for happiness, a desire for enlightenment. In fact the separate self doesn’t do anything, it

doesn’t desire anything. When the separate self feels the desire for happiness, what it is actually feeling is the pull of attraction from its true nature. The separate self doesn’t do anything – it is attracted by happiness, it is pulled by happiness. The separate self feels ‘I want to go there, I’m determined to get there’. No, all it’s feeling – and that’s what grace is – is the pull of awareness which is acting on the separate self.

So imagine you have a rubber band. The further you stretch the rubber band, the further one end of the band goes from the other end, the greater the force of attraction pulling it back to its original state. So the separate self is like a rubber band that goes out and out and out and out, seeking happiness in objects further and further and further away from its source. The further it goes from its source the greater the pull from its source. It experiences that pull as suffering. … The experience of suffering is happiness pulling us back to itself. The other end of the band can’t go looking for its source – it’s attracted back to its source. And when it comes back to its original condition, then all the tension is released, the suffering is released. That’s called ‘happiness’, when there is no more tension, no more suffering. It’s come back to its source, its original condition. The separate self has merged in the true self. That’s what happiness is. For the separate self can’t go there – it’s the only place the separate self can’t go.

[Gaunts House retreat 1/12/2014]

If we understand that we don’t choose our thoughts or actions – we are not the doer – it will be obvious that we don’t choose our desires either. Our desire for enlightenment just happens. If we cooperate with it – allow it to pull us back into its source – it will become impersonal, it will grow in intensity, and our deepest longing will be fulfilled:

Q. How should one lead one’s life if seeking enlightenment?

RS: According to the strength of one’s desire for enlightenment. In fact, everyone is searching for enlightenment, which is simply the search for Happiness. Most people search for Happiness in the realm of objects, that is, in the realm of the mind, body and world.

Once it has become obvious that Happiness does not reside in the realm of objects, all the energies that were previously directed outwards towards them are now gathered and turned towards their source.

At a certain point this becomes all-consuming and a great intensity arises in one’s heart.

What it is that ignites this love of truth, I do not know. It is truly a gift of Presence.

[Rupert Spira: Interview with Paula Marvelly - June 2010]

Contemplation

We never truly desire an object for its own sake; we desire only to be relieved of the agitation of resistance and seeking that takes us away from the Now into time. Thus, all we ever truly desire is to be desireless. [Rupert Spira]

#non dualism #desire #rupert spira

20 notes · View notes

lorei-writes · 1 year

Text

HC: Bunnies at Work - Kenshin

Kenshin General Headcanon

This is an old-ish headcanon prepared for the Twilight Fair edition of the @flash-exchange , for @spoopy-fish-writes . I wasn't in a position to post it here as well, and then it felt as if it was too late already... But fandom is all about sharing the joy, so how could it be too late? Everybody, feel invited to sit in for the tale of the greatest bunny wizard...

Content Warnings: none

This is a tale of Ume — „Who is she?” you may ask. The answer is not simple... Although she doesn’t brag! You see, Ume is a rabbit (she does jump rather high); Ume is a witch (her magic knows no bounds); Ume is a ... demon — But she’s very, very nice! Ume is a guardian. The best one Kenshin could have ever had

Ume owns a witch hat. She obtained the trinket after graduating from Hoppxford — special school for magical demonic bunnies.

She majored in Guardianship and Protection of Lost Souls.

Unknowingly, Kenshin has been one of the research objects included in her thesis. (Magic schools for demonic bunnies don’t seem to care much for obtaining consent). She found herself so fascinated by his case that she applied to become his guardian right on the day of her graduation.

Her first self-imposed duty was to memorise Kenshin’s preferences. She put together poems and rhymes to make the task easier on herself.

Plums are quite delicious, so it comes as no surprise: the one treat Kenshin loves are pickled plums. A snack sublime, they suit his taste — NONE can EVER go to waste!

The reason why Ume wanted to research Kenshin in particular? As she found in the registry, he had been cursed with: compassionate heart, young tragic love, ever-present death door, invincibility, and corroding sense of taste. (The prior include only the primary of his afflictions.)

What Ume did not expect was that she would have to solve a number of poltergeist infestation cases as well.

One such instance involved a voracious winged snake spirit who lingered in the castle kitchen.

Two wings growing from its head, its scales glimmered under the light like diamonds — one can only wonder why it had decided to feast on pickled plums. Only pickled plums.

It took Ume several days to realise Kenshin’s mood was growing sour. However, as soon as she became aware of the issue at hand, she hopped straight into the investigation.

The battle that ensued was a most gruesome one. Ume called upon the powers of wind, earth and fire — yet even that was not enough. Cornered, she reached deep within herself to unleash the power sealed there: the mighty chomp. It tilted the scales of battle in her favour, and so, she emerged victorious.

Spells most often utilised by Ume are: Shingen silencer, water sake-fication, Mai summoning, degrumpification, anger management and murder prevention (also known as de-stab).

Another spirit who invited itself over to Kasugayama was Tar-Tar, a small black ball of fuzz that feeds on pleasant dreams and replaces them with nightmares.

It was a powerful opponent as well. Seeing that her chances of success were slim if she were to attempt to exorcise the evil entity on her own, Ume partnered up with Mai.

While Mai comforted Kenshin in the physical realm, Ume left her body and entered his subconscious.

Tar-Tar’s pollution was overwhelming, but she did not consider failure an option. Careful to avoid the sticky substance, she ventured deeper into Kenshin’s mind.

The tricky thing about her task was that Kenshin absolutely could NOT realise she was involved in the operation at all. If she failed to hide her presence, he would remain susceptible to Tar-Tar attacks until the end of his days... But, if he banished the monster “himself”...

Kenshin of the dream was much younger, his features still being those of a boy rather than a man. His arms trembling, he gripped the training sword, a circle of armed men tightening around him. “You couldn’t save her...” they spoke.

Ume called for mist, clouds soon engulfing what was to eventually become a battlefield. She jumped forward. “Lies! Don’t listen to them!” She had a girl cry.

Kenshin looked around — the fight began. The weapon he wielded was poor, so Ume conjured him a better one. She danced alongside him, biting ankles of any of the nightmares... And just before they won, she hopped back into the reality, so that he could never know she was there.

Ume is the chief of the bunny army residing in Kasugayama. She recruited the other bunny guardians herself.

Tag List: @cilokgoang @violettduchess @the12thnightproject @oda-princess @tele86

#kenshin uesugi #ikesen kenshin #ikemen sengoku kenshin #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series

72 notes · View notes

hel-phoenyx · 4 months

Text

"I want to learn politics."

The face of her mother is blank. Her father, right next to her, throws her an encouraging look, while her second mother looks at the Queen of the Divine Mandate, axiety filling her eyes.

She knows what she asked is huge. A mountain to climb for her and for Lina, a lifetime of hate and paranoïa to unlearn. But it is necessary.

You don't prepare for a kingdom's succession while sitting idly studying what little was salvaged from the Ragnarök. You don't assure prosperity tranfering the power to a brother who didn't even wanted to reign, and is now locked away in his own heart and grief.

Her mother knows what she's asking.

This is not about learning how to rule a kingdom.

Not only.

"You want to study how to be a queen."

"Yes. Please listen to me before shutting me up, mom, she interjects as Lina was about to speak. The royal library is almost entirely destroyed, and your reign is already exceptional enough. Korrin doesn't want the throne and frankly, he isn't made for this. We reached peace, but now we have to maintain it and there is too little info on how to counter so many types of crisis the new government exposes us to. I know how to find the intel. And I know where."

"Ink Republic."

That wasn't a question.

She could recognize that sour face on her mother's traits anywhere. That was the one she has seen in a mirror everyday since she was born. She knows from who she was born, and how to convince her.

She also knows this is not enough.

"I am not sending you to... Him."

"Lina honey, objected her father. This is not about an old fight. Redemane I would understand, kind of, but nobody in the kingdom knows where your hate towards Faloi stems from. And he is the best teacher she could hope for."

"Hate..."

Lina's face twisted.

"This is not about hate. You don't know anything about that man."

"Then talk to me."

He walked towards her. Hands open. Only worry on his ever-juvenile face.

"Talk to me, Lina. Please."

That was enough to shut her up. Because, as a lot of people learnt the hard way, Lina the Ist Frosilaen never would talk about what she saw.

She sighed.

"Would he even teach her ? From what I know, we didn't assess how deep Adam ran his teachings into him. And Adam hated us."

"I am as for a month penpals with him, interjected the princess. He expressed nothing but joy at the idea. Of course, I still consider the possibility it would be a trap to bring to him the head of the heiress, but I think I can be well-prepared enough for such kinds of traps."

A little smile grew on her lips.

"I am, after all, Lina Frosilaen's proud daughter. If I can survive the H.A.R.D.I, I can survive a grouchy cousin, dont'cha think?"

Her mother gaver her back her smile.

"Touché. And I would be stupid to underestimate you. Alright, if you are hellbent on going, then go. But I want monthly reports and letters, and if I get only the hint he raised his hand on you, you come back here immediatly and I break every diplomatic treaties he's currently trying to make me sign."

"I think that's fair enough of a condition, laughed Baku. No one would risk the wrath of the one who lead the four nations to victory against a Worm."

"Does that mean you're leaving soon ? Interjected Shera. Baku, we should bake some goods for her to bring to Ink Republic ! Oh, and say hi to my cat, if he's still alive, she laughed. And to Faloi, too! And, and-"

She was cut in the middle of her sentence by a stern look from the queen, who concluded the meeting by dismissing the princess with a move of the end. Positively overjoyed to have obtained what she came here for, she didn't protest. The modalities of her departure would be organisez soon enough. The Traveller blood in her veins made that very easy.

This was one of the last days princess Lamia Frosilaen-Claro would spend at the Divine Mandate's castle.

