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jiangwanyinscatmom · 3 years

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[1/?] Sorry for venting. I just saw some bad takes that gave me a lot of feelings. Personally, JC stresses me out every time he comes on screen, but I don't mind it when JC fans say fan-typical things like how they like JC because he wears purple, or is grumpy, or they think he's hot, or that they ship x*ch*ng because the cql actors have nice jawlines. They're harmless, fun takes, and while I don't agree with some of them, I see where they're coming from

Hello there anon, vent away as that is what my blog is open for as I love/hate on Jiang Cheng as he is in the plot, as well as all of my beef with what has been done to him for the EN side of the fanbase! I am more than fine listening and engaging with the unsavory "unpopular" discussions of his canon behavior and this goes for anyone of course that needs an open play area. I'll try to engage with what you have sent point by point as succinctly as I can.

[2/?] (some of these are obviously crack, and I am a fan of a few problematic faves). But then there are stans that just have to put other characters down to make JC look good. Like, I think some fans take their freedom of interpretation for granted because most of these takes aren't even labeled 'headcanon,' 'ooc,' or 'crack' anymore. Stans feel that their interpretations are valid, and while they are, valid =/= canon, and they're treating these takes as canon, which becomes popular fanon.

I enjoy Jiang Cheng for what he is, however as I had said it took me another reread to get to my stance of him being the negative mirror to Lan Wangji's positive and my comfort with that for the story once I realized what purpose he served. He is only insofar tragic in regards to his circumstances, but it does not absolve him for what he is at his core (no pun, but I can make a very nice metaphor that even with a piece of Wei Wuxian in him he is still forever unable and unwilling to stand by him equally all while stagnating where as Lan Wangji is able to flourish, grow and mature with nothing of import left from Wei Wuxian in a technical sense). As for ships, I am a little dirty Xicheng whore for fun and can say there is a sense of entertainment for me making it work with two people where one is wildly ignorant and the other wildly rabid. But that is outside of what is established as canon in the work and I always try to keep the two strictly separate due to the skew fanon perpetuates.

3/?] And now, it's not clear what part of the fanon references canon JC or the canon events of mdzs. JC is an asshole; I don't like him as a person, but I do think that he's a complex character motivated by many issues (sup, YeeZY), which makes him fascinating to explore. Unfortunately, erasing his culpability also removes his agency. JC should be allowed to be an asshole character who makes his own decisions even if they're the wrong ones. He has made his own tragedy by constantly casting Wei Wuxian as the villain of his life.

Now thanks to you I will be using YeeZY to forever and now to acknowledge Madam Yu (this is your fault for the new tag). From a standing from storytelling I agree that he is complex in the Jianghu for MDZS. Where in the usual political intrigue of Wuxia, he would be the mustache twirling villain that is outright unforgivable in narration, it is by favor of Wei Wuxian's narration that has an early steeping of empathy for him. And he is not meant to be seen as ultimately sympathetic, the work builds up his hate against Wei Wuxian who tries to rationalize it all several times until he is finally unable to. Jiang Cheng is the antithesis to Lan Wangji and the false bait to get attached to in Wei Wuxian's first life. I will make the note their meeting in Yiling is lukewarm between both as they exchange nothing really in terms of conversation and all pleasantries are left in terms of Jiang Yanli for Wei Wuxian. By this point Wei Wuxian has already switched his yearnings of platonically wanting a part of Jiang Cheng's life, to subconscious romantic inclinations about Lan Wangji and the perceived loss of being in the other's life.

The very point of Jiang Cheng as the deconstruction, is that he has no passion in life despite his apparent exploits because he put a shadow to hang over himself as an excuse to say others think he is not good enough. He has no deeper motivations than pure selfishness by the end of the work and is pure frivolity that he has built up losing the meaning of his sect as a tradition. He had his agency (more than anyone I might add in the work due to his social position) that he used to build his reputation as a passive rich sect leader that has little to do with civilian problems.

4/?] And I think a JC, somehow, that realizes that he did something wrong and is working hard to change for the better and gain self-actualization to become that UWU best jiujiu the stans want him to be, who is ready to talk (not yell at) with WWX, apologize to him, and create a better, healthier relationship with him is a much more powerful reconciliation and happy ending than 'everyone is wrong and mean and they all apologize to JC, which magically gets rid of all his issues'.

He is forced out of culpability in reconciliation because simply put, his audience do not like the reality that relationships fray and dissolve with no further resolution other than we as adults both need to move on for safety and good health. It is not acceptable in real life and fiction is allowed to place that also in it's thematic relationships. He has a small, small spark of recognition at the end of the main story, however he himself seems to choose to ignore it, as change is hard and he has never taken to that well as was foreshadowed with his dogs and the idea of sharing a space with Wei Wuxian. To write this is an awful lot of work into his psyche which is not a nice place, he is a terrible being and downplaying that to make a sugar sweet person does not work instantaneously. He is the one responsible for the entire fallout with Wei Wuxian and he hysterically realizes that even as he tries to continue to blame Wei Wuxian.

The issue that I have with his current stan culture, is that they already view him as something he is not. They play at bicycle with all of the other protagonists that have positive traits that they strip as they see fit; Good affirming loving to children adult Lan Wangji, Self-sacrificing ultimately did it all for love and care Wei Wuxian, Hard exterior but softened to who they consider an annoyance Wen Qing, Loyal as partners in their exploits on the field and always have each others back Wen Ning. They even take Jin Guangyao's persona of playing damsel and using that as a positive to soften up Jiang Cheng into something he has never been for anyone for ships.

[5/5] Also, making WWX/WN/LWJ apologize just makes them look better than JC. Like, stans supposedly love JC, so they ahouldn't be lazy and work hard to give him actual character development. Again, I'm sorry for spamming your ask. It just really baffles me about where they get these 'hot' takes (All I'm going to say is that JC was ungrateful, and WN had a reason verbally dismantle him).

They see this, but, they will spin it in any way to excuse Jiang Cheng due to the story itself showing that he was in the wrong to everyone he flung accusations at and his hate. No one but him is at fault for his spite as he had gotten his revenge on the ones that had ruined Lotus Pier and killed his parents. His own resentment pitted him against good and well meaning people that he refused to help as he mimicked his mother's words about raising their heads higher out of goodness instead of keeping low and staying self-centered. There is the underlying criticism of taking individual arrogance as self-care at the cost of others. Each point that Wen Ning makes is exactly what Jiang Cheng himself knows as he hated Wei Wuxian for being something he could not be or even wanted to be. Jiang Cheng wants kindness but does not understand that kindness to others needs to be selfless and accept the hurt that can come with that in life. He encompasses the fall from the path of buddhist lifestyle, "The Three Poisons" to Wangxian's "Without Envy" at the stories end.

[6/5] P.S. I'm not saying I want reconciliation fics, but I just feel that if stans want JC to have a happy ending, then I think that he should actively work for it. I think it would be interesting to see what force of nature would push him through a character development because throwing a therapist at him would result in a murder.

"I'm not saying I want reconciliation fics, but I just feel that if stans want JC to have a happy ending, then I think that he should actively work for it."

They do not think he has to work for it, they say his tragedy is enough, while heaping accusations against Wei Wuxian and saying his own are not enough to absolve him. Something Wei Wuxian has never denied and told all present they are allowed to forever hate him for what he had done in the past, but that they need to find a way to live in a life that is always moving on. He learned that grudges do nothing once they are absolved and it leaves you with hate with nothing else to do with it once that object is gone. In terms of reconciliation, I do not ever think that either want anything other than a distant peaceful out of each other's life set up. Jiang Cheng does not need Wei Wuxian in his life to be satisfied and never has since he used him as the handicap to hide behind to stay angry and miserable. Being without that fallback opens the world far more for him to change than him ever interacting like an old friend with Wei Wuxian ever again, if he ever had the guts to do that.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #jiang cheng #yeah I am using that tag block me if it upsets you #pokes this sorry for the length I tried #listen... only i am his trash queen

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crackinglamb · 3 years

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Hi! I hope it isn’t too much trouble, but I’d like to ask how or why you decided to write Twist? And then also how and why you decided to write Wicked Games a little bit after. Did you wanna explore different relationships with characters when having a different personality in your ‘Modern Girl’ or different goals, because Carly talked Solas down and guided him into a different path, while Imogen seems to want him to go through with his plans with her help and a large dose of “what the heck is the canon timeline?” I love both of the stories, I might reread them again to help with the Modern Girl in Thedas withdrawals.

I ask because I’ve been reading “Modern Girl/Person in Thedas” stories and really wanna try my hand at them, I just feel like I am only writing it for little one shot type interactions between characters, and don’t really know why I’d actually have a “Modern Girl” be sent to Thedas, how and why, and what they would do, If your willing to give insight I’d love to hear it. I just hope I’m not a bother.

Oh no, you're not a bother at all! Thank you so much for this ask!! I love to talk about how I fell down this rabbit hole! I hope you're ready for a dissertation, because this got really long. 💕💕💕

I came to Dragon Age backwards. I didn't know anything about the series other than a lot of people liked it and had very strong opinions about it. Then a fellow writer began to write a Varric/Hawke story and I read it because I wanted to support her return to posting.

And I fell in love with a world I'd never seen.

I realized that, due to its age, I actually did know more about the games than I thought I did. I knew the ending already, and who this bald dude was that had the fandom so divided. A classic villain, right? Wrong. Some people think he's just terrible and some people defend him to the death. Some people think he's terrible but don't let that stop them from defending him to the death. So what was the real deal?

I did some research (because at that point I was writing my own Varric/Hawke fic and I'll still die on that ship hill. Anyways...moving on). I discovered that everything I thought I knew about Solas was skewed by fandom interpretation. Which is valid. I mean, all our opinions end up that way when it comes to fandom, right? All interpretation is subjective. But the fact remains that Solas interprets the world around him through the eyes of the Inquisitor and how they treat him. And that is player based. Low approval proves his opinion that this is a world not fit to live it. High approval shows him that his decision is going to destroy something beautiful, but he still feels he needs to do it.

I got to thinking about what it would take to stop him. Through the course of watching his romance, reading a lot of meta and lore posts and listening to his companion banter, I had a headcannon emerge: Solas could only be stopped by someone who knew what he was doing from the start.

But that's not gonna happen in canon. He already allegedly killed the only person who knew. (Seriously, #saveFelassan) So who else would make him rethink it?