***

Her arrival was annonced with the reverence due to a princess, but Lamia still was surprised at that respect to protocol. From his letters, Faloi seemed to be a very anti-monarchy man, something she could respect to a certain extent; adding to this the state of Ink Republic and you'd get a combo where giving respect to princesses would be nearly impossible.

And yet, even though she came alone, without guards or maids, she was recognised and treted with nothing less but utmost respect. This was... Nice.

The guard that led her to Faloi's office bowed before knocking, announcing her. She was a bit surprised by the use of "cousin" except of "foreign princess", but said nothing. An interaction can teach a lot about a man's true feelings, and if Lina feared Faloi would not recognize her family with the same zeal than an uncle she never knew, that fact melted like snow with the use of that epithet.

She didn't have time to mull this over, though. Faloi, after a second of silence, instricted her to come in, and she did, using all her observation power to record what Ink Republic has to offer.

President's office was not that different from the Queen's. Books everywhere, reports she can only assume to be top'secret, and in the middle of the room, a desk covered in documents, that a blonde man with long hair was reading with utmost care.

She never saw Faloi Frosilaen in person. Her mother was hellbent on never letting him on the Divine Mandate ever again. So she was, in a way, picturing a man with the same hair of her mother, jet-black, and the same hard traits. A vision that quickly shattered when he lifted his head.

There was no Frosilaen in his face. He was fair-skinned, yes, but not to Lina's extent, and his cheeks were covered in worry wrinkles. His traits were soft, more of a woman's than a man's, but she could still see the strenght and the magic hidden behind that apprent softness.

The only thing common with her mother, she noticed, were the bags under his pink eyes.

He stood up, and held his hand open in front of her. She shook it.

His hands were carrying so much strenght she suddenly wasn't so sure about being able to take on "the grouchy cousin".

"Welcome, Lamia. Have a seat, have a seat. I was almost finished."

"Many thanks. What is that ?"

She pointed the book he was reading, now with a page tore down, marked with the seal of the President. Faloi frowned.

"One of the many laws of that country we must absolish. If you must, consider this book is the first of about thirty."

Lamia laughed.

"Considering the utterly ridiculous size of Ink City, I concur the laws are of the same level."

"You have no idea. Ink Ciry is for a lot of people, the God's Haven, bur for me, this is nothing but an administrative nightmare."

"And I do know a lot about nightmares considering my dad's side of the family, she laughed again. Still, I didn't expect that nickname. You see a lot of gods these days ?"

"My... Well, Love comes by often. Coming in to... "repair the mistakes of her predecessor". Death also pays us a visit from time to time. The others are strangely mute."

Not surprising for Lamia. She witnessed firsthand the whole cosmogony's revolution, with the Worm almost eating two members of the Supreme Council and one of the Four Horseknights. Moon still was recovering at Wake'li, apparently following Love's example at Ink City. No one heard about Disease since the death of her Avatar.

Universe's whole return probably is the cause of such a silence. but she knew better that to instruct Faloi of the implications of such a change. She just shrugged at the intel.

"Well, we don't have it any better. I wouldn't be too surprised if I was you. Except Desire, not many gods come by often, and Moon chose to recover in the Mandate. The others observe the same silence. Eithe rthe Ragnarök affected prayer transmission, or Universe's return makes them too afraid."

"That is a vaid possibility indeed. But let's drop the chit-chat and talk about something more serious."

he closed the book and towered around Lamia, far enoigh to not make her feel threatened, but close enough for her to feel his genuine curiosity.

"Your letter didn't help me much about what you were searching for. I can understand the sparse resources in the Mandate, but why call for me, specifically ? Even though I am in the middle of diplomatic treaties with the Four and most of all the Mandate, I am still a foreign dirigeant, and I thought your mother's hate was shared by all the royal family."

There was something in his words Lamia coudn't quite pinpoint. Was it loneliness ? Or sadness, maybe. A secret hope for an anwser that would satisfy him behind utmost professionalism. Something normal people probably could not even detect, considering the banality of Faloi's tone.

She didn't know if what she was seeing was from her imagination, her observation abolities, or if her father's power on fear detection passed more on her than she thought. But no matter, the best diplomacy choice would be to play along and tell him part of the truth. As much for trust than to put him at ease with her.

"Mom's uneasiness with Adam's lineage is well-known but not shared. Furthermore, she is as overwhelmed with work as you, but said work is less varied. I figured you would give me a better field teaching, and at the same time help improve our diplomatic relationships in a fluid way rather than with treaties. I will take the throne at some point, after all."

A pale smile grew on Faloi's lips.

"And so you decided to come learn under the dirigeant with the most political problems the whole continent has ever seen. Quite audacious if I can be frank with you."

Lamia flashed him the same smile.

"Well, better get every experience there is, don't you think ?"

***

If anyone asked her, Lamia would say was acclimating quite well to Ink Republic. Learning everything she could and finding herself in her element, during a very eventful stay. And for the most part, that was true. She was enjoying herself a lot during the months she spent in Ink City.

After all, there are no better teachings that discovering three coups, dismantling one and finding herself on the verge of being assassinated two times.

She already recruited one of the assassins, and got herself intel in places Faloi wouldn't even be able to check. Her cousin, she learnt, wasn't as keen on listening what prostitutes had to say than her. Not because of some sort of contempt, but more because showing his face in a brothel would be the death of his career.

She, on the other hand, was playing around the whole frivolous princess image the deputies had of her. Showing claws only when necessary, quickly she built herself the image of the idiot that can't understand what she's listening, only thinking of sheer pleasure.

People that saw her bare fangs are now dead.

So yes, she was enjoying herself quite a lot. that is, until she noticed.

Lamia is and always has been an observant woman. She knew what people thought of her in a whim, and what man to fear or what other to disregard. She knew how to assess power and influence of anyone she talked to, or what are the signs of intelligence she should pay attention to. But she knew nothing about love.

Nothing, except the longing looks Korrin would give her when Aelie's subject came on the table, on one of their countless calls. Nothing, but how her mother found happiness in her husband and wife, the laughs and the hugs and the kisses. They found both happiness and suffering in love, something she was stranger to.

Well, the most accurate term was "romantic love". Something she never lived for herself, and something Faloi seemed to be placed under.

She noticed the first incongruities in his behaviour when she came by. Chifuniro Eccesias, Genos's Director. Apparently a technological utopia, buiuld on intelligence and innovations, values that Lamia could respect. She knew enough to know better, though.

Daughter of a black mage, the treatment of her father's species made her blood boil the first time she read about them, and that allowed her to see how that utopia was rotten to the core.

Rotten apples always make people sick. She was afraid to see how Faloi was biting it nevertheless.

This was not voluntary. Just some things she noticed from time to time. Faloi's strange forgetfulness everytime he saw her, something she apparently was a stranger to. The easiness she was able to put in many reforms that were beneficial to her. Some looks she was giving to her President, looks that were shared.

That got bad enough to warrant an emergency meeting.

"This is not like you, she started. You are holding just fine, but I got used to absolute perfection coming from you. Maybe it's just an impression, but I'd better adress the problem before it becomes dire."

He nodded.

"I think I see what you mean. Me, too, I can see I am not as efficient as usual when it comes to that woman. But the "why" is a mystery to me."

"Oh, I can explain to you just fine. You're in love."

"I'm in.... what ?"

"You're in love. Congrats, cousin, she laughed in front of his astounded expression. Apparently work didn't kill that part of you."

"That sass is hash but fair. I didn't think I would ever have time to... Well. Fall in love."

"She is quite lovely. And a woman of your tastes, added Lamia with a little wink. I am quite fond of her peace reforms, and you two would work together just fine..."

Her face went serious again.

"... If she wasn't the leader of a country before under your tutelage, trying to wring you of every privilege she can. Please be careful."

She meant it.

***

Seeing the execution of a traitor didn't bring her as much joy as she believed at first.

Of course she was expecting Chifuniro to betray them. She saw the whole guild of Snakes ordeal unfold almost in front of her very eyes. But Faloi had been a little too much blinded by emotion. Just a little. And this is what it brought him.

The head of Chifuniro went rolling at their feet. Followed the ones of the leaders of the guild, the ones who tried to put the Seraphims back in power. Everything went back to the usual tension, as fine as Ink Republic could be.

Shifahrad's tail was moving very fast next to her. She was nervous, and rightfully so. The snakes were her first emplyers before Lamia took her under her wing, and seeing their ending would not help her uneasiness. Thinking that all this, the example they made of them, would have been done to her had she not eccapted the princess open hand does that to people.

Lamia was aware of that. But what was occupying her thoughts the most was Faloi's tired expression.

"it was the good decision, she said. You made an example of her. She herself understood it at her very last moments. No Genosian is stupid enough to not know when they lost."

"I know. And I don't... Regret, in a way. But still..."

"I can imagine it hurts, yeah. And you hate how it does nevertheless."

Faloi nodded.

"Bull's eye. Observant as ever."

"I learnt from the best."

Shifahrad laughed. A little, empty laugh. Probably she was aware, if not sharing, the hollowness living in her employers' head right now.

Lamia extended her hand. Putting it on her cousin's shoulder.

"You know, Faloi, considering what you shared during those years, you have a right to feel hurt."

"I have no time to regret a traitor."

"You have time to regret a woman that loved you and that you loved. Please don't let work take that away from you."

But she could see in his eyes it was too late.

A little laugh escaped his lips. Empty.

"Lamia Frosilaen-Claro lecturing me on feelings as she is an emotion guru..."

"Oh com'on, I am not that emotionless."

"You're no better than me, though. Sadly there is no time left for me to prove it, is there ?"

Inded there was not. Lamia's stay was coming to an end, her departure planned for the day after the execution. She had been too estranged of her own kingdom for too long, and her return was the perfect occasion to put Lynthe to safety. She couldn't postpone it for the sake of her cousin. Even if this was the worst time to leave him alone.

"Sadly yes. But knowing mother, she will be all-too-happy to give me all the diplomatic missions now. I'll be back soon enough."

It semmed for a moment he wanted to say something. Something stuck in his throat for a long time. But Lamia waited, and silence was her only answer. Up until Faloi shrugged, still looking at the execution site with empty eyes.

"That's a good thing. Say my salutations to Lina for me. If she even eccepts them."

***

It had been almost twenty years since that conversation. Nevertheless, when Lamia entered the President's office, it seemed like the last time she was truly alone with him was yesterday.

Faloi hadn't changed much. He got older, compared to her who didn't even get a wrinkle. More tired, too, but that was to be expected. Almost fifty years of leading Ink Republic and he couldn't even throw an election like he so ardently wished to.

His face still lit up a little when she came up unannouced in his office.

"Lamia, it is good to see you."

"Likewise. The years didn't treat you well, but I am happy to see you in somewhat good health."

Faloi smiled a little bit, but his next reply was cut with a very annoyed voice coming from behind Lamia.

"Apologies for the unpoliteness, but this is no time for a tea party. We have a whole fucking problem on our arms, for fuck's sake."

Lamia huffed. Ever so polite, father.

Faloi was hoverwer not destabilised. He got up and went to shake Baku's hand with a polite nod.

"Your Majesty. Thank you for coming in such a short notice."

"There is absolutely no problem. We kinda need all help we can to deal with that menace of a twin, don't we ?"

His tone was polite, but cold. Lamia didn't know if it was caused by Faloi himself or the menace they were here to talk about.

Faloi didn't let that go unnoticed. His tension in the shoulders, relaxed when he thought only Lamia was in the room, was proof of that. But then again, it could be due to both personal grudges or the inherent fear born from the sight of a nightmare harbinger.

"Right. Akira. I am not gonna beat around the bush, we are gonna need your expertise. Nightmare harbingers are not enough known in Ink Republic, especially that one. Yet, they are powerful enough to destroy Genos's main library..."

He went tense at Genos' mention.

"... And many others. Rumor has it they even managed to control Beleco for a time gods know how."

"I have my ideas knowing Beleco's whole structure, grunted Baku, but carry on. They're coming to Ink City, are they?"

"Yes. We need to stop them before they reach the city. And put an end to their life, if possible. I already gathered all the clerics and my army, but we have to cover the whole city, and we will need to know the best strategy to defeat him. Maybe Nru... ?"

"Forget about Nru, cut Baku, harsh. She has the ideal Domain against Immortals such as myself, but would be too slow to react. They would kill her instantly, and painfully."

Faloi nodded.

"This is what I feared. The problem is, we're out of options."

"Not quite."

Smiling coldly, Baku pulled out a huge book from his bag, marked at a very precise page.

"This is an extract of the workings of the first magister magicae. One, as we call him in history, had encountered Immortals in his research, and designed a spell able to block their regeneration."

"That would be.... Ideal, in fact. What are the drawbacks ?"

New cold smile. Lamia was looking at her father silently, jauging the anger in his behaviour. No, that was definitely not Faloi causing this. More like, the situation they were in.

In retrospective, she could get why.

"At least you're not as idiot as I feared. The major drawback would be that it's a very long spell to cast, count around five minutes. We would need to keep them in the same place for the duration of my incantations, which is complicated enough."

He closed the book, still looking directly into Faloi's eyes. Faloi who was listening patiently, waiting for the conclusion.

"Other minor drawbacks are that I would necessary be the one to cast the spell, since I am the most powerful healer here and an Immortal. As such, I can't use magic for anything else during the incantations. Akira, however, still will be able to use his other Domains."

"He will retaliate, added Lamia, calmly. And if we manage to hurt, but not kill him, this could put us in a dire situation."

Faloi nodded.

"I see. Well, I am afraid this is still the best solution we can get. But I won't have enough men powerful enough to protect you and restrain him, while protecting the population. Can't the Divine Mandate help ?"

"We would, if we could, sighed Lamia, but all our energy is dedicated to reconstruction right now. And bringing one of our mages in the fight would only anger her more. I am already 100% sure that if dad and Nru are in the same spot, she will use an instakill spell without hesitation."

"Alright. I may have a solution at hand, but we will need to wait and see if they come. in the meantime, you are my estimeed guests. Please make yourself comfortable."

"Oh, the memories, laughed Baku, a little bitterly. But I take the offer. I'll see you later, Faloi."

That's on what he left, bringing with him the book and that evergrowing tension. Lamia, however, stayed behind. Looking at her cousin behind the desk, you just seemed to age up twenty years.

"Apologies for his bluntness, she sighed. The situation in the kingdom is still... Well. Complicated."

"I take it the rumors on your sister's death are true."

Her heart ached. Shereen, poor little girl, so young and defenseless. Baku's pride and joy. Shera's pride and joy. Lina's little sunshine that won't ever shine again.

Lamia's little sister.

"Yes. Akira killed her. Dad didn't forgave himself for not seeing it coming."

"All my condoleences."

He was sincere, Lamia could feel it. Even though his tone was the same tired as usual, even though his face couldn't express anything, she knew he felt genuine hurt. For her, for Baku, and for her sister's demise.

He just hid it too well for other people.

"Thank you."

A look exchanged between the two of them.

Eyes saying more than words could ever.

***

"Faloi, with all due respect, what the actual fuck ????"

Lamia never was this impolite before, especially now that she was close from sixty. But in her defense, that woman was the last thing she expected to see in her cousin's office.

Well, the problem was not the woman. She seemed pleasing enough in her opinion, a bit too blunt, maybe, but Lamia could see between her eyes true intelligence and reflexion. No, the problem was the prosthesis taking place of her left arm. Undoubtedly of genosian facture.

A genosian in the president's office. That didn't happen since Chifuniro. and this is exaclty what she had a problem with.

"Ah, Lamia, said Faloi. May I introduce you to Ether, my councelor."

Said Ether was looking at her with distrust. Fair enough, thoight Lamia. She didn't exactly give a good first impression. Something she will have to repair ugently, especially considering that very high title.

Councelor. How in the Abyss did that happen, Lamia didn't know. But the questions wold come later.

She stuck her hand to the woman. Elven, probably around thirty. At least that's what her aura said.

"Apologies for the impoliteness. I am princess Lamia Frosilaen, heir to the throne of the divine Mandate, and charged of the diplomacy between my kingdom and the Republic."

"It is... an honor."

That girl doesn't know how to lie, thought Lamia. She was still distrustful. She even saw her tense at the mention of her family name. But there was something else. Some kind of longing look, that strenghtened when she looked at Faloi, and...

oh, Intrigue the First.

"Faloi, she said, would it be possible to talk to you privately as soon as possible ? I have urgent matters to discuss with you, and Shifahrad will get worried if I don't come back in time."

"Of course. Ether, if you please..."

She obtempered, but Lamia could see how much she didn't want to do that. Leaving Faloi alone, or leaving him alone with her ? In any case, it was getting very serious.

As soon as the door closed on her, she turned towards Faloi.

"Never did I thought I'd see a Genosian again in your office after what happened with Chifuniro, Faloi. Do I take it you have a type ?"

"I don't see what is prompting that."

"Oh please. She's head over heels for you, that's visible like my goddamn nose in the middle of my face. And you feel something for her too don't you ?" She cut in the middle of Faloi's attempt to respond. "Don't try to hide it from me. I know you well enough. Even if it's not love, there is something."

Faloi sighed.

"She is... Trustworthy. You saw how bluntly she acts and how true to herself she stays. This is something I missed. Having someone who will just tell me the truth."

That was fair enough. And that Ether didn't seem like Chifuniro. Or even herself. Master in the art of lies.

But still...

"I know you're worried, Lamia, sighed Faloi. I'm gonna throw back your words at you, but I know you well enough. But I have the situation at hand. She won't betray me."

That was a tone saying "She brings me a buttload of other problems but not that one, I am sure of". Lamia could read that easily. Somehow that was more reassuring than pretending the woman was the perfect advisor.

She nodded.

"Well, I know you will handle this. I trust you. But well, Ether matter aside, there was something else..."

And this is how that chapter was closed.

At least that's what she thought.

***

Her mother calling her in her office was rare enough for Lamia to worry.

She felt even more dread seeing her pale face next to an Ink Republic seal.

"You wanted to see me, mom ?"

Behind her, Lynthe and Shifahrad tensed . They met the queen already, in their fifty years at the place, but this was the first time Lamia askd them to accompany her in a meeting with her. Somehow that fact was less reassuring than the presence of the queen herself.

Lina was close to death. At least that's what her people thought. Her hair got greyer, her face was fillof wrinkles. Her right eye was losing accuracy evry day a little bit more. Still Lamia never saw her looking more old than she was today.

"Sit down. I need to talk to you."

Lamia obeyed. The dread was stopping her to protest.

Lina was too emotional.

Too... Sad.

What was happening ?

"Mom ?"

"Take a biscuit first."

She never did that before.

With Lina, it was always straight to the point. She asked what she needed, she told what she had to, and it was over. Her being adamant on making things go slow only made Lamia more worried.

Her fist clenched.

"Mom, what's wrong ?!"

Truly you don't listen, do you, sighed Lina. Alright. I received a letter of the Ink Republic today. With... Unsettling news."

She closed her eyes.

"Baku wanted me to announce that to the kingdom as soon as possible, but I judged I would tell you first."

Lynthe and Shifahrad shivered. Lina's tone was too... Resigned. Too calm. For her usual way of talking about Ink Republic. Lamia helped build solid diplomacy between them, with the help of Faloi working so hard to rebuild the bridge between them, but that didn't mean Lina liked what relationship they had.

She still hated Faloi. She still hated Paper continent as a whole. She shut up because it was for the Divine Mandate.

That made her attitude all the more weird.

"Is there something wrong with the Republic ? With the treaties ? Do I need to arrange a meeting with Faloi to-"

"He's dead."

Lamia stopped right on her tracks.

That didn't stop her mother. Blurting her information in an empty tone, her hands shivering on the desk.