The answer that came to me was a person he needed, so he couldn't risk eliminating them. The Inquisitor who bears his mark. I then went a step further, and decided that someone who knew all his secrets and plans, and who could possibly help him shift them, would have to be from our world. Enter the Modern Girl in Thedas, because I love a good romance, and I wanted a happy ending to this otherwise tragic love story.

And Carly was born. A modern gamer girl, sucked through to a fictional world because the universe is vast and unknowable (and certain wisps of certain Evanuris like to nudge). I'd read a bunch of fic by the time I started writing Twist, including some self-insert types. None of them told him flat out from the beginning. So I determined that she would. She'd tell him what she knew and try to persuade him that his plans were awful and that if he wanted to claim he wasn't a monster, then he'd have to find another way.

I knew from the start that I wanted her to save the orb, because losing that is what tips the scales for Solas. Losing that means he has to find power from somewhere else and sets him on his path of death. Saving the orb meant his plans, while derailed, weren't ruined. Yes, I know in Trespasser he'll tell the Inquisitor that the world would have burned in raw chaos while he rewrote it, but considering the nature of magic and reality on Thedas, I think that's more due to human reaction than any actual destruction simply based on the lifting of the Veil. Demons are real and represent emotion. Humans look down on elves and do everything they possibly can to oppress them. Like the colonizers they are. Of course they'd react to an elven demigod rewriting the world to give his people back their strength poorly.

And then covid hit. Twist rapidly became a beacon of fluffy stability to my readers. It was an escape from the literal dumpster fire that my country was, so I was highly motivated to keep writing it. To keep it light and happy and epic in a way that felt satisfying to everyone. So that's what I did.

But...

I still hadn't played Inquisition when I started (and I still need to play the other two). I was missing so much of the nuance of the world. In the end, Twist wasn't the story I really wanted to tell. I mean, I'm proud of it, and I love it. I am deeply humbled and gratified to know how many people look at Carly with love and admiration. I love hearing how many times a reader has opened it up and binged it. That kind of feedback is the lifeblood of a writer, as I always say.

Wicked Game is the story I wanted to write. A little grittier, a little more plausible in keeping with the lore. Having Imogen be human gave her the power to call out other humans on their bigotry. And to show Solas that he's not the only one who can see how damaged the world is and want to fix it. Having her be a scientist gives me a chance to explore how magic works, and what the Veil really is after a year of immersing myself in this world. Yeeting canon so thoroughly came from thinking about the major plot points and what could be changed about them from the POV of a character who knows how this is all 'supposed' to happen...and the resultant fallout from her decisions.

Imogen can see the forest for the trees. Her outsider perspective gives her all sorts of insights on her companions and the world at large. The fact that she falls ass over teakettle for the Dread Wolf against her own better judgment is just a good trope. Having him do the same is my clapback against his racially locked romance. (Here's where I'm gonna throw out my own extra kudos to writers who also portray Solas as bisexual, because dammit, he should be. Immortal beings would not bend to any heteronormative conventions.)

Carly and Imogen have rather similar motivations behind them: they want to save the world and not lose him. They often go about it in similar ways too. I guess the biggest difference between them is that now I know what I'm doing and I have more confidence in my storytelling ability. Neither of them is a self-insert. Plenty of people do that and that's totally valid. I'm just not really a fan of it myself. These two characters are no different to me than any other OC starting out at the beginning of the game. They just have slightly more backstory than the average Inquisitor.

Now, in regards to you writing your own and feeling like all you have are oneshot ideas. Go for it. Doesn't matter if they're oneshots. A story doesn't have to be hundreds of thousands of words to be awesome or complete. Write what YOU want to read. The best reason to make a character be a certain way, like being MCIT, is because you want them to be. No other justification is necessary. The only rules in storytelling are grammar ones, and even those are iffy at best. The only courtesy if you decide to go ahead and share it is don't plagiarize and tag it properly. That's it. The sky's the limit and up for grabs. Go forth and be bold.

#ask #Lamb writes #Lamb rambles #Lamb...gives advice?#👀#solas #modern characters in thedas #on writing #long post

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raisingsupergirl · 3 years

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I'm Back! Returning to the "Real World" After Six Weeks Unplugged and Undrugged

If I'm being honest, I don't really want to write this post. I don't want to go back to the way things were. It feels like returning from vacation on a Sunday evening and setting my work alarm for Monday morning. I know my next vacation won't come for a while. I know I'm "back in it" now. And the sensation is completely opposite of what I'd expected from all of the "restrictions" I put on myself six weeks ago. But I'm sure you're just dying to know how I did, so here goes.

I failed. A lot. Just like I said I would. And the number one thing I failed at was reading to my kids. I tried it. Once. I started Harry Potter, but it felt like pulling teeth. I didn't enjoy it. The kids didn't enjoy it (even though I poured all of my energy into the BEST character voices). But even if I didn't read to my children, at least I didn't fail completely at reading. In fact, I stayed pretty true to my goal of replacing my weeknight TV with reading (with a subtle exception… but I'll get to that later), and it was honestly one of the biggest successes of all. Just an hour or two of quiet entertainment and contemplation in the evenings (whether with a Bible devotional or a bloody space adventure) did wonders for my mood and sleep habits. And speaking of sleep habits…

I failed at that, too. Again, not completely, but I definitely didn't live up to the whole bargain. I don't care how comfortable I got with going to bed at 9:45 pm and waking up at 5:45 am, when I would get home from work at 9:15 at night, there was no way I was going to have time to eat, shower, and wind down enough to be asleep within thirty minutes. And so, I bent the rules a little. But never more than an hour. And that's where I found my rhythm. I would never go to bed or wake up more than an hour different than I did the day before. That compromise allowed me to adjust slowly to different schedules without suffering too much.

Interestingly enough, the things I succeeded at completely are the things that sound like the biggest commitments. I worked out every day without fail, I didn't get on social media or YouTube, and I cut out all drugs (aka alcohol, tobacco, caffeine, night time snacking, and weekday fast food) cold turkey, right down to my morning pre-workout drink, which has a little caffeine in it. I'm not sure exactly why these things were easier to stick to. I'm sure a part of it has to do with my particular personality, but I suspect the bigger part is the nature of these things. They're easier to define. Easier to grasp and control. So what's the big deal about sleeping in a few extra minutes on the weekends (half-asleep rationale is always a little bit skewed…)? Why should I fight to read to my kids if they don't even enjoy it? But exercise and diet are very external. They're obvious to myself and to others when I screw them up. There's more accountability, so they're not as easy to make excuses for. The hardest promises to keep are the ones nobody knows about.

And… there's a third factor, and I hinted at it earlier. Remember when I said I didn't TECHINCALLY stick to the "no TV during the week" goal? Well, I didn't "watch" TV during the week, per se. But that's because I was playing a video game. A video game called "The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild." And, well, I was completely unprepared for it. First, Zelda is my jam. Always has been since I was a wee lad. Like most functioning adults, I fell away from video games after high school because I was trying to make all the monies and didn't have time to spend six hours at a time in front of a screen. But when Santa brought us a Nintendo Switch for Christmas, I knew there was a game I "had" to try. And, well, BotW didn't disappoint. Those who have played Skyrim or other open-world games would have known what they were in for, but I didn't.

The moment I popped open that glider and drifted off of the Great Plateau, the real world faded away. This game had no limits. No boundaries. It's impossible to describe my awe at that slow and continuing realization as I delved into underground temples, climbed distant peaks, and trudged through vast deserts, so I won't try. Those who think video games are "a waste of time" will never get it, and those who embrace the value of story telling already know what I'm talking about. Suffice it to say that I "did the Zelda things." Not all the things, mind you. I didn't find all the koroks, beat all the shrines, or kill all the lynels, but I DID awaken the Divine Beasts, sneak into the castle dungeon to claim the Hylian shield, tame the royal mare, ride all the animals, build Tarry Town from the ground up, and head butt a guardian to death with the Lord of the Mountain. I trudged through every region and stared out at the realm from the highest spire of Hyrule castle. In the end, I defeated Calamity Ganon and brought peace to the land. And in that triumphant moment, I finally realized the truth about the game…

It was just another drug. You see, I never did have a real urge to sit down to a whiskey and a pile of snacks on a Saturday night, even though that had become an engrained habit over the past year. Why? Because I had an entire world to explore and save! And I needed to stay hydrated and healthy to beat the biggest baddies in Hyrule. The game completely overshadowed other primal urges. Any time I was feeling lazy or weak—times when I would look for a quick, mindless reward—I would pick up the Switch controller. And sometimes, that would be during the week. In fact, all told, I played 110 hours over six weeks. That's around two-and-a-half hours a day, EVERY day! So the amount of time I would have generally wasted with social media, TV, or "drugs," I instead committed to Zelda.

In the end, I'm not sure what to think about the whole six-week experience. I do know that I grew closer to God. My thoughts cleared significantly. I experienced deeper and wider peace, seeing previously scary and stressful situations with new clarity and confidence. I loved my family more completely, and I committed harder to my duties (work, family, etc). But I had low moments, too. Not enough to hit rock bottom or consider giving up, but because I knew what it felt like to ride that "high" with my savior and creator, to be present in the moment with a sense of purpose and appreciation, every moment of minor disconnection or apathy hit me harder than it normally would have. So I guess everything is relative. Once we know just how good we can feel, our expectations rise. On the other hand, my perspective has changed regarding rewards and fulfillment. A moment of earned relaxation or celebration doesn't need to include a glass of wine. I don't "need" to stay up late and sleep in on the weekends. And most importantly, my joy comes from God, not from the things I do, but there ARE some things that keep me away from God's joy. Mostly things that become habit—things I fall back on when I want to "check out."

And I guess that's the whole point. When we're present and intentional, life's good. We're happy with our choices and usually with the results. But when we're exhausted, when we've given all we can and think we've earned some reward (or at least a break)… well, that's when we make mistakes. And that's when we should just go to bed. Sure, maybe a little reading to calm us down and get our minds right first, but we're never at our worst than when we're mentally tapped out. And so, I plan to be more aware of this fact through the rest of the year. I'm going to continue to cut out electronics during the week. I'm going to avoid the Facebook scroll (which doesn't appeal to me even a little bit anymore). I'm going to enjoy sunrises and cuddles. And, most importantly, I'm going to create the time and space for quiet thought and divine whispers.

That's my secret to happiness. Do less (especially less "check out" activities like Twitter and television) and think more. Talk less and listen more. Let your "yes" be "yes" and your "no" be "no." In other words, live a life that speaks for itself and don't feel the need to justify your thoughts and actions to everyone. Live lightly, love deeply, and let the rest wash away with the tide. That's all I've got, friends. And you know what? This post was actually a joy to write. I'm excited to be back, to see my friends again, to share what I've learned with you, and to learn FROM you. And most importantly, I’m excited to enjoy all the beauty that the real world has to offer...

#lent 2021 #lent #social media fast #unplugged #take time to unplug #soberissexy #religion #christianity #minimalism #mindfulness #zelda #botw screenshots #botw #momblr #mumblr #dadblr

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theliterateape · 3 years

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The Subjectivity of Historical Revisionism

by Don Hall

The game was simple but difficult.

My first wife was an orchestra clarinetist. I had played in countless orchestras with my trumpet. I never really fit in with the academically inclined orchestra crowd but she did so she would have small gatherings to eat and drink at our home.

I could only handle sitting and chatting with them for a short time before I either started throwing verbal bombs in the mix to keep things interesting (which inevitably set the stage for a fight with my wife after all had gone home) or checked out completely (a different but similar sounding fight later). I finally came up with a game that they could play so I could go into my office and write or drink or drink and write.

I was a middle school music teacher and my curriculum for eighth grade included some college music history.

“OK. I teach a class on the Romantic Period of music for my kids. I get forty minutes to cover composers from 1770 to 1850. This includes Brahms, Liszt, Mendelssohn, Verdi, Wagner, Sibelius, Schubert, and scores more as well as over 5,000 known pieces of music of all genres. Forty minutes. I have to boil the whole period down to roughly six pieces of music at three minutes apiece to encapsulate all of that.

Here’s the game. You have forty minutes to teach a class on the music of the Twentieth Century. You get ten pieces and composers. Go!”

After around thirty minutes, I'd come back in, get another drink, and they'd inevitably have their ten. I'd look at it and comment, "So. You guys don't think jazz should be included?" They'd all growl and go back in to it.

Keep in mind, this game was about determining what specific art would be included for a limited attention span and, in the most subjective way, indicate what art you value first and foremost.

Were I to play that game today with someone my nephew's age, an additional criteria would be added. It would not be enough that the music was important or influential or even good. The addition to the type of person the artist was (or is) has become a part of the game.

It's all revision by exclusion.

Assessing the merit of art or historical significance is more than a popularity test. There have been plenty of popular artists, scientists, statesmen, and entrepreneurs in our history who have become unpopular and even unknown over time and who have been weeded out of curation.

Why are we exposed to the art we are exposed to? We certainly aren’t the kind of creatures who, when seeking out information, go to a library index file and pour through thousands of entries to find the hidden treasures any more. No, we now have a screen which we type in “What were the best novels of the 20th Century?” and are fed a result.

According to Goodreads.com, there are 164 books listed under the heading The ACTUAL 100 Best Novels of the 20th Century.

As soon as you start to apply the Woke Metrics (you know, the yardstick that dismisses the accomplishments of Winston Churchill because he was a bigot) these lists start to narrow significantly. Using that criteria (which in the newspeak of that progressive cultmind must come before merit, quality, or theme) the only list that exists is The 100 Best Novels No One Has Ever Heard Of by People No one Has Ever Read.

As I wrote, this sort of assessment can't simply be a popularity test. If it were, Fifty Shades of Grey and The Harry Potter books would top the list.

When I play the game, I’m looking for a few things to merit inclusion in the tiny lists:

How influential was the work on those that followed?

How indicative of the time and place is the work?

Is the work limited in scope or more universal in theme?

There is a scene at the beginning of the Amy Poehler film Moxie where the new student challenges the teacher on the assignment of reading The Great Gatsby.

The scene is fun and pointed. Ike is a hoot as the teacher. Had I been her teacher I would have responded by asking what she thought was a better choice. She might have a novel written by a black woman that encapsulates the American response to the 1918 pandemic in excess and mystery. She might have an example of a novel written that explores the notions of class and the very essence of the American Dream following the horrors of WWI. If she has a suggestion of a novel written by someone not white and not male that deals so eloquently about justice, power, wealth, betrayal, and several classes of Americans who have assumed skewed worldviews, mistakenly believing their survival lies in stratification and reinforcing social boundaries, let's read that!

The issue at hand with much of the faddish push to classify certain artists and historical figures as unassailably evil and worthy of complete erasure is that the most strident either have nothing with which to substitute for the thing they deem canceled or they have replacement art that is not up to the challenge. It isn't that they don't have every right to express their grievance. History (and not merely American history) is littered with people passed over for reasons beyond merit or time as well as people lauded and magnified for rationale limited to race, sex, and religion.

Anger and grievance is not a replacement for a solution.

✶

For much of the past year I've been incredibly frustrated with this push for revision in our history. San Francisco schools voting to replace Lincoln with someone more influential historically on the rights of African Americans? That's fucking nuts, man.

An English teacher in Massachusetts successfully convinced her school's administrators to remove Homer's The Odyssey from its curriculum because of its alleged sexism. Another English teacher in Seattle said he would "rather die" than teach The Scarlet Letter in class. Mark Twain is suspect because of his portrayal of black people in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

To Kill a Mockingbird, once the City of Chicago book of the month, is now considered a no-go because it glorifies "white saviorhood" through the character of Atticus Finch. The novels featuring Sherlock Holmes should be tossed because author Arthur Conan Doyle included racist language. The author of the Little House on the Prairie books, Laura Ingalls Wilder, was stripped of a literary honor because of the "anti-Native and anti-Black sentiments in her work."

Throwing the shade of accountability on someone like J.K. Rowling seems excessive but more legit because she is still alive and reaping benefits from the sales of her writing. I may disagree with the rationale behind the call-out but it is only slightly different from Major League Baseball boycotting Georgia for re-enacting Jim Crow voting law.

Homer? Lincoln? Twain? All dead. No accountability to exact and all we have is the work left to speak for them.

For much of the past year, this stridency has driven me a little crazy but I realized recently that, especially in the digital age where so much art has been transposed into bytes, no one can prevent me from reading To Kill a Mockingbird or watching the Gregory Peck film. No one can prevent me from enjoying a Woody Allen film or a Harry Potter novel or celebrating the heroism of Churchill and Lincoln.

I love the music of David Bowie because it's great music. Does the fact that he had routine amounts of sex with underage girls dampen my enjoyment? Nope. Will it trigger someone else? Maybe. And it is their choice to avoid his music if they choose. It is not within their power to limit my choice as it should not be within my power to force it upon them.

History, as is art, trends toward subjectivity. History, after all, is just a series of stories we tell each other and stories are always told from a lens of the teller. History is less fact than it is an interpretation of existing facts and illusions. Do I believe, as the authors of the 1619 Project suppose, that America was founded in slavery? No. Do I believe that this means I can learn nothing from the stories they tell? Again, no.

Placing things into a larger perspective is as easy as acknowledging the horrors of the Civil War and still being able to comfortably have an Honest Abe Burger at the now closed Lincoln Restaurant in Chicago.

Now I'm going to go curl up and watch The Purple Rose of Cairo, then read The Great Gatsby while listening to Michael Jackson.

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1000roughdrafts · 5 years

Text

Family Secrets: Chapter Fifteen

Calm Before the Storm

Summary: Scoping out the hospital with your new gang, Allanah, Dean and Sam, you finally meet the young girl from your visions, and the man who’s possibly to blame for her state.

Warnings: language, violence against OC,

W/C: 3.3k

Masterlist/schedule

Your fingers sting where you’d been chewing at them. A bandage softens the pulsing of your thumb where you’d bitten a little too hard and drew blood. Still, even through the pain, you continue to absentmindedly chew on your fingers and their nails as you walk through the door of the hospital.

A rush of memories hits you. Everything looks the same; the hallway, the lights, the numbers on the doors, the people. Allanah and Sam walk in front of you, Dean by your side. When you glance over at him, his eyes are wide as he scans the are. “You okay, Dean?”

“Huh?” he looks over at you, coming out of his trance. “Yeah,” he clears his throat. “As good as I can be after finding out about an alternate dimension where five of my-” he shakes his head, “our children live.”

You nod sympathetically, “yeah, I’m with you there,” you snort.

Continuing down the hallway as you follow Allanah, she moves her head from left to right, peering down the hallways and looking at the numbers on the doors. She stops at one, and turns around to face you.

“This is it, isn’t it?” You point at the door, your heart pounding in your chest, “this is where Luna is, right?”

Wren - June 6, 2068 Ira, Region 1

Only when I am looking for lights do I realize how abnormally dark this region is. My vision is skewed with the use of only one eye, the other swollen shut. I wrestle with my legs, sometimes having to force them by my hands just to step along this bridge. My hand alternates between picking up my leg and holding my broken, leaking nose in place.

I hear sirens off in the distance, which is not unusual for this region, along with the incessant screaming from all neighborhoods; the song of Ira. Women, children, and men are everyday and every night pleading and begging for their lives. Half of this region are just here to serve as victims to the other half, and me? I remain somewhere in between. Hero by day, villain by night. Though, it depends on who you ask whether I'm the good guy or the bad guy.

I like to think I'm a guy just trying to survive, just like everyone else. I like to go with the flow of things, wherever the wind seems to take me. However, sometimes that leads me into very dark situations like walking along the bridge in the dead of the night after a fight with some dealers, resulting in a bloody nose, black eye, probably a broken foot and an empty stomach.

I'm not a user, but sometimes when necessity strikes I will pose as one. Undercover means that there's always a chance of getting caught. Unfortunately for my broken body, I'd been caught. I was lucky enough to escape, but not before they 'taught me a lesson'. Fuck those guys.

Soon, I will be home. I envision myself peeling my shoes from my bloodied socks, wincing at the pain but sighing at the release of pressure. I watch myself fall onto the semi-carpeted floor of my living room and remaining there forever... or until the power goes out, or perhaps until the eviction notice comes by, whichever happens first. I really don’t give a damn anymore.