"He's dead, Lamia. He tried to reunite all the dirigeants of countries wanting independance to sing a peace treaty and finally move on to reforms. They trapped him in his own negociation room to kill him, 83 vs one."

But Lamia was not listening anymore.

Dead.

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead.

Faloi, dead. Her cousin, dead. The person she thought the most of a friend in that godsforsaken world, dead. Stabbed in the back by the people he tried to free.

Dead without achieving anything.

Something felt heavy on her cheek. And wet. She held her finger under her eyes, blinking when whe saw on her nail a droplet of water.

A tear.

Was she crying ?

Did she ever cry?

***

In all my lifetime, no one showed me more understanding than the first President of Ink Republic, my cousin, Faloi Frosilaen. Our family history may be sour, between the hate shared by my mother and his father, Adam Frosilaen, or the history between our two nations, but when I asked to learn under him, never he showed any grudge of some sort and always treated me as his equal, a woman worth of his teachings.

Our collaboration was the best thing to ever happened to the Divine Mandate. Under him, I went from princess to queen. I learnt how to manage a country, I learnt how to spot traitors, and I learnt to listen to the people. Ironically, he helped far more the Divine Mandate than he ever could the Ink Republic. The Divine Mandate would not be the kingdom it is without him. I wouldn't be the queen I am without him.

He was a good man. A bit idealist by moments, trying to do everything at the same time. Ruthless if needed, ready to sacrifice even his personhood for his dream. Sometimes, I wonder if he would have been happier if he just gave up. But give up didn't even come to his mind once.

I won't let him be remembered by the world as a tyrant.

Extract of Lamia the Irst Frosilaen-Claro coronation speech

#hel is talking #lysara #lysara ibruael #hel ocs #hel stories #hel writing #please keep in mind many of the events are still vague since they were not written or decided upon #and I don't know much about Ether's stay #but I wanted to write something about Lamia's relationship to Faloi and it may have gotten a bit out of hand

5 notes · View notes

biinaberry · 2 years

Text

Toy Soldier

Statement #9180125, "Toy Soldier" A collection of letters from ‘Mr. Scar B. Goodtimes’, to a fellow colleague. Letters dating from June 15, 1917, to February 25, 1918.

"Under new management I have recently been put on the board of the Restoration, and Relic team, commonly shortened to R&R, under the artifact branch of work site Maple. The boss was searching through company files and prior positions and came across one titled ‘Curator.’”

[Magmits is not a part of or associated with Hermit Archives]

[Ao3] [Google Docs] Editor: @aroaceacacia

“Testing testing one two three. Can anybody hear me? Or well, guess this is more of a camera or recorder than any form of microphone.., but it still does the job.”

“Under new management I have recently been put on the board of the Restoration, and Relic team, commonly shortened to R&R, under the artifact branch of work site Maple. The boss was searching through company files and prior positions and came across one titled ‘Curator’. Apparently, that one managed to slip through the cracks because the last guy who worked it left in the early 1960’s and was never replaced. Or well, ‘left’ is a loose word, apparently the guy just disappeared one day after hours. Apartment was a mess. Potted plants were all over the room, hanging from the ceiling, attached to the walls, on the ground. Said to have looked like an indoor jungle. Almost 20 boxes of statements as well, I don’t even know how he snuck them all out. Either way, the boss gave the honor of working with old, damaged and barely kept together artifacts and relics to moi. Much joy in that.”

“The position boils down to a maintenance man. I slowly go through our collection of statements and artifacts and verify that the info paired together is correct. If info is incorrectly matched, it’s my job to track down the correct statement and notify the higher ups. They also proposed the idea that with each statement I record I’d get a bonus, since the prior record-keeper was moved to restoration. Something along the lines of the last dude messing up one too many times with the type of varnish to use on our paintings.”

“All in all, I’m excited for this one, it reminds me of my prior job as a seamstress for the museum. Hopefully it’ll be just as easy, with less of the buffoons.”

The sounds of a chair being pushed back accompanies the tap of dress shoes on a stone floor. The recording device picks up the creak of a door opening, and a soft thud as it closes. The footsteps start to echo; the room she's in must be larger, or emptier. A light fizzling sound overlays the next few sentences. “My best bet is to try and work from oldest to newest, since I don’t currently have a list of prior recorded statements. I’ll see if management can update me on that. For now- “ she turns on a lightswitch, the room seems to buzz. “-They need to change these lightbulbs…” she mutters. A soft metallic thump, and then a pulling screech reverberates through the room, grating and grinding as though the cabinet drawer were more owl than metal. “.... and these cabinets…”.

“Hm? What's this? ‘Folders contained within this cabinet pertain to objects and statements obtained during times of war. Corresponding artifacts will be found under the same numbers as its statement in storage unit ISO-W09. It is mandatory to handle items with vinyl gloves. Statements have been copied and transferred onto a more sturdy material; however, some folders still contain remnants of the original print and as such, all paper must be handled with care. Failure to follow protocol will result in immediate termination of the person or persons responsible for damages.’ Nice of them to put a plaque on top of the cabinet.”

The sound of rustling paper, of different weights and textures, and the occasional folder being pried open, fingers scraping along its edges. She hisses briefly, curses under her breath. Once again, the sound of paper, this time sliding across a surface. It's quiet for a moment, until one last file is opened. She makes a noise of satisfaction: her interest is piqued.

“‘Toy Soldier’? Okay, bets are on. I’m going with either a sickly Victorian kid, or a soldier who’s surprised that war isn't glorious.” The cabinet is carefully shut, despite its screams of pain and suffering, and footsteps once again signal the Curator returning to her office.

“Management advises me to record myself every time I’m on shift, mentioning that in case the camera footage goes down, I at least have my personal recorder as proof. I thought they were talking about absolute rubbish, but apparently, Diane in the statues department almost had her license stripped away. Uh, something with the statues and incorrect marble care and how it was actually Bianca who flubbed it up.”

A door is opened again. “Statement recordings will also be kept separate from everyday recordings, so be back in a click.”

---------------

“Cleo Zombie, curator of work site Maple, record number: #9180125. Statements of one ‘Mr. Scar B. Goodtimes’, from a collection of letters to and from his fellow colleague. Dating from June 15, 1917 to February 25, 1918. Date of recording: April 16, 2019.”

[Redacted] England, June 15, 1917

Pilot Grian W. [Redacted],

I worry for both of us. The horrors you wrote to me about in your last letter were truly chilling! You said “the sky was your calling”, that you were born to be a pilot. Doesn’t it scare you, being so high up, the only thing keeping you from falling a contraption that could itself fall apart at any moment? Aren’t you scared of storms, of losing your way, of burning in the sunlight? You’ll fall to your death out there, my friend! There are safer options! If you’re in need of work, I can make room for you in the factory - pull a few strings, throw my weight around. I’m their best engineer, after all - nobody can design a weapon quite like me. I suppose you’d have to prove your worth, but you have a way of stubbornly making yourself worthwhile… And speaking of that stubbornness, I must implore you once again, my friend. I know better than most how hard it is to change your mind, but you cannot pursue these flights of fancy. You’ll spell your own doom. What was that story, about a boy who flew and burned up in the sun? If he had lived in this modern era, his wings would have been shaped like your BE2.

Write back to me as soon as possible, I worry for your wellbeing.

…………………………………

Yours Respectfully,

Scar B. Goodtimes.

---------------

Bridgeport, Connecticut, 3 August 1917

Respected Friend Scar,

Did you forget our adventures in the training yards? Or has the ammunition you inhaled ruin more than just your lungs? How utterly presumptuous and rude, to claim that I, your friend, would be, what - smited by God? Struck by lightning? Shot by a bullet, fired from a little gun? How juvenile, Goodtimes. My nephew with his wooden bow would be more of a threat than whatever poppycock this war brings to the fields. After all, if I can outrun Mr. D, then who’s to say that death itself can’t be cheated? If you’re that afraid of what cannot be proven, then hold your heart, let me have the honour of stopping it by my own hands.

…Though, it would be cruel to make you wait until our next reunion to stop your heart. Who knows when these little squabbles will end? In the meantime, take a gift. Enclosed in this box should be a set of soldiers that belonged to me when I was a boy. Take good care of them, heard from my mother that they were worth a good few pounds. Oh - and that story you recalled, of a boy who flew? He died for his hubris, for making wings made of wax; and in case you haven’t noticed, mine are made of wood and canvas. But, if fate decides to play a cruel joke on me after all, at least you’ll have a memento of me.

Also why move to Connecticut of all places? Would’ve presumed Chicago or more industrial locations to be more advantageous.

…………………………………

Remain Close,

Grian W. [Redacted]

---------------

[Redacted] England, August 19, 1917

Pilot Grian W. [Redacted],

I am pleased to inform you that your shipment of trinkets have arrived safely. I’ll give Jellie the honor of being the first to break one from bumping it off the nearest table. Shockingly, they do bring a peace of mind. I’ve taken to placing them alongside my office desk and window sills around my home. What was the phrase you used, watching willows? But there’s no willows anywhere nearby…

On the matter of my current residence, my coworker gave the place to me. He told me my lungs could use the ocean air - and that the view couldn’t hurt, either. He arranged for a carrier to bring my messages to me, and to carry my letters to the post office. If it’s seen that I need to be in person, my coworker assured me he would come to me! How sweet of him. Jellie apparently found the drapes to be her new sworn enemy, sadly. I’ll enclose a photo of her to keep you company, with your new apparent lack of tin soldiers to calm your mind.

…………………………………

Yours Respectfully,

Scar B. Goodtimes.

---------------

[Redacted] England, August 27, 1917

Pilot Grian W. [Redacted],

I find myself afraid once again, my old friend. The tin soldiers… must be part of my imagination. I made it a personal rule to keep them off the kitchen counters, because Jellie has an easy time knocking them off there, and I wouldn’t want to meet your wrath if they broke - nor the pain of me trying to reach them from my wheelchair, again. My counters have been soldier-free for days. Yet today, when I entered the kitchen for breakfast, I saw a group of them, two on the counter and one on the floor.