The closer I get to the brink of this bridge, the louder and increasingly heart wrenching the screams become. My heart pounds vigorously in my chest. I'd cover my ears if I could, but my hands are treating my legs like the wheels of a wheelchair to keep me going. I am vehemently disgusted and angered by the lack of funds and concern for this region. We're region number one, yet last of all five. How could it get to this point? How could I be the only one fighting for a better living state for Ira?

This isn't a case of just one or two bad neighborhoods like in the other regions. Oh, no. This is a blatant disregard for the livelihood of the folks who live here. Ira might as well be a prison for the 'rejects' of the other four regions. How could they get away with such a wickedness?

This is a region where any street you find yourself on, you'll be a witness to, at best, a bloody robbery, or passed out users, and at worst, a death unfolding right before your eyes. This is not shocking to the folks who live here, and lest you wish death upon yourself, you just don't intervene... to live, you look the other way.

I have to push these thoughts away. There's not much I can do at the moment, this anger is a waste of energy. Reaching my door, I struggle with my keys. I force myself through, taking only one step in before I'm grabbed from all sides and a mesh bag is thrown over my head.

"Hey!" I scream. The fabric is too thick, my voice is muffled and the air is thinning. "What the fuck!"

There's at least four of them. I feel four hands on my arms, the crunching of ones' steps along my floor, and the smacking lips of one standing somewhere in front of me. A heat spreads through my body when I feel the dull, harsh point of a gun barrel against the back of my head, "shut the fuck up!" one barks.

I stiffen my body, growing angry all over again, "how the fuck did you get in here?"

"We'll be ones to ask questions," one says with a kick to my stomach. I buckle over, a gloved hand covers my screams and I'm held up by their hands.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

Another blow to my stomach with the blunt force of a thick knee ejects blood from my mouth. "I said we'll be asking the questions." I'm ripped back into the gun as it presses deeper into the back of my neck, "keep your damn mouth shut, don't fight back, and listen to our rules if you want to live."

I spit the remaining blood from my mouth and onto my carpet, might not get my deposit back but I couldn't lend a thought to that now. I'm sure kidnapped-and-beaten-to-a-bloody-freakin'-pulp is covered somewhere in my renters agreement, this is Ira after all.

"Ah, tell me where we're going at least," I growl in the most intimidating voice I can muster up with my swollen throat.

"Teraw," the man behind me says in a gravelly voice before forcing me out of my door and shoving me down the path and into a car.

Allanah peers her head into the room after a knock and steps inside. The three of you follow behind her. It’s just like you’d seen it however many months ago, Luna in a hospital bed with a tube in her throat, the doctor stands with a chart in his hand, a woman is crying beside her and there’s a man in a business suit.

He turns to face the four of you, pointing a finger, “you’re not supposed to be here,” he screams. “What the Hell are you doing?”

The doctor catches him by the arm and turns around to face you, “these are some friends of mine, Mr. Grant. Please, just relax.” You look at Allanah with wide eyes, her softly staring out of the window. Mr. Grant huffs, shoving the doctors arm off of him while brushing out his suit. The doctor softens his voice and focuses on the woman, “please, Mrs. Grant, take your husband outside to relax a little, will you?”

The woman nods, her face scrunched up as tears fall into the tissue she pads her face with. Reluctantly, Mr. Grant wraps his arm around her and they glide out of the room. You take a few steps closer to the bed, placing your hand on Luna’s.

You feel Dean by your side, but don’t dare to look at him. He places his hand on top of yours and an influx of memories come rushing in. You force your eyes shut to block away the tears.

“I’m going to need some alone time with her, Dan,” Allanah whispers. “She’ll be up and at ‘em before you know it,” she says in a melancholic, yet chipper voice.

Dan, you assume, lowers his voice, “whatever you do, make it look normal.” He sighs, “and we’ll talk later about you showing up here out of nowhere,” he says sternly before smiling his goodbyes.

Allanah coasts to the other side of Luna’s bed, placing her hand over Luna’s forehead and running it gently down to her chin. She stops, looking up at Sam, who stands off in the corner. He takes a few steps towards the bed and Allanah continues to run her hand down Luna’s body. Starting with her collarbone, and working down each arm, she runs her hands down her sides and each leg, confusion written all over her face.

“What’s happening?” Sam asks.

Allanah brings her hands up to inspect them, “nothing,” she says somberly. “Nothing is happening at all. My powers,” she pauses, shaking her head. “They don’t work here,” she says, turning to face the three of you.

Aiden - June 6, 2068

Feri - Region 2

Depression is perilous and conniving. One minute I'm feeling fine and the next I want to strap myself to a chair just to fight the urge to throw myself from the bridge. It's that little voice in the back of my mind that's constantly telling me how worthless I am, telling me that no matter what I do - it's never going to be good enough.

It tells me to be silent. It encourages me not to whisper a single word to anyone because they won't believe me, nor will they care. So I've kept it locked up in the pit of my stomach as it weighs me down. I'm tired even when I sleep. I'm not hungry, even when I haven't eaten for a day or more. I can't breathe, and I can never catch my breath.

It's constantly gripping onto every fiber in my body, yanking me towards the ground. I'm lying on the floor, staring into nothing. On the surface everything is fine, peachy. On the inside, there's a violent storm of death threats and negative thoughts that I can't seem to escape. I'm living in my own personal Hell, flames and all.

"Aidan!" my co-actor, Richard shouts. "Aidan, come on! Jack said cut like six times, now. Get up," he irritably grunts.

"Sorry," I clear my throat, the lab coat swooping at my feet as I stand. Walking off set and over to the director I ask for a short break to clear my mind.

My hands shake as I bring the cigarette to my mouth and I can't fathom why. Perhaps it's because I haven't eaten in a while, can't remember. Perhaps I'm just cracking under the pressure. This is no money-making field, this acting thing.

"Hey, Aidan," Richard is calmer now, startling me as he steps to my side with a cigar in his hands. I turn to face the concrete wall and the buildings beyond it. "Is everything all right with you?"

"Why do you ask?" I breathe in a long, relaxing drag of the cigarette.

He casually shrugs, "we lost you for a while back there. Were you zoning out, or what?"

"We got the scene though, right? That was the last take?" I fake enthusiasm that's riddled with anxiety, it seems to pass effectively on my apathetic co-actor.

He pats my back, "we kicked ass, man! That was the best take yet! There using it for the film."

"Good," I sigh out a mixture of pent up stress and cigarette smoke. "I think I'd go a little insane if I had to do that all over again."

"Why?" he snickers. "Working a character that loses his whole family hit a little too close to home for you?"

I glare at him. How could a person sound so genuine and yet sarcastic at the same time? Well, I should know by now. That's Richard.

I throw my cigarette onto the ground, pushing him against the wall with my fists on his shoulders. "Not cool, man. You of all people should know that." I drop him, smoothing out the creases on his suit that I'd caused. I should know by now that I had only given him what he wanted by reacting.

He adjusts himself, putting his hands in the air defensively. "All right, you're right. My bad, man. Sorry," he says with a roll of his eyes.

I glare at him while stamping out the remaining embers with my foot. Heading inside I hear my name, "ah! Aidan, glorious job back there! Listen, Mr. Grant called," he nearly shakes in excitement. "He wants us to shoot the hospital scenes in his district's hospital. What do you say we head to Teraw today?"

There’s a faint knock at the door, and soon after Dan enters the room with Luna’s parents behind him. Mr. Grant pushes past his wife and Dan to stand by Luna’s side.

Mr. Grant turns to face Dan, “Doctor, I’ll have you escort them out immediately, or else I’ll call someone to do me the favor,” he growls.

Leaving the room, there’s a small rumble as you walk down the hallway. Your eyes shoot up at Dean, leaning on him for stability. “You feel that?” you ask, glancing over at Allanah and Sam.

Allanah’s eye is caught by the flickering of the lights and sway of the floor.

“There! Go, now!” she screams, pointing down the hallway of nurses and wandering patients as they run about, filing it up with their screams. She presses her palms into your sides, flipping you around to face in the other direction, and pushes you to start running. Dean and Sam stay close behind as you sprint down the shifting hallway.

“What about Luna?” you cry out.

“Dan will take care of her, we have to move! Now, go!” She points at a door, “there’s tables in that room, go!”

Sam pushes you into Dean and the three of you into the room, all of you running to sit under a table. A large cabinet wobbles before falling in front of the door, blocking you in.

Somewhere in the hospital a siren is blaring, and the shaking gets more violent than before. Uncovering your ears, you lift yourself up to peer out of one of the windows. You jaw drops and a gasp escapes you as you see the water from underneath the bridge clashing against the side of the hospital, destroying houses and smaller buildings in its wake.

The rumbling continues as pieces fall from the hospital. Patients are screaming and doctors can be heard calling after them, trying to herd everyone to safety.

Allanah shuffles over to you in a crouch, “we need to find the children,” she shouts, just barely to be heard over the ear splitting alarm.

You peak your head from under the table and look between the brothers as they scan the room for a way out. Pulling yourself from your squat you stand next to Allanah, “how?” you point over at the cabinet in front of the door, “we’re blocked in!”

Allanah matches your gaze at the door, then looks out of the window at the raging ocean waters as they crash against the side of the building. Walking over to the door, she extends her palms out at the fallen cabinets. She exerts all of her energy into what you assume is an attempt to move it. Turning back to you and the brothers, her face falls flat.

“I guess I really don’t have any powers here,” she says, looking down into her shaking hands. “That son of a-”

“Okay, okay,” you say, taking a few steps towards her, “looks like you’ve been around Dean a little too long,” you chuckle. “Look, it’s fine. There are four of us here, I’m sure we could muster up the strength to get the door clear.” You glance over at them, and shake your head once, “come on, guys.”

Sam readily strolls to the cabinet, while Dean mopes over. With eight hands gripping onto it, you count to three and all pull together, blowing raspberries at the weight and scrunching up your faces. It takes a few tries, and balancing it on your knees to get it out of the way, but crashes against the floor with a loud bang, rattling the other cabinets in the room.

You push your way out of the door and into the now empty halls. The screaming has faded out and the only sound comes from a television on the corner of the wall in one of the waiting rooms. You gravitate towards it, taking heavy steps.

“This is an official evacuation notice from Teraw authorities and weather administrators. It is heavily advised that all residents get to safety in the wake of the sudden, and unpredictable, Hurricane Vampurica,” the monotone voice repeats over a multi-color strip before giving out a collection of resources to call and a way to help others.

“Vampurica?” Dean grunts. You turn around to see him standing behind you, Allanah and Sam close behind. “Do they even-” he sighs. “Know what? It doesn’t even matter,” he groans, turning around and storming down the hallway.

You focus on the doors, searching for the one Luna had been in. Ignoring everyone else, you run for it and open the door to find an empty bed. Sheets and blankets in a pile on the floor, and the chair is tipped over.

“Where would he have taken her?” you ask Allanah as she approaches your side.

“I’m not sure,” she lulls.

A sharp pain in your temple sends you to the ground, grunting and calling out as the pain runs down your neck and into your back.

Dean drops to your side, “Y/N! What’s going on?” he shouts, running his hands along your arm and pulling you over onto your back. You hold your hands up to your head, putting pressure on your temples to soften the pain. “Y/N-” he shouts before groaning out in pain.

Sam and Allanah are at your sides as you and Dean writhe in pain. The last thing you see before your eyes shut is Sam nervously looking you over, fear written on his face.

Before you is a large, three story house and to your side is Dean, standing dazed and looking you over with wide eyes.

“Great,” he scowls. “What could possibly go wrong?”

“It’s okay, Dean,” you whine in frustration. “We’re not actually here. I doubt anyone could even see us,” you say, taking a few steps towards the brick pathway that leads to the door.

Dean grabs onto your arm, twisting you around to face him. He points at the house, “if that guy is in there, he’ll see us. He did last time, remember?”

“No, I don’t think he did. Don’t you remember what he said to us when we showed up with Sam and Allanah? It was the same thing as then, so I guess we just traveled there at the same time...” you trail off, not exactly believing yourself so you know you can’t expect him to.

“Why didn’t we see us, then?” he says. “If we were there in that moment, we should have been able to see us, too, right?”

“Let’s just be extra careful in there, then. Pretend like we’re in our bodies and anyone can see us.” He doesn’t move his face, nor says anything. “Please, Dean. I need to know if she’s okay! I have this- this need to save them, protect them. Don’t you?” you impatiently yell. Without saying a word, he relaxes slightly. With an open palm he gestures to the house. You crouch as you walk towards it, scanning the building for an open window.

Next Chapter

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thunder-the-ranger-wolf · 4 years

Text

Possible Excerpt from Had Enough: The Dreamsight Remix

Summary, the tag to follow

The next shop was Flourish and Blotts, where Harry would get his school books. On the list were The Standard Book of Spells, A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Magical Drafts and Potions, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection.

He knew nothing about these books or the authors. Maybe he should have paid more attention to his dreams because he knew there was something about Fantastic Beasts that helped him and his friends later on.

There were far too many books for him to go through in one day, so Harry was hoping McGonagall had a good idea of where to go. He would definitely be coming back to get more books that weren’t on this list but he’d start with these.

Harry paid for the books on the list and a few of the others that Jaime, Jack, and Amelia had picked up. McGonagall had a few books of her own that were accidentally lumped in with his. After they realized, he said that she could pay him back later if she felt like she had to. It made no sense to split up a purchase like this when they were all here for similar things and were all going to the same place next. He didn’t see the big deal she was making of it, but he also might have been missing something. Maybe it’s because he has his own money now.

The next shop was for potions supplies. Hary would need a cauldron and a set of scales to weigh ingredients and apparently a telescope. McGonagall was very no-nonsense and by-the-book about the purchases despite the awe that he felt seeing all these tools. He and Jamie made lists of everything they could come back for the next time they visited this place. McGonagall agreed on that because it would have to be another six times, one for each year.

The Apothecary reeked like rotten eggs and cabbage went bad, Harry’s dreams lied about that. Barrels almost Harry’s height stood against the wall, some of them caked in slimy goop that he wasn’t too keen on touching. Jars of shriveled herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the windows. Feathers bundled, wicked fangs, and snarled claws were strung up and dangled from the ceiling. Harry wasn’t sure what exactly he’d need for potions, but the surprisingly young man behind the counter seemed to expect McGonagall, so he and Jaime were free to roam around the shop and keep a listening ear out for whatever sounded most interesting. Harry would definitely be looking out during Potions. If the magical world was anything like the science teacher said chemistry was, something was bound to explode if he didn't know what he was doing.

After the apothecary came time for a wand. Harry and Jaime laughed when that came up and whipped their arms about.

“Abracadabra!” Harry shouted.

“Alakazam!” Jaime parried.

Professor McGonagall hissed and something smothered Harry’s mouth seconds later.

“Do not ever say that word!” McGonagall insisted sharply.

“But it’s just a silly trick!” Harry scoffed beneath her hand. She shook his head from side to side before lifting her hand.

“Say again?” She ordered frostily.

“It’s a silly trick. Nothing happens if you say it. To people who don’t think magic is real, it’s just sounds strung together.”

“Well, it’s not here.”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” Amelia offered warily. “And I would very much like it if you never struck my nephew again.”

“What did you think I said?” Harry asked, coming to a realization.

“Avada Kedavra is the killing curse. If a Magician is powerful enough, it can be done without a wand. Its intended target receives an instant, painless death.”

“That’s not what I said,” He confirmed. “Similar language,” because of course it was, he almost can’t believe this! “but lacking a syllable and different vowels and consonants. I’ll keep it in mind, though. Wouldn’t want to accidentally kill someone for annoying me.” He joked.

“No, Mr. Potter.” Professor McGonagall informed him sternly. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Jaime, stick with Harry and McGonagall, your father and I are going to have a look around, see if we missed anything and maybe get you some food. You can handle the wand part, can’t you?”

Jaime looked at his mother, eyebrows scrunched before he nodded and slung an arm around Harry.

“C’mon, Wolf, let’s go get that magic wand. I wonder if there’s anything else you’re not allowed to say around here.”

“The store is Ollivander’s.” McGonagall hurried off after Harry and Jaime and it took a lot for Harry to walk away from the Alfers. He had no clue why the Alfers sent them away or what Amelia was so upset about. Harry had committed a faux-pas here. It was only right that he was corrected.

Jaime shook his head when Harry voiced his thoughts.

“Teachers don’t put hands on their students. That stopped a few years ago and most of Britain isn’t too keen on bringing it back.”

This was all so weird that Harry figured it was best to just go along for now. It was stupid to be so upset over getting hit when he’d very obviously done something wrong and was getting corrected. What if someone’s life had actually been in danger from my words?

“We’re here,” McGonagall said stiffly.

The shop before them was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that McGonagall sat on to wait. The place had an air of silence about it similar to a very strict library. Jaime let out a noise of surprise and he instantly shushed him. Stunned by his own actions, Harry didn’t speak again.

There was so much to do with wands that Harry wasn’t sure where to start. Would Ollivander answer all his questions? Did he even know how to?

Harry shook his head to clear it and looked around instead. Each wand was nestled in soft velvet jewelry boxes, the type that would hold a necklace the long way.

The strict feeling intensified, to the point where shivers jolted up Harry’s spine and he clutched Jaime’s arm.

“Good afternoon.”

Surprisingly, Jaime was the one who jumped. Harry’s feet remained rooted to the floor, though he still clung to his new cousin.

Twin orbs glittered through the darkness and the closer the person stepped, the more of themselves they revealed.

“Hello,” Harry murmured awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said Ollivander. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter."

Goodness, it would take forever to get used to people automatically knowing his name.

“Wolf,” He responded on reflex. “If you don’t mind too much.”

“Of course not, dear boy. Names, somewhat like wands, are chosen and shed. If a name no longer fits the person it belongs to, much like a wand, it can be exchanged for a new one.”

“How do you know when it’s time to change?” Harry wondered. “What if a name, or a wand, is forced on you?”

“Well, well, well, cunning little magician you are. Wands are a bit more obvious when they no longer fit, but, much like a name… sometimes you just know, Wolf. I want you to keep that in mind as you accomplish your goal today.”

“Fair enough.” Harry offered warily. He doubted that the same wand dream-Harry got would fit now, but he could only hope. Having the same wand core was all that got him through his dreams. Without that protection, that luck… well. Harry was already hopeless in the real world. He didn’t want to die anytime soon.

"You have your mother's eyes,” Ollivander said conversationally as he rifled through a stack of wands on the counter nearest to him. “It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”

It’s good to hear something nice about Lily Potter. Harry didn’t remember much about her that isn’t skewed by someone else’s view. Apparently, she’s good with charms. Maybe Professor Flitwick would know something about her.

“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration.”

Ollivander got closer as he said this, and within seconds Harry could see his face reflected in the man’s off-white moon-like eyes. Ollivander reached a long unkempt finger towards Harry’s forehead and Jaime jerked Harry back before he could actually reach it. Ollivander paid no mind to the offense and Harry nudged Jaime’s arm.

Play nice! He mouthed to his new cousin.

“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that sealed your fate, young one,” Ollivander said softly, breath barely above a whisper. “Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very much so, and in the right hands, it could have been great. If I’d known what that wand would go on to do, I’d have denied the owner, first thing.”

“Yew is poisonous,” Harry found myself saying. “And if the wand chooses the Magician, then how could you hold it back?”

Ollivander’s eyes glittered knowingly.

“You are going to do great at Hogwarts, young one. Especially once we find your wand. Now, which is your dominant hand?”

Harry held out his right arm and Jaine stepped back. The boys watched as the wand-maker pulled out a long tape measure with silver markings from his pocket. He proceeded to measure from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and around Harry’s head. He explained the makeup of wands as he continued to measure.

“Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another Magician’s wand.”

Just like in the dream, somewhere along the way the tape-measure had lifted from Ollivander’s hands and continued to measure Harry on its own. He was surprised Jaime was so quiet about this since it was taking all Harry’s strength to be perfectly still as the tape measure did its work. Mr. Ollivander appeared in front of him with four stacks of small slim boxes.

“That will do,” He said, and the tape measure crumpled to the floor like a puppet whose strings were suddenly cut. Before Harry could ask how the tape-measure did that without an incantation, he was handed a long smooth light grey stick.

“Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”

Remembering how McGonagall had freaked out when Harry said a fake curse, he decided to keep silent as he flicked the wand. True to the dreams, Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost immediately and gave him another one.

“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy.”

This time Harry actually waved his hand as if he were saying hello to someone. Nothing happened with this wand either, but Olivander seemed to need it for something because he hesitated with that one.