It looked like those old stories we would reenact. The hero backed against a cliff as their adversaries slowly stalked in, pushing them closer and closer over the edge. Yet sadly the hero failed. It was cinematic, before I remembered that your wonderful gift was on the floor. The relief that the figure didn’t break briefly allowed me to forget the eventual long haul I was in, but after a few hours and a stick I was finally able to put it back on the counter.

When I turned my head, however, I saw another soldier sitting under a hanging cabinet, staring right at me with a single scratched out eye. Or the equivalent of one; I suppose if he’s made of tin he doesn’t exactly have eyes. It was disturbing nonetheless, so I quickly picked all them up and stuffed them back in your box.

For the sake of my dreams staying sweet, I pray that it is only Jellie playing with the soldiers, and perish the thought of anything else.

…………………………………

Yours Respectfully,

Scar B. Goodtimes.

---------------

Bridgeport Connecticut, 12 September, 1917

Respected Friend Scar,

You’re letting your work affect your health. They’re simple tin soldiers, nothing more. I heard through our papers that your manufacturing plant is pumping out more char coloured dust than any smoke from Mr. D’s pipe. Isn’t that why you moved in the first place? You’re not well, take time off. We wouldn’t want death to be cloaked in gunpowder and cigar smoke. Anyway, I would’ve bragged to you if my toys suddenly gained the ability to walk n’ talk. Richest kid in the abbey, I’d be.

Keep them in the box if you’re so worried about figurines smaller than your hands. You always were the creative one in our partnership; even I couldn’t match your imagination. But don’t hold fantasies over reality, good friend. Thank you for the photo of Jellie however, she is still a darling ray of sunshine.

…………………………………

Remain Close,

Grian W. [Redacted]

---------------

[Redacted] England, September 25, 1917

Pilot Grian W. [Redacted],

They’re out of the box. I don’t know how but they’re not there. Three of them, the infantry with their tiny tin guns, were on my bed stand. I shouldn’t be afraid of some scraps of childish metal, but waking up face to face with the figures I knew for sure I’d placed inside that box… it makes my spine crawl even now. They stand in formation. This is more than simply Jellie playing, I know it. I have nobody I can turn to. I’m quite alone out here, and the carrier gives me funny looks, and the men from the factory will do more than just laugh at me if I go around talking about moving toys. Oh Grian my friend, I need help.

It’s always the one with the scratched out eye.

…………………………………

Yours Respectfully,

Scar B. Goodtimes.

---------------

[Redacted] England, November 09, 1917

Pilot Grian W. [Redacted],

I can’t feel my arm. Apologies for the sloppy handwriting but I’m just barely holding it together. The soldier's arm broke off. I knocked it off the bathroom sink in a fit of fear when I saw it in the mirror. And now- now I can barely lift my right arm. It won’t move. I don’t know what caused this. It’s metal, it’s a toy, and I know I have flesh and blood, so why? I’m so confused. Please, the boss doesn’t know. And respond to my letters.

…………………………………

Your Old Friend,

Scar B. Goodtimes.

---------------

[Redacted] England, January 25, 1918

Pilot Grian W. [Redacted],

It was never Jellie.

It was on the cabinet. I don’t know how. I’ve seen them on counters and windowsills, but Grian. I can’t reach the top of it. Jellie can’t reach the top of it. No one in this house should be able to reach it. And yet when I entered the doorway, there it was, staring at me with its single eye. It turned its head and I felt my head be yanked wherever it looked. Its one arm lifted before tearing off the other. I could do nothing as I felt my arm clench around the other, trying its best to rip the skin from my flesh. I’ve never booked it so quickly out of my house. I don’t even know how I managed. Jellie I’m currently writing in the park. I can’t turn my head. It's stuck like a magnet. I dont what do I. I left behind Jellie. I couldn’t grab her in time, I would never forgive myself if I left her behind.

But I can’t go back to that house. There's something wrong with your toys. Why do they haunt me? Did you plan this? From the beginning? There's no other British toy soldiers in America, or at least not in this city. Why do you not respond to my letters? I’m terrified, Grian. I can feel my chest seize and my heart burn. Grian please tell me that you didn’t plan this. We were always there for each other so be here for me. It’s not safe anymore. I miss you. Why would you do this to me?

I can’t leave Jellie behind.

…………………………………

Your Oldest Friend,

Scar B. Goodtimes.

---------------

“Previous researchers have confirmed the identity of one Mr. Goodtimes in the early 1900’s; however, it became quickly apparent that ‘Scar’ wasn’t his given first name. Consensus turned to it being a nickname, since descriptions of the man commonly included massive claw marks maring his face, reaching from his left temple to the right side of his chin. Multiple patents under the manufacturer ‘CVC’, or Connecticut Vex Corp, list him as co creator next to a man named Cub F. Vex, giving credit to the claims in his letters.”

“In storage unit ISO-W09, under the same case file, multiple small metal toy soldiers can be found within.” The rustling of some papers can be heard. “It’s stated that among the collection retrieved, the full set was not recovered - most notably, the gunman with a scratched eye that Scar focused on. In addition, three infantry, one artillery and a major are unaccounted for.”

The scratching of wood against the floor reverberates with quiet disbelieved mutter. “What the- ‘Tests conducted on the remaining soldiers produced results that directly contradict history. All three metallurgists that have been hired for testing the soldiers’ metal composition reported it containing mainly a zinc alloy with deposits of aluminum and magnesium. Which wouldn’t have been available at the time. Based upon both the form of the soldiers and the seams along the edges of their body, it can be assumed that they were hollow cast soldiers, which would have been made with a lead alloy. Furthermore, tests on the pigment used on the soldiers had come back with results of it being a two compound paint, or 2K paint.’”

“While originally planned for the soldiers to be thrown out, due to them being too modern for the twentieth century, degradation patterns on the outside of the metal do follow typical decomposition of zinc over 80 plus years. What’s interesting is that the figures all contain the ability to swivel their heads, and some with their arms.”

“Attempts have been made in the past to try and track Mr. Grian. However any form of writing including his last name has been smothered in ink, torn off or apparently burned off. His location in England also faced the same treatment. One recovered letter did have some paw prints decorating the margins. It seems Miss Jellie got her paws on some ink. With the lack of any description of the man in the letters, the results have been null and void. Anything from mailing addresses to checking the air division, it appears he has vanished from history, and is presumed to have been shot down like Scar feared. Mr. Goodtimes was also found dead in his Connecticut home, in 1923 by his coworker Mr. Vex after he stopped responding to the letter carrier. When the door was broken in, Mr. Goodtimes was found dead, peacefully sleeping on his bed. Autopsy shows no abrupt cause for his passing, so we can only really assume happenstance. Can’t be sure however, they didn’t specify much on this report and I’m no nurse.

Next to Mr. Goodtimes was a gray and white cat, presumed to be Jellie, sleeping beside him. Despite being approached multiple times by authorities to try to coax the cat away from Mr. Goodtimes, she would not move and even attacked if people got too close. Authorities decided to leave Miss Jellie alone. The letter carrier was then hired to drop off opened cans of food for the cat to make sure she was still eating.”

“With that, Curtains Close, End Statement.”

---------------

The sound of static and scrambling fills the air. Fingernails click on the side of something metallic, rattling out a hollow sound, and the mic picks up a soft gulping sound. After a few seconds the Curator speaks.

“No matter how many liters of water you drink, you never get used to just how dry your throat is afterwards. I gotta question the boss on if I can drink water while making statements, because my throat’s drier than the scorching desert.” A metal water bottle is smacked down onto the table as she grumbles. “How the hell does a toy move a human’s body… Guess Woody and the others had evil ancestors. 30 soldiers, the box they were received in, and letters from Mr. Grian were gifted to the institute by Mr. Goodtimes’s coworker, Mr. Vex, in 1923 after cleaning his home. The letters sent to one Mr. Grian were found in an abandoned dresser in Scotland near the port town of Buckie. The elderly couple who retired there in 1972 were certainly in for a surprise.” The chair she’s sitting on gets pushed back and scrapes across the floor as she sluggishly stumbles to her feet and opens the door.

“I’m currently making my way towards storage. Need to double check that these soldiers also didn’t somehow get up and leave their containment unit. Notes left on containment mention them being preserved in a glass container or an enamel finished metal container, depending on if one of them needs to be cleaned.”

The jangling of keys can be heard. “I’m gonna have to mark these.” Two metal clicking sounds follow as the door is opened. A light switch is flicked on.

“Oh wow this place has a lot of boxes… almost goes to the roof. Oh hey, a ladder.” Silence is held for a minute or two before the voice comes back. “After a massive headache and quadruple checking the ludicrous index on the wall, I should be heading to the second left shelf.” She mutters the number on the case files as she makes her way over.

“718... 523... 316… 212... Ah! 9180125. Jackpot.” A shudder is opened. “Good news, management did correctly label both statement and artifact. Would not want to play wild goose chase for some toys. It appears that some of the soldiers do have their heads turned in different directions, so I’m going to assume that’s the head swiveling that was mentioned. In front of the case is a plaque detailing the amount of soldiers contained and those who are missing. Gonna assume I need to count them all….”

Soft murmurs under her breath are interrupted by a sharp gasp and a curse, the sound of something glass and plastic clattering to the ground. “Shit! Shit- Gotta-'' Knees hit the floor, and hands grab for whatever fell, fumbling for a lifeline. “Pick up pick up pick up- Boss? Code Red. One of the soldiers is missing. Number 91802 - wait - 125, the tin soldiers? An artillery man- I have no clue…Yes, only one is gone. There’s no damage done to either containment case. I just finished my statement on them and was verifying their numbers matched and went to double check all are accounted for. Yes, I was recording, it’s still recording right now. Okay. Fine- got it. I’ll come in early tomorrow.” The phone call ends as she groans.

“This is fine! It’s fine. What a wonderful start! Great work on your first day, Cleo!” The sarcasm in her voice is acidic. “It’s currently 7:23 pm for those of you who’ll look back on this. My shift is almost over, so I’m going to just go home and hopefully not die.”

#hermitcraft #magmits #zombiecleo #grian #goodtimeswithscar #magmits au #tma au #hermitcraft tma au #THANKS TO ONE GENESIS FROG @AROACEACACIA FOR EDITING #AND BEING A BETA READER

35 notes · View notes

eligalilei · 1 year

Text

What is the relationship between freedom, acausality, joy, and creation?

….and, specifically, choice? There is, in its subjectivity, a hedonic undergirdment to choice. To understand this, consider the meaning of ‘coercion’; coercion obtains in a forced or illusory choice. To die, or live. To choose death, one must either intend sacrifice to an ideal, or to refuse pain. In either case, subjective joy, as a terminus, is removed from the logical procedure. Is there then thus some kind of ‘objective’ joy? And to whom does it belong? If I choose my death, it is truly a different kind of choice, in that it is a refusal of choice: I do not choose for myself, though for myself I may refuse. This kind of rejection says, in the affirmative or negative sense, ‘it is enough.’ Either I am reborn, as my blood seeds the ἐκκλησία (gathering of those called, κᾰλέω, I call) or I die in the failure of hope, itself another kind of ideal, however fragile, however tested, and failed. (edited)

[7:29 AM] Something, something, blood of the martyrs.

[7:31 AM] Seed of the church.

[7:32 AM] Something, something, there is only freedom in joy, which is creation, though it may not be in fact our creation, but rather one up in which we are taken.

I guess I 'see' how the BwO subtends creation, and is the fundament of choice, insofar as choice is un(der)determination/randomness. Organs are coercive. 'To be done with the judgement of God'. No choice is objectively uncoerced. But randomness is only relative, though there is an absolute limit to determinability. There may indeed be a point beyond which God Itself cannot see the dice It throws. Our connection to that (/the) blind (ours or God's, the latter the absolute limit or acausal horizon) is the Body without Organs, though one zone of determination may in fact be the BwO for another plane of consistency/creative organogenesis.

[7:47 AM] Maybe I should rename my BwO, tbh, since I don't really understand D&G, lol. I feel like I remembered at one time. I could try to excavate it from the depths to which its ideatum has sunk (into contact with the actuality of someone's BwO, mine, Guattari's, Deleuze's or the one we share), but I feel like it's rather more authentic to re-enact it. May find a more useful one, or one better fit to my liking and use. It'll probably resemble DeLanda's, wherever He keeps it.

To be continued, perhaps in that it will be, but certainly in obligate or imperative sense.

2 notes · View notes

sawyer-sees · 2 years

Photo

what’s your mutant’s ability?

[from here] The user of psychometry obtains historical memories or sensations concerning beings and objects they observe. With objects, they gain knowledge including the makers, users, and even those who have on passing used the object, and what has been done with it. With living beings or parts of the body, the user learns their general life-history but doesn't gain anything of what they were thinking or feeling.

what’s your mutant’s classification level?

Beta. While Sawyer’s powers aren’t obviously useful in combat situations, as he grew older and got more control over his psychometry he has discovered that not only could he access the memories associated with an object, he could manipulate those memories. If someone was to point a gun in his face, as long as he was fast enough he could grab the gun and find a memory connecting the attacker to it -- and twist the memory so that it showed them using it to murder a loved one. Sawyer has always had good improvisational skills, so he’s good at thinking up ways of twisting memories on the spot. this was something they tried to force him to do often at essex. And in less urgent situations, he can wage subtle psychological warfare on people by altering the memories of the things they own (he’s not done that, yet, but he could x) He can also use that power for good, for example take an object associated with a traumatic memory and turn it into something kinder, though he’d only do that with permission.

how old were they when they first discovered their abilities? how did it happen?

Five. He picked up his favourite Tonka Truck and saw that his twin, Harley, had played with it even though he knew it was Sawyer’s special toy and he hated anyone touching it -- the memory was strong because Harley had felt so guilty about it, even as he played. Sawyer then hit Harley in the head with the truck, because siblings are like that.

so, what can your mutant do with their abilities?

Sawyer can touch an object and access memories associated with it; the memories play like a film in his mind, and when it happens his eyes go white. The stronger the memory is (e.g. if it’s heavy with anger or joy or pain, some strong emotion), the easier it is for him to access it, and indeed for particularly strong memories he might find his mutation triggered without even wanting it to be. It works, to an extent, on people, but only on the parts of them that aren’t naturally occurring. Scars, tattoos, piercings: he can touch those and see the story of their creation. Something he hates is the fact that if he ever touches someone’s belly button, he’ll see their birth (as the belly button is the scar from the umbilical cord); they might not remember it but the event is in their mind regardless, and it’s so strong he often can’t avoid being transported there. In more recent years he has learned to more actively participate in the memories, and can change them, though this isn’t something he does lightly (unless under essex related duress, naturally).

…and what can’t they do (at least, not yet)?

He can’t erase memories. Once they’re there, they’re there, and if he wants to alter them he has to find a way to manipulate them that makes some sort of sense. He also can’t really control what memories he sees. It is just the strongest memory, and it is presented to him; currently he’s not able to actively rifle through memories, though it’s something he can potentially learn to do.

what’s one thing they hope to learn or are currently trying to learn with their abilities?

Currently he’s trying to channel his psychometry into psychocompetence: the ability to actually gain skills from the items he touches. He often spends time with Ralf’s tools at the repair shop, seeing the skill and knowledge the man has -- - but for some reason he just can’t quite absorb it. For now he remains a passive observer.

what is the most powerful thing your mutant can do with their abilities? do you think they would actually do it?

For now, manipulating memories is the most powerful thing Sawyer can do, and he has done it though only in emergencies when he needs to protect himself. Potentially he could break someone, mentally, by changing their memories into nightmarish nonsense, like Lovecraftian horror level of nonsense. Depending on your definition of ‘powerful’, another strong aspect of his mutation is that he can touch a corpse and see their cause of death. He absolutely hates doing that, because it’s always traumatising.

what are your mutant’s weaknesses?

He needs physical contact to use it. If you tie him up he’s absolutely useless, and it’s also dangerous in combat situations because he has to really be up close and personal and hope that he can improvise fast enough to make them stop and keep himself safe. It’s also possible for telepaths to block his ability, if they know what he’s doing. It’s potentially something he could fight past if he really wanted to access a memory, and he was encouraged to hone that skill at essex, but he was so unwilling to do it that he never really made much progress. he didn’t want to use his mutation in those moments anyway, so being blocked felt like a good thing.

do they use their abilities in their day-to-day life? in what ways?

Currently, he tries not to. There are some ways in which he can’t avoid using it -- all of Sawyer’s clothes are old because buying new ones can be troubling. Anything mass produced in unethical circumstances is likely to have too much pain associated with it, so it’s hard for him to wear. For similar reasons, he’s a vegetarian because meat gives him unpleasant visions. The only things he deliberately uses it for currently is with Ralf’s tools, trying to learn to absorb skills through the memories. And, with a few old items of Harley’s: regularly holding them and losing himself, for a few moments, to memories of his twin being alive.

as a mutant, do they have any goals? dreams?

Not any more. He and Harley used to have big dreams: a tv show, maybe, or at least some level of fame as ‘clairvoyants’. They thought there would be money, and glamour. Sawyer has seen just how badly that kind of hubris can end, and now he just wants a quiet life.

how do they feel about the last 30+ years of mutant history? notably, the presidential address of 1983 and the essex house?

Sawyer was about fourteen during the presidential address, and this is around the time that he and Harley’s grift was really taking off. It was pretty convenient for them, honestly: if anyone doubted mediumship before, they weren’t so sure after the address. Though Sawyer never confirmed whether or not he was a mutant to anyone, the knowledge that mutants were out there made them want to believe him, and the fact that his eyes turned white was pretty hard to write off as a trick. It didn’t occur to people that his actual mutation had nothing to do with speaking to their deceased loved ones. Don’t ask him about the Essex House <3 at a time when he thought his life was at rock bottom, they grabbed a shovel, stuck it in his hands, and made him keep digging.

@c23tasks

#c23task

2 notes · View notes

thehumanexperience8b · 1 month

Text

March 16th 2024: Free Will, Free Life. Part I

I have been testing my free will lately. Have you ever stopped to open a window at your school or place of work? The windows in my school aren’t locked, you just need to turn the handles and push. But I never thought about it. I have the freedom to try. I also never thought about all the times I ran away from school just to be outside and away from the noise. All those times I got in trouble just because I needed some air. I wouldn't have needed to do that if there was just a place to go. Can you relate to being labeled a “troubled” child because you need accommodations different from other kids?

Well anyway, forgive me for ranting. I thought about this because I watched “The Adjustment Bureau” in class. My philosophy teacher kept saying that we can do whatever we want, but can we do whatever we want? Or are we living in the confines of society? So I started racking my brain farther than I had on the subject before, and started freaking out a little bit… I was already having a strange day, I felt like I started questioning too much and losing the grip on myself. But it was enjoyable!!! I wasn’t actually losing my grip, I was having a breakthrough! I really felt happiness that I didn’t care about how anyone perceived me. I was running around with no shoes on frantically opening every window because I could. I ran down the halls because I could, and I decided to look crazy because I CAN! So free yourself! There’s no way to explain the joy of running free and dealing with the consequences later. However, try and stay away from anything illegal. Explaining you were just breaking free from the chains of societies’ norms won’t hold up in court. You should start questioning every decision you make. Sure, I want to go outside and I want to go home, but I’m choosing to stay in school because I don’t want to deal with the consequences of leaving school. Actually… why is leaving school during school hours against the rules..? Well, I just asked that question to the lady at the main office and she told me it’s because the school is responsible for us. So I asked why does it matter if I’m 18 years old? Well she said if I live with my parents then they need to be notified where I am so she informed me if I bring in a note from my parents I can leave whenever I want! Nice! I’m gonna do that just for funsies. Sorry for ranting again, maybe I have a lot on my mind today. Anyways, your objective is: think about the chain of events that will happen when you decide to make a choice. Because you have the power to change your life, and do whatever you want! I’m in school because I want to graduate, so I can get a degree from college, obtain a successful career, so I can make money doing what I love, so I can then provide stability for my children so they can have a better life than I had! Think about it. If it doesn’t serve your highest purpose; don’t do it. End of story!