“What are you doing?” Harry wondered as he twitched the wand between his fingers.

“Testing this one.”

“What is there to test? The wand didn’t work.”

“You reacted to the phoenix feather more than the maple, but not so much as you would with your true wand.” Ollivander informed Harry as he evaluated the wand he’d just taken back.

“I said before that no two wand cores are alike because no two magical substances are alike. But I can tell if you react to the magical core or the wood more strongly and narrow it down from there.”

“So even though the phoenix might not be my wand’s phoenix, you can see that I’ll need a phoenix feather for the core of my wand.”

Exactly, young one.” Ollivander crowed as he put the wand back in its box. “But just to be sure, we’ll test out a few more.”

A few more turned out to be about a hundred, or so it felt, and with each wand that seemed to be a dud, Harry found himself questioning his worth more. All the things that had happened in Harry’s dreams were extraordinary. He couldn’t imagine even seeing a three-headed dog, much less getting past one. The thought of getting on a broom scared him beyond belief, trolls would be at the school and he already knew he wasn’t capable of saving anyone because all the magic he’d been able to do involved talking to one snake, changing objects, and getting away from Dudley. There was no way the wand that chose Harry in the dream would match him now. If any wand chose him at all.

“What happens if none of the wands here fit me?” Harry wondered, feeling small.

“There are other wand-makers, though not many, that I could consult to have you fitted. You are not the first tricky customer I’ve had and you won’t be the last.” Ollivander assured Harry.

“Look at it this way, Wolf,” Jaime said suddenly. “You’ve got magic, that’s for sure. You have a bank account in a magic mall and you can make coins appear in a bag.”

“That’s stuff the Potters set up when-. When I was born, probably. It would work on any child they had.”

“A non-magical child would not get a letter for Hogwarts,” McGonagall informed us sternly. “Your mother comes from an Assiduan family and she got a letter. Her sister, Petunia, did not. You belong in the Magical World, Mr. Potter.”

“Wolf,” Harry said quickly, almost speaking over her. “I… I don’t like being called by my name,” He admitted. “Everyone who says it acts like I’m some bug they want to crush under their shoe. Except the Alfers and Mrs. Figg. But they don’t mind calling me Wolf either.”

“If that’s truly how you feel about your own name, then it’s no wonder the letter wrote out that moniker.”

“Holly and phoenix feather,” Ollivander cut in suddenly, handing Harry a pale green wand that sparkled red when hit by a patch of sunlight.

“You did say I’d need a phoenix feather.” Harry offered, knowing that this was the wand from the dream.

“Go on, give it a wave.” Ollivander encouraged.

Please, please, if I ever do anything right in this world, let it start here.

Harry raised the wand above his head and brought it down in a fierce arc. A blaze of red and gold sparks followed. They shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light onto the walls.

“And indeed, you do!” Ollivander whooped eagerly. “It is… rather curious, though, young one.” He offered soberly as he took the wand back and wrapped its box in packaging paper.

“What is?” Harry asked with a knowing sense of dread. He hoped the wand-maker was about to say what he thought…

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, young one.” He began slowly. “Every single one. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand only ever gave two feathers. It is extremely curious, young one, that this wand chose you when its brother… dear young one, its brother gave you that scar.”

Harry swallowed loudly, knowing that this was what he expected to heat but somehow, coming from people in this world, it made the news more real.

“Yew is poisonous.” The younger boy choked out. “I guess only a strong rare magical substance could make its home there.”

“That is… almost true, young one. The magical substances are all powerful enough to temper the damaging properties of the woods we use to make our wands. In fact, I’d say they temper each other. But since yew is very poisonous, not many wands can be crafted from it. You are a very insightful young student, Wolf. I look forward to great things from you.”

Harry exhaled shakily, more thrown by this experience than he would like to admit.

“How much do I owe you?” He prompted.

“Seven Galleons, young one. They’re gold and the largest.”

Harry shook the Gringotts key from around his neck and pressed it to the pouch he’d been given.

“Seven Galleons.” He croaked out, hoping the magic wouldn’t fail him now.

He felt the bag grow heavier and shook the coins into Ollivander’s hand.

“Thank you,” Harry said. “for helping me today.”

“Of course, young one, the honor is mine.”

Jaime had to lead Harry around after that. Harry was too busy trying to process the day. Nothing that anyone said reached his ears, something he vowed to change once he settled into Hogwarts. He couldn’t afford to be as unaware as he was. Harry survived in the dreams because he was observant, in his own way. He had to at least get something from those.

McGonagall led the Alfers back home with the same portkey she’d used to bring them to Diagon Alley. After a few cups of tea where McGonagall told the Alfers what to expect on the first day and how to get to Hogwarts, the older woman was gone.

Ameilia, Jack, and Jaime all turned to Harry.

“What do you want to do now?” Jack asked softly.

Harry wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. He needed to think. He needed to figure out how much of this was real and when he would wake up.

He could admit to the first part, at least.

“I’m going up to my room,” Harry said. “ I need to think about all this.”

#had enough: the dreamsight remix #harry potter #hp fanfic

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barebonesblonde · 4 years

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Lust, Laughter, and the Land of Oz

Remember what things were like before COVID? Yeah? No? Because I do, just barrely. Here’s something i wrote just before it hit, in February, just three months before i got sick -- i was feeling pretty good mentally, too. Hadn’t had to take my anti-psychotic in about 4 months, and was still happily in my I’m-single-for-almost-four-years-and-don’t-want-to-change-it mode.

I know i’ve been bitching pretty incessantly for the past few posts about this ”relationship” that ended recently, but the fact is, things never got the chance to get physical (COVID, hello) so i suppose technically, i never broke that 4-year streak. ANYWAY. Here’s where my head was concerning sex, love, and all that nonsense before the shit hit the fan. Since we can’t backdate things on here, i’m just copying it from my Wordpress blog and throwing it up here with a long-winded explanation before i move on to other subjects, and close the book on All Things Romantic for awhile. I just wanted to post this to remind myself where i was coming from before things took a wrong turn, now that i’m feeling better;

Which is that sex is perfectly good and fine and healthy, but i suck at the whole relationship thing, and i need to remember that before getting involved with anyone (particularly since my ASPD -- not so much my SZA -- crap tends to impede my judgement in that regard, let’s be honest. I am often attracted to unhealthy types, and that’s not good for me, as i’m working hard on getting better, not feeding the Beast).

What this shows me -- and reminds me of, is that i’ve been attracted to happier, healthier types lately. And that’s really a good thing. While things may have ended on an unpleasant note with this last one, and he definitely wasn’t the healthiest guy in the world, he was FAR from abusive and horrible. He was just immature and flighty and a host of other things, but not the usual fare i tend to go for (i.e., somewhere in the neighborhood of my diagnosis, but the evil, ultra-narcissistic, super fucked-up, unmedicated/untreated version; either that, or just a completely useless, quasi-depressed child with substance abuse issues. Take your pick. Now that i think of it, He might have fit into that 2nd category...).

So, with no further ado...

Feb 5, 2020 -

Sexual ambivalence when you’re single is such a useless, silly, obsessive state. Once you’re there, it’s so impossibly difficult to get out. Like when you’re a kid, at the bottom of the slide, trying to climb up to the top when you’re wearing only socks and have a case of the giggles. You’re just going to keep sliding back down again. And the thing of it is, you really don’t mind…except for the fact that you never get a really good slide in, because you never quite make it all the way to the top.

Are my metaphors getting too convoluted?

Bear with me, here…

It’s been nearly four years, with the exception of one ill-advised and poorly executed fumble into one-night stand territory two summers ago, since I’ve had sex; and I almost don’t count that time, since I was inebriated, didn’t come, and the guy was so tedious and odd in his behavior – what with his bemoaning the “perfect” ex-girlfriend one minute while we’re in bed, then telling me he can’t believe someone as beautiful as me would sleep with him the next (not to mention the consequent bizarre stalker-like behavior that continues to this day) that I almost feel like I can erase it from the board because the universal system of checks and balances surely indicates that I get to start from scratch when it comes to that one. Right?

Anyway, the point is it’s been a long time. Previous to that, I was in an abusive relationship, and the last time he fucked me, it was so angry that I felt like he was trying to exact some kind of bizarre, bad porno film-esque revenge on me, so that barely counts in my book either. So I’d say I’m about due for a toe-curling orgasm, or a hundred. Like, on a regular basis, from whomever the fuck I please, whenever I want, for the rest of the year. Or, month? How many orgasms are a reasonable amount to expect in a month’s time? I’ll be damned if I know – it’s been far too long since I’ve had that sort of sex life. Which is stupid, since that used to be my modus operandi.

I’ve always known how bad I am at relationships. I’ve been broken in that regard from the word Go. There are any number of reasons I’ve stayed single for the past three and a half years – and indeed, plan on staying that way. I could go into detail, which I have in previous posts, but the heart of the matter is a woeful lack of judgment and boundaries on my part. My taste in men is so bad, it’s actually notorious amongst my circle of friends. When I haven’t seen someone in awhile, a common question is;

“So, you’re not…dating anybody…are you?”, accompanied by a worried expression.

I truly am that bad at choosing men to be in relationships with. The more violent the nature, the more obsessive, and the longer the prison term the better has been my motto (and yes, there have been one or two exceptions. But literally, just…one or two). And so, I prefer to keep a safe distance from the whole mess. Over the years, in fact, I’ve come to realize that I’m much better off when I’m single. This has always been the case, all the way back when I was in my twenties, and ostensibly not yet jaded.

I’m OK with this. Because I’m not the type that needs to be in a relationship to be “complete”. I don’t get lonely, in that sense. I have friends. I might have done occasionally when I was younger, and made more wholeheartedly pathetic attempts at being in “real, grown up relationships” that would last, but anyone who’s known me for long knows I’ve always been happier single.

Sex was never really a problem – I got that whole thing sorted out early on. After some childhood trauma and a teenage rape, I set out to fix myself of the abject terror, pain, disassociation, and ultimate inability to feel a thing. I did that with a series of handpicked lovers (several of them one night stands). Sort of an immersion therapy deal. I figured out how to ask for what I needed, and how to get out quick if it was obvious the guy wasn’t interested in getting me off (or turned out to be dangerous). And now I love sex. Which has the unfortunate effect of making some men think you love them. I’m not sure how that works, but there it is. And fuck, is it annoying. The way some people confuse lust and love has always been astounding to me. I tried explaining this problem to some hippies I knew years ago, and they looked at me like I was some kind of evil succubus. I guess that whole peace and love thing didn’t allow for the finer points of fucking…

Anyway, I spent so much time figuring out how to be good at sex, but I hadn’t the first clue about being good at relating to men in the context of a relationship. How to draw boundaries. How to stay safe emotionally, and even physically. And time and again, it’s been disastrous.