This brings me to a revelation I had. What helps people feel less depressed with their life, is realizing they have control of their life. Yes, you have free will. Yes, the universe can guide you but it's up to you if you want to take the advice. And yes, you do live in the confines of society but there’s still more room for expression than you think! Don’t be afraid to be an outcast, because it’s better to be an outcast to someone else than in your own mind. If you lie about who you are, soon enough you will have a breakdown of thought, because you can’t remember who you are or what you want. I’d say step away from society and go on a spiritual journey at that point. Go camping, watch a plant grow, do anything away from people. Don't let that happen. You are valuable, and no one else’s possession to change so you can become their own. Become your own. Don’t give that power to anyone else, because if you do, you’ve lost your free will. So push boundaries, try something new! Make people believe you're crazy, and die doing what you love!

The people who take advantage of their free will are the ones seen as crazy by society.

“Life doesn’t have to be something that just happens to us.” -Ryan Reynolds in Free Guy

#control #mindfullness #freedom #liberation #love #life #be yourself #stay true #know thyself

1 note · View note

bookoformon · 2 months

Text

Mormon Chapter 2, Part 4. "The Sorrowing of the Damned."

Mormon says without a profound hatred of those who cause suffering for others and a broken heart for their victims, Christianity is a paper airplane of a religion. It will fly so far as it can be tossed, will carry no passengers or luggage and cannot be steered:

12 And it came to pass that when I, Mormon, saw their lamentation and their mourning and their sorrow before the Lord, my heart did begin to rejoice within me, knowing the mercies and the long-suffering of the Lord, therefore supposing that he would be merciful unto them that they would again become a righteous people.

13 But behold this my joy was vain, for their sorrowing was not unto repentance, because of the goodness of God; but it was rather the sorrowing of the damned, because the Lord would not always suffer them to take happiness in sin.

14 And they did not come unto Jesus with broken hearts and contrite spirits, but they did curse God, and wish to die. Nevertheless they would struggle with the sword for their lives.

The Sword as we know is the objective of all religion, to know God's Spirit and to know well beyond faith that He knows us. Without empathy for others there is not one chance the Sword will come off the backs of our necks.

The Values in Gematria are:

v. 12: I saw their lamentation. The Value in Gematria is 11055. יא‎אֶפֶסהה, '"yes, yes it's zero."

v. 13 But my joy was in vain. The Value in Gematria is 15493, י״הדטג‎, j. hadtag, "The Name. the Sword, and the Crown."

v. 14: And they did not come unto Jesus. The Value in Gematria is 13831, יגחגז‎ , "will sneer, will giggle."

To sneer is another way of saying baz, "the spoils or booty", the giggle is tzich'kuk. "the cheeky naval cook."

The verse above says "but it was rather the sorrowing of the damned, because the Lord would not always suffer them to take happiness in sin." If we are attempting to become happier by sinning more rather than less, we are working for nothing, are exhibiting not one aspect of self-sovereignty, will not store up the treasures of heaven in our heart as Christ said we must do if we want all of the above.

Compassion and empathy for others, obtained through regular repentance and atonement are what separate civil societies from the savage and they must be done in thought, word, deed, and as a matter of policy.

The recent actions of the US Government, which include the freeing of Republican politicians who have engaged in election fraud, prostitution of minors, and organized crime, who have supported Hamas and Hezbollah as the wingmen of the Mormons, denied Ukraine its military assistance package, and suffer gun violence demonstrate we Americans are not able to think or operate like a civilized collective.

First, we must, as the former two frames from the Book of Mormon state, hit those Republican fuckers, hit them hard, and make them very, very sorry, so the world sees how ashamed we are of ourselves. This shame must be real.

Then we have to reorganize our government so it never again becomes a haven for the cruel and uneducated, and finally we need to make amends to the people we have hurt. This only way we will ever be able to experience our underlying spiritual emotions is to demonstrate we are aware we have sinned and are not happy with ourselves.

So if you read my forum, insist to the press, the White House and your Congressional Representation you want the pedophiles and mobsters in the Republican Party all the cheaters and zealots thrown into jail or put to death, that you want to live in a civilized place that does not revel in its sins.

#lds church

0 notes

solusidigital21 · 1 year

Text

Time Is Running Out! Suppose About These 10 Methods To alter Your Meaningful Jewelry Kaufen

meaningfull jewelry

We took the time to really feel what it was prefer to be deeply seen by another human being. Use this form when you've got come throughout a typo, inaccuracy or want to send an edit request for the content material on this web page. For basic feedback, use the general public comments part under (please adhere to guidelines). For my own section (Zachary’s story), the hand-drawn approach is a style I was most comfortable with and one thing that's extra manageable throughout the tight timeframe. Rather than only transitioning between the 2 states of the posting section (visible and hidden), the action of posting may very well be related to an animation that clearly transitions between you writing a put up, to the submit being revealed. In our more and more fast-paced society, during which we glorify being busy and deal with countless demands on our time, life can usually really feel like a battle to sustain. Basically, he’s saying that means is like an equation-add or subtract value variables, and also you get kind of which means. Following different philosophers who write on the meaning of life, I maintain that in discussions of the which means of life, "meaning" is mostly used in the second sense-that is, that of worth or worth.

As a few of the accounts are by individuals who're quite younger, animation helps present the anonymity wanted for the accounts. In gentle of this, I want to ask you: How does no matter we're doing to contribute to the beauty, meaning, and wellbeing of the world, make any sense except we're doing that within the context of guaranteeing that there are people left on Earth to have fun, obtain, and carry it ahead? Inside the police bus, we exchanged tales, feeling a way of joy and accomplishment. What appears most constant, nonetheless, is the deeper awareness that is a witness to all of this and even this seems to have various layers to it as it is skilled from the inside. However, beyond that is a point the place the soul seems to open up into Spirit. What seems much more fixed is what we call witness consciousness. In my dream, I had deeper consciousness of the approaching and going of varied varieties of phenomenon in the sector of thoughts, consciousness or no matter name you need to provide it. This is how I hold all of the phenomenon that I spoke of above.

” In other phrases, I don’t exist in the way I assumed, standing apart or above a ground of Being. Walking in direction of the police bus I reminded myself to look as much as the sky and touch gratitude for the sunshine above me. Walking on the Earth grew to become a miracle. Looking down, feeling into my toes, I remembered to contact gratitude for the Earth beneath me. I breathed deeply and let the feeling move into and by me, holding in my heart compassion and gratitude for her courage. Wow. I have such a feeling of deep, deep gratitude for Extinction Rebellion New York City (XR NYC). We also knew that a few of our pals can be transferred, to spend the night time in one other location, the notorious ‘Tombs,’ the detention middle of new York City. We knew what to expect and the way to reply. We knew in our bones that it was price putting ourselves, our bodies, on the road for that.

Since the jail segregates men, based on state notion of identification, we knew it would be a type of ‘men’s circle.’ We knew we wanted to be collectively in some strategy to support each other, and to deepen our connections and dedication. What occurred to me in a distinct approach is how thoughts seemingly come out of nothing and go back to nothing. From this observing house, I’m watching feelings, ideas and even self and holding them as object. It’s actually extra difficult, however the self is consistently changing and when situations change it can cease to exist as an observable phenomenon on the planet Earth. As my insight deepened still additional, I realized at another stage that my character or higher self-identity is absolutely no completely different though it's a phenomenon that persists for an extended time period. Step one is to take word of your liked ones’ likes as well as dislikes, traits of personality in addition to accessories that you just typically notice sporting. As properly we all the time give 100% customer support and are innovators in our field.

Instead, we will set aside blocks of time (guarded effectively) for working on our minds. Then, we sat down collectively in our circle and set some intentions. They come in shorter, informal types, or you can opt for a more elegant set of tassel earrings. People with greater ranges of training and better incomes are usually extra probably to mention their family and profession as issues that give them that means than are folks with decrease levels of schooling or decrease incomes, respectively.1,2 Mentions of service and civic engagement are typically larger amongst these with extra schooling. You can work towards your children’s happiness by giving them love and spending quality time with them, ensuring their basic wants are met, ensuring in as much as attainable that they are wholesome, encouraging them to get the mandatory schooling for the profession of their selection, and encouraging them to work together with household and friends. I've now a greater sense, in my body, of the mission and the power of their commitment and love. Just now, scripting this has introduced a deep crying release to my body, with tears flowing, and I’m holding tenderly my very own face and chest in my palms.

Our hands and arms have been aching from being restrained behind us, and we couldn't sit again. In a Western context, I might equate this with the ground of Being and with Emptiness in Buddhism. Two well-liked and considerably alternative ways to look at it are represented by Eastern and Western Mysticism. Responses are weighted to be representative of the adult inhabitants in every public. These variations help clarify why the share giving a specific answer in sure publics may seem a lot decrease than others, even if the topic is the highest mentioned source of that means for that given public. I ask you to contemplate participating in what could show to be the greatest and most powerful mass movement in human history: a movement of movements. We took time to actually welcome and begin to hold space for our experience, grounding it within the soothing sensations of the load of our our bodies, the breath flowing in and out of our lungs, the rhythmic movements of our bodies.