But, as for male friends, I couldn’t ask for a better bunch of guys. I picked a group of really stand-up men. And with the exception of a couple whom I’d fuck on occasion, on and off over the years (because they didn’t ask anything more of me, or get things twisted), they weren’t guys I was crossing that line with (well, except for the one time I did, and that just ended up as you’d expect – disastrously. And that was my fault, because I was grieving my son, and was a huge mess). My guy friends are all intelligent, fun, cool, creative people who genuinely care about me. They call me on my bullshit, and regularly tell me how intelligent, talented, and beautiful I am, when I feel anything but.

So…why do I make such terrible choices when it comes to romantic relationships? Well, if I knew that, we wouldn’t be here now would we? Actually, I do have a pretty good idea why – and of course it’s all down to being brought up in a house full of mental illness, abuse, and the resulting lack of boundaries and high tolerance for chaos/ideas of what’s “normal” that skew my perceptions in the relationships department. And that’s a Hell of a lot harder to fix than sex.

So, I stick to sex.

Or, at least I did. But, things have been off for a few years now. Even before the abusive relationship 3 1/2 years ago, it’s been like I’ve been dead inside since all of the death and loss I’ve endured, really. Ever since then, I really just haven’t had the life force it takes to have a healthy libido. Which sucks. Losing such a huge part of who you are because you’ve lost people you love is like walking around with a huge hole in the center of your chest. And it’s a long, slow climb back to being a whole person again.

Then the real surprise is finding out that, after you’ve worked through all that grief, you aren’t at all the same person you used to be.

Fast forward to two weekends ago.

So there I am, sitting at a local haunt, listening to my girlfriend M tell me that the bartender is flirting with me (for the 47 millionth time) and aren’t I going to do anything about it?

M is my opposite in so many ways – the brunette with the wild sex life and raging libido, the Lonely Hearts Club girl just looking for love, to my misanthropic, stoic, cold, Blonde lce Queen that I’ve become. We make a great pair. She’s always got some guy waiting in the wings, whilst I’m forever fending off her offers to hook me up with “this great guy she knows”.

I tell her she needs to be less dependent on men for her sense of self worth; that there is joy in being alone and getting to know oneself. And she tells me I need to stop being so damn untrusting – that I need to let a little bit of fun and risk into my life, that I’m too young to be so frigid. We’re both right, of course.

For months, she has been the voice of my deadened, dormant sex drive – like the insistent little breath of spring to my boring, snow-bound, sexless, Persephone alter-ego — stuck underground with my shitty husband Hades (that’s how I anthropomorphise my sex drive for the past few years), who just wants to hang out with the souls of the Dead, watch football and drink mead.

But, this time, for some reason, I listen. This time…instead of rolling my eyes at her and commenting that he’s too young, or too skinny, or too shaggy, or too cheerful, or whatever, I instead notice he’s actually pretty cute, and that he’s looking at me with what can only be described as unmistakable desire as he approaches me with liquid brown eyes and a drink, and sets it down in front of me. Then he knocks M’s glass, spilling some of her water onto the bar, then immediately cracks the snappiest joke, which makes me laugh so hard I actually snort. Then he turns to me and asks if there’s anything else I want.

And it’s then I realize – my entire body has that tingly feeling I used to get as a kid from when people would play with my long hair, when he looked at me just now; I am like a cat, internally all langorous, and purring…

And I think, Yes, yes there it is. I want him.

And it may not ever happen – because I can’t think that definitively yet. But, yes. I want. Maybe it will happen with him, or maybe with someone else. The possibilities are…pretty much wide open. The point is, I actually, really, truly feel Lust for someone for the first time in years.

Over the summer, I wrote about that jerk I knew from my old bartending gig who walked me home, then grabbed me and kissed me – I wrote how it was actually a pretty great kiss, but there was no liquid melting of my insides, and I was drunk (actually not how I usually go about these things), he wanted me to invite him in but I was like fuck no…and then the next time I saw him he was a little shit to me because I wouldn’t fuck him that night. Well, that all flashed in front of my eyes for a moment as I sat there with this cute, scruffy guy staring at me with his big, doe eyes and then I remembered;

“Yeah, but you didn’t want to fuck that guy in the slightest…so your instincts were spot on”.

And suddenly it’s like that moment when Dorothy steps out of her house in Oz, and everything is in Technicolor after a lifetime of boring Sepia. I notice the curl of hair falling into his eyes as he watches my fingers wrap around the glass. I notice how his breath hitches a bit as I lean towards him and bring the scotch to my lips. I notice that I feel every muscle in my stomach and thighs when I shift my weight on the chair, and the slight burn of the liquid as it moves down my throat. Little things. Mostly I feel that sensual self awareness that comes from knowing someone’s eyes are on me – eyes that I actually want to be watching me.

“I’ll let you know,” I tell him.

“I’ll be right here,” he says, a kind of goofy lilt to his voice.

Which is perfect, because I don’t want this to feel like a big, serious moment; this reawakening of my finally, finally feeling sexy again after so long. It should be a little silly, a little lighthearted! In fact, that’s part of what does it for me. The few, rare times I viscerally connect with someone, it’s because they’ve made me laugh first. And I realize that’s why I’m attracted to this guy…because he did something completely goofy yet sharply funny (a woefully rare combo) earlier and made me laugh – like, really laugh, from down in my belly. Had, in fact, done so several times throughout the evening. He has, actually, this kind of upbeat, silly but witty, whipsmart vibe about him that just positively reeks of happiness. It is utterly charming, and so, so very sexy. And a far cry from the usual, darkly depressive brooding but witty types I usually go for.

And that told me something even more important – that I’ve finally come back enough from the dark where I can appreciate a person like that, who emits so much joy, can exude such a sense of life, and who can make me really, really laugh. Laugh without irony.

From there, all the rest follows. And maybe, there’s hope for me yet.

#aspd #crazy love #covid crazy #brain cooties #take your meds

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notesfromthepen · 5 years

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The Void (Understanding and Conquering Addiction)

Understanding and Conquering Addiction.