Despite the fact that it was simply a very short time in jail, it was such a relief to be out. Choose your supplies, size, and even an inscription that will mean one thing. I have decisions about what I will identify with as me in any explicit moment. I invite you to become involved, to add your voice and your contribution, in your personal unique manner - to participate in perhaps the best single historical moment of our species, as Joanna Macy calls it, The good Turning. The last word nature of actuality would be Emptiness within the sense of phenomenon being empty of really standing apart in any meaningful way from the all. But not everyone’s expertise was optimistic that day - some of us had the sense of being intimidated and harassed. The Buddhists can be inclined to say that the self is “empty” of inherent or non-contingent Being. Within the East, the tendency is to say that Atman equals Brahman or that basically your deepest self is God.

Therefore, they're subsumed in a larger subject and from this area I can label them as phenomenon slightly than self. In all of the circumstances that I mentioned, the worldview of Buddhism would advise to carry all phenomenon as a dream. Again, since all of this was arising in a dream state, I am simply reporting observations and never defending what I observed. Again, nature makes some values, and culture provides a truckload of additional ones. Many others resist and rebel at what their tradition has chosen for them. In other phrases, like we have a stream of ideas, I sensed or felt a stream of “identities” dissolving and arising once more. Next, we sat and allowed ourselves to get in touch with our our bodies, our feelings, our thoughts, and the emotions flowing through us. Tune in for the stay hour-lengthy broadcast with Rabbi Simon Jacobson to get real solutions to your actual…

0 notes

loveloaveluff · 1 year

Text

youtube

"Falling in love is the insanity of the soul." One of the most intense experiences a human being can have.

Soren KIERKEGAARD

Danish, 19th c

Book: “Works of Love”

Fell in love with Regine Olsen - mutual

He thought it was a tragic event

Passionate Preferential Love

Just another form a self love

Says more about what we are attracted to and how the object of our desire can gratify our needs, instead of what we can give without expecting something in return

When we fall in love, isn’t it so that we’re attracted to them because they’re able to invoke a sense of pleasure in ourselves, and this pleasure is more about how they make us feel than the person themselves.

Comes with strong attachment

Drenched with lust

In its insanity, it produces a chaotic explosion of contradicting emotions, from great longing to extreme anger and jealousy

Why would we pursue something that can change from affection to hate at the flip of a switch? Is this true love, or a curse? A manifestation of inner madness that’s been elevated to the domain of the sacred?

Non-Preferential Love

Not fueled by passion, not erotic, not selfish

Comes form a place of equanimity

A boundless source

The love we have for our neighbor, no matter who they happen to be, instead of someone of our preference.

Romantic love in BUDDHISM

Recognized as potentially harmful

The love between 2 people doesn’t have to be true love when it involves unhealthy attachment and suffering

“If romantic love is true love, it can also bring a lot of happiness. But if it is not true love, it will make you suffer, and make the other suffer as well.” - THICH NHAT HANH

How often does the experience of filing in love go together with deep desire and the pain that follows from it?

As THE STOICS observed: The problem with DESIRE int he disappointment when one fails to obtain the object of this desire. It leads to jealousy, possessiveness, ownership.

When two people are deeply in love with each other and want nothing more than to be together, they also produce a fear of separation, which is a form of suffering

Is there a resolution? Is there a way to make romantic love sustainable?

According to TNH it’s possible for a couple that is romantically involved to experience true love,.

Four Ingredients

1. Loving-Kindness: the capacity to bring the other person happiness

2. Compassion: the capacity to have concern for the other person’s sufferings

3. Joy: Because it’s important to have fun together

4. Inclusiveness: Two people become one and are willing to carry each other’s burdens

The Stoic Proposition on Marriage by MUSONIOS RUFUS

Mutual care is the key ingredient for a successful union

“In marriage there must be complete compaionship and concern for each other on the part of both husband and wife, in health and in sickness and at all times, because they entered up on the marriage for this reason...”

A problem many people face is that they seek relationships while operating from a place of lack, hoping that their partner will fill up their emptiness and make them whole. This isn’t the right way to think about love. If we let our happiness depend on external forces, we bet on something extremely unreliable: The infatuation phase we first experience when we fall in love. It may make us feel complete for a while, but when the honeymoon phase is over, we go back to feeling incomplete.

Many people breakup to find someone else to get that “romantic high” again

Completeness is not anything to be found anywhere but in ourselves.

When you are complete as an individual you are able to love without conditions

Not tainted by wants and needs

Love is not a path to completeness, but an opportunity to share our own completeness with someone else.

Enter the domain of Non-Preferential Love

“Love the whole world as if it were you self; then you will truly care for all things.” - Lao Tau; Tao Te Ching

#love #philosophy #kierkegaard #philosophy of love #falling in love #lust #types of love #thich nhat hanh #stoicism #Youtube

0 notes

meaninglessgaythoughts · 1 year

Text

On Material

Which itself, of course, is not evil. I cannot exist without a physical body, nor can anyone else; hence, however unfortunate, our dependence on material goods. I rely on food reaped from a plentiful Earth, water from springs or rivers, air from the wind; I am a being of carbon, born of it, and to which I shall return, someday, but not soon.

I sit currently surrounded by the material. The laptop I write this on, the desk on which it sits, and the floor of the building beneath me, the chair between it and me. The headphones in my ears and the cell phone they connect to, by some power I do not currently understand; a bed, a lamp, a water bottle, a box of tissues, various posters and trinkets that at one point brought joy and now serve to ward off the prison-like atmosphere of my dorm. It is in this space that I feel safe, this chair that I collapse into at the end of the day, elated to rest my legs, and this bed that is so hard to leave when the clock on my phone says I must. Objects bring me comfort, whether physical as the bed, or mental as the video game controller or wall arts.

Yet objectively speaking, I could survive without everything I listed. I won’t claim to know how to survive on my own; an art lost to modernity, perhaps. My distant ancestors did, however. For three hundred thousand years they lived without anything I now rely upon. I don’t entirely know how they did it, but I’m glad they did. So many beings had to exist without ibuprofen to dull the pain of a headache or a minor injury so that I, today, can sit in a climate-controlled room, protected from anything and everything that might hurt me and with everything I need available, and write about them.

But what then is the point of all this material? Does it actively keep me alive? Not beyond the snacks in the drawer, the water in the hydroflask. Does it actively keep me happy? To some extent, sure; but I cannot be fulfilled by things as I could when I was younger. I had to write a list of gifts I wanted for the holidays, and asked myself what I needed; it wasn’t long. My needs now cannot be met by more material. What then is the point of all this material I surround myself with? I once found happiness when my only belongings available could fit in two stuff sacks, and one largely went unopened. What, I ask myself, is the purpose?

The culture I grew up in was fueled by consumption. Status is determined by one’s spending power, or owning power. Endless commodities are available for purchase at the click of a button; I don’t even have to drive to the store to obtain them. Every platform, digital and physical, seems to be colonized entirely by colorful advertisements designed to goad me into buying more, and more, and more, which in turn demands more and more and more from the earth, the source of all wealth. My place as an individual is a consumer. I exist to generate wealth, to spend, to buy, things I don’t need, a neverending stream of trinkets as one might entertain a toddler; and things I do need, forcing me to exert my “usefulness” as a worker, a contributor, something “valuable”- however such value might be defined- to earn the privilege of being able to eat, to drink, to sleep comfortably, to pursue higher goals; the privilege, ultimately, of being a person- which, of course, is a person of material.

I can’t help but wonder how we got here. The very idea of private property is itself relatively recent. Perhaps we started by owning farms, collectively, where everybody worked and everybody enjoyed the benefits of “easy” production. With surplus came specialization; not everybody needed to work the fields. Those others could be free to create tools or weapons, to study science, perhaps to create art. But those specialists then relied on those who still farmed for that most basic of material needs. Thus was the barter invented. Each person’s value to a society larger than themselves could be realized and different, but that difference had to be mediated by exchange. Then perhaps the communal farm became my farm or your farm, and I owned these cattle and you those fields. The fruits of my labor bought me the fruits of yours, and everybody still, probably, gets what they need.

But someday, inevitably, one person owned more than another. Perhaps their field had been lucky and prosperous, or they were exceptionally talented, or they could pay others to assert their power. Thus is the first class division created. This person would now control the surplus, and control who had access to it. They could exercise their authority in a newly-defined legal sense, organize everyone else below them; for in a rapidly growing society, it only makes sense to delegate tasks, including the task of leadership; leadership which comes with its own rewards. Now they can command a military to ensure their uncontested rule. They can put that military to work and implement a tax system, “for the greater good” they’ll say, or perhaps to invade a smaller, neighboring society, either to assimilate or steal. Now those in lower classes naturally want to be in that upper class, to not have to worry about working the field or forge, to have such surplus to live leisurely. They cannot hope to challenge the military power, so the only route upward is through accumulation of wealth. The process only accelerates from there, over twelve thousand years, until today.

Somewhere in that process was born the idea, the need, to have material wealth beyond what is required for basic living. Somewhere, I’m not sure where, material became synonymous with power, and power became synonymous with happiness, and simple living was no longer realistic. Today such drives compel us to sacrifice the earth, its inhabitants, longterm sustainability, and other human beings in the name of material. The desire to go upward never ended; strangely enough, it manifests strongly in those who already exist at the top. Such people have incomprehensible hoards of material, and it apparently isn’t enough. I wish I could ask a question and get an honest answer. I might ask, Where else do you hope to go? Does each new purchase and dollar earned actually make you happy? Is the mindless sacrifice, exploitation, lying, stealing, cheating, and every other crime worth it, in the end?

Perhaps before the process even began the same type of people would have existed. The hoarders. But their power would have been nonexistent when the only power is in collectivity. They might have been shunned, outcast, stripped of that material, labelled as one who takes more than they could ever need while others die from those needs. Such selfishness was criminal in a time when surplus did not readily exist. Now, such selfishness is a sign of success. We worship the hoarders as kings and facilitate their futile quest towards the stars, away from the world they’ve ruined getting there.

Perhaps, with all that material, they can blind themselves from the atrocities that created it.

#rant #materialism #writing

0 notes