In all of my years of addiction-treatment one thing was made perfectly clear; that I was an addict. But never was a substantial answer given, to WHY I was an addict. At most, a combination of brain make up and experience was explained as a cause. Which no doubt plays a role but is all too limited in scope. I have come to realize that a more complete picture must be utilized in the understanding and overcoming of addiction. Its taken me a long time to reach an understanding of my addiction. Way too long. My ignorance to the reality of my affliction has cost me in immeasurable ways. Since being incarcerated I've had the opportunity to really examine my addiction. It took time, perspective, and a lot of self-awareness To get my head around it in its entirety. Every thing in life, including addiction is influenced and affected by the culmination of prior events. As they say: nothing exists in a vacuum. To understand addiction, first you have to discover its origin. You have to go back to the root and uncover the need that addiction is trying to address. What its misguided purpose is. On the surface the answer seems to be different from addict to addict: whether it's dealing with trauma, depression, pain or boredom..etc. But these are all just symptoms of a more fundamental ailment. Continue to dig, past the symptom, and you will find the cause. Behind it all is a void. THE Void. To some, Its just a lingering feeling of incompleteness. Of something missing. The need for something more. To me it was a subtle yet ever present pull. Never wavering or relenting. And though it was always there I never understood it for what it was. This is the root from which addiction springs. I had to sit with this void. I had to examine it and find its origin. No matter how far back I pushed my memory I couldn't recall a time when it wasn't there. Through intensive meditation and a desire for understanding and self-awareness I came to a set of realizations concerning this void. Through finally understanding it, I was able to see my addiction clearly for the first time in my life. I came to understand the cause of this void, the inability to successfully fill it with substances, and finally the remedy that I'd been searching for. At its core it is a void of an unfulfilled nature. As humans we have a connection to a metaphysical aspect of the universe and our existence. This is an integral component in our lives. The failure to live up to the deeper meaning for our existence results in the sensation of a void. A void which, when misidentified, we try to fill externally. This is the biggest misconception perpetuated in modern society: that meaning and happiness can be gained externally. No god must be worshipped to understand this. No religion must be followed. This isn't one of those pitches. All that must be agreed upon is that we, as conscious beings, are more than just the aggregate of our five senses and our biology. That there is [something] else to our existence more than just random chance. Something outside of a purely materialistic explanation of the universe. Dare I say it?…that we are 'spiritual' beings. I use the word spiritual reluctantly. Not because it is inadequate but because of the dogmatic associations that maybe be unfairly attributed to it. If that word turns you off I understand. A few years ago it would have had a similar affect on me. But as I look back at the time that I held such a limited perspective I must admit that I had done almost no REAL work towards discovering if that perspective was warranted. I read a lot and gained limited information, which I based assumptions on, but I never gained the wisdom that only comes from knowledge confirmed by experience. In my dismissal of anything metaphysical I was speaking from a naive perspective. No doubt limiting myself. In any case I want to be perfectly clear; I don't espouse a belief in any specific religion, God, or 'new-age' feel good belief system. I’m familiar with materialist philosophy.And their, often reactionary, explanation of the universe. It falls short of adequately explaining many things like; the placebo effect, inspiration, creativity, true altruism, and selfless love. Not to mention the anomalies within their own field like; quantum entanglement and Schrdinger's uncertainty principle. So if you simply can't accept the possibility that there is something more to our existence, then what I say may be irrelevant to you. In a purely materialistic (physical) universe addiction and its fundamental causes can only be addressed and remedied by materialism. i.e.: medicine, surgery, or therapy. Which most addicts have had plenty of experience with. And though they can be successful in subduing addictive actions they seem to always fall short of truly eradicating their cause. Which leads to either the constant suppression of triggers and impulse or the eventual recurrence of the addictive behavior. The void manifested, in me, a feeling that something fundamental was missing. A subtle but constant knowledge of incompleteness and lack of fulfillment. A feeling that I've had forever. A feeling, I suspect, most of us have but that some manage to ignore or repress. This sensation of a void comes from a misalignment with our higher nature, our higher self, our unfulfilled potential and purpose. This misalignment is especially heightened in our western culture. Here we are taught that success is measured and found externally from ourselves. Specifically in material acquisitions. Which is the antithesis of our higher nature. We are conditioned to be consumers and producers, in a never ending cycle of earning and buying. We are taught that happiness and meaning is something to be acquired. We go about this external acquisition of meaning using different methods. However most attempts at filling the void fit into three distinct categories. The first and most glaringly fruitless example of this is acquisition through material objects: foreign cars, clothes from Italian designers, mansions, boats, electronics, jewelry, etc.. The second, seemingly a little less frivolous, is to fill the void through experience: Expensive vacations, parties, strip clubs, sky diving, fighting, sexual conquest. And the third type of attempt at filling the void, which is even harder to recognize as external, is the seeking of meaning through others: Relationships. The "perfect" mate, best friends, the acceptance of peers, the adoration of coworkers, Fame for fames sake and notoriety. For those of us who have realized the ineffectiveness of these methods or just never bought into them in the first place substance abuse often becomes our preferred coping mechanism. Now that is not to suggest that these things cannot be gained and even enjoyed. They can, but the meaningful happiness, the truest feeling of fulfillment, cannot be found externally. Which is the nature of all these things. They are inherently external. Which doesn't make these things bad it just means that they are in adequate at filling the void. Realizing the void, and knowing that it comes from a misalignment of our higher nature caused by our misunderstanding, is not enough. Just understanding that there is an ailment doesn't eradicate it. Many times I've gotten "sober". Or more accurately, I had times when I wasn't acting on my addiction. The stints of 'sobriety' varied in quality and duration depending on the distractions I employed. Sometimes a few weeks, sometimes several years. But what never varied was the presence of the void. It was always there, waiting, growing, needing more. Every time, it eventually led me back to my favorite coping mechanism. This cycle repeated time and time again because I never truly understood the void and so I never did anything to fill it with something internally meaningful. The next step, after gaining understanding, is to discover the lasting meaning and happiness we need. Something that will truly fill the void and not just cover it up. First I had to discover my purpose, our purpose, in this existence and in this life. And then I had to learn how to fulfill this. This is what I mean by the alignment of our higher nature. By realizing the failure of the external search, to produce the meaning needed, we must go inward. This is the first step in finding true fulfillment. The benefits of this practice CANNOT be gained by reading words or listening to speeches. It can be gained in no other way than experientially. If you are not willing to go beyond the words you are currently reading, if you are not willing to take an active part in finding meaning, finding YOUR meaning, then you stand no chance of breaking free from illusion and addiction. I cannot give you meaning or align you to your nature. All I can do is attempt to describe my experience of finding it. There is no combination of words that I could string together that would be able to adequately convey the meaning and magnitude of the insights that I've gained through my meditative search. So I will spare you from any attempt at a drawn out explanation. You will either have to take my word for it or go in and uncover these things for yourself. Everyday I went inward in meditation. There, I came to a set of cascading realizations and truths: I saw that my everyday reality was an illusion. I saw non-duality, that the separateness between individual people was just a part of the picture. I saw that the struggles and pain that I had been through were largely self imposed and that I possessed the ability to put an end to it. I saw clearly that my perspective was completely skewed. That my attachments and desires dictated my life. That the freewill that I assumed I exercised daily was just an illusion. That I was a slave to my impulses and not just drugs but sex and food and anything I could consume. I saw the futility in these endeavors. And I saw all the beauty that slipped past me in my ignorance. The blessings I turned my back on But I also found, in the deepest recesses of my being, a profound, all encompassing, and compassionate love. A forgiving and understanding wisdom. I glimpsed an internal nature. My true nature. A part of me that has no beginning and no end. A part of me not rooted in space-time. A part of me that is the same as that part in you. I touched our common link and the idea of ME and YOU as being separate evaporated. And in this experience I realized that the only lasting investment is Love and the only thing truly worth losing yourself in is Love. Immersed in that connection I found my higher nature. My true self. This was just a first step in aligning with my higher nature. A part of the whole. Immersing yourself in this nature is the beginning, not the end. The realizations gained are priceless. They are the knowledge necessary for fulfilling your nature. The MEANING, however, is found in the ACTIONS that come from the knowledge. They are based on your realizations and without them the journey is pointless. The knowledge you posses must bear fruit. You must start living out your nature. This is the second half of conquering the void and moving into alignment with your intended state. It starts with meditation but blossoms into many acts: The development of the will, used to gain freedom over impulse. The expression of selfless acts of compassion and love. Self sacrificing for the benefit of others. The spreading of your understanding in humble and honest ways without ego and nothing but pure intention. etc. The opportunities to fulfill your nature will come in many different forms and with perfect timing. I've found that when acting with humility and purity of purpose the Universe will unfold to meet you. It will start simple: a friend who's hungry when you have only one soup to eat. (clearly a prison example. Substitute money for food if need be) Your initial response is that you need to eat the soup. But to your higher-self that soup will never be of more value than when given away. Your friend still thinks that he NEEDS to eat a soup every night. That he must have a soup. YOU know that his thought is just conditioning and illusion. You know the truth. You know that WANT and NEED are two separate things. And what YOU need is gained only by selfless acts. So you give away the soup. That's the easy version. Later, just as its barely within your capability, it will be more difficult. It won't be a friend, it will be a perceived 'enemy' that you will need to help. The chance to fulfill your higher nature through actions will vary in form and difficulty in proportion to your progress. It will always be perfect in scope and importance. Remember, that with the purity of intention, the Universe will unfold to meet you. But also know this: Once Truth has been found, to treat it with willful ignorance will be met with the harshest of lessons. They will be there for you to either seize or ignore. With every opportunity seized you will slowly fill the void with lasting substance. This, accompanied with a sincere meditative practice, is when the pull of addiction will begin to leave you. The chains will weaken until they are no longer able to control you. You will find a meaning and fulfillment deeper and more permanent than any drug could induce. The struggle to stay sober leaves you and becomes an after thought. And a peace ever deserved yet never attained is finally yours. This new outlook and perspective must turn into a lifestyle. To be lived in action. It isn't something attained for a moment and then discarded. The alignment must be maintained. This is the key to addiction. This is how, after being the 'worst' of junkies, I was able to overcome addiction. This is how I gained my freedom. And I have to believe that the path that I have laid out, if followed with humility and unflinching dedication, will work for anyone, no matter what addiction you are trying to fill your void with. Whether it is material objects, experiences, relationships, or illicit substances. None are adequate and all can be overcome...

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charismathing · 6 years

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Charisma as a Lack of Social Barriers

Charisma Therapy:

Learning to Let Your Personality Shine Through

As a child I was very socially awkward. I was constantly bullied in school, and it seemed I was always doing something inappropriate, or blurting out the wrong thing. I marveled at how easily social interactions seemed to come to other people. But I was lucky enough to have a few acquaintances and relatives who happened to be charismatic. I made it my goal to observe these seemingly magical people, and learn what made people like them so much. I can’t say exactly how long I’ve been studying charisma, both by reading about it and observing it in my life, but it has been more than 10 years since I found out this mysterious phenomenon had a name, and since I made it my goal to figure out how it worked. I can’t attest to my own level of charisma, but what I can do is share some of my thoughts and experiences, especially the ones I feel have been particularly beneficial to my mental health, and my life as a whole.

One of the reasons I am writing this article is because I want to advocate learning charisma as a form of therapy. Personally, I know that the progress I have made since first deciding to learn charisma has facilitated literally every aspect of my life, as well as made me more sure of who I am, and I want to help others have similar experiences. I have struggled with severe depression my whole life. Before I learned about charisma, I just assumed I had been dealt a bad set of cards, destined for social failure. It is only in retrospect that I realize that most of my problems were due to awkward social situations that could have been easily resolved. I’m not saying that all my problems were my fault, but learning about social dynamics made it easier for me to interact with everybody, resolving pre-existing conflicts as well as preventing new ones. Although I still occasionally struggle with depression, learning about charisma has helped me improve my relationships with my friends and family, and ultimately made it much easier for me to cope with my depression.

So first of all, what is charisma? Merriam Webster’s Dicitonary defines Charisma as:

1. a personal magic of leadership arousing special popular loyalty or enthusiasm for a public figure (such as a political leader)

• His success was largely due to his charisma.

2: a special magnetic charm or appeal

• the charisma of a popular actor

Well it turns out that what appears to be “magic” on the surface is actually a specific set of learned behaviors. The reason they appear so natural is because charismatic individuals happen to learn these behaviors from a young age, and so by adulthood, they use their social skills constantly and naturally. Think of when you were a child, how difficult it was to learn to eat with a fork. Now it is probably so easy, it would actually take effort not to do it correctly. Charisma is the same way: once you adopt charismatic habits into your life, they become second nature, since every social interaction is an opportunity to practice. Once you understand that charisma is not a mysterious magic but an understandable psychological phenomenon, it becomes much more approachable.

Olivia Fox Cabane is one of my favorite charisma experts, and I highly recommend listening to any of her talks, and reading her book The Charisma Myth, which outlines many ways to both project charisma and care for one’s own psyche to maintain the healthy state of mind needed to foster a charismatic state of mind. (Here is a link to her talk: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LMu_md_5PQ4&t=680s) Without going into too much detail on what has already been said, psychologists have determined that the content of what charismatic leaders say actually matters very little. It is more important to use non-verbals such as eye-contact, posture and body language to project presence, power and warmth. It turns out that, through the use of non-verbals we “can talk to ourselves” as well as others, to enter a charismatic mindset and to shape our social interactions.

Instead of something you either have or you don’t, it is possible to cultivate a variety of different kinds of charisma, and to be more or less charismatic. I used to wish I would one day “be charismatic” but I am now aware that this wish stemmed from a misunderstanding of the nature of charisma itself. To learn charisma, first one must accept that one will never truly know if one has a achieved one’s goal. There will be no owl to bring you a congratulatory letter confirming your charismatic wizardry, and even using systems that purport to quantify how much people like you (ie. counting “likes” on facebook or instagram) will do more harm than good for your psyche, and the results will be skewed by a number of confounding variables. When it comes to charisma, one must accept the paradox that you are striving for perfection, yet perfection does not exist and therefore you will never reach it. So instead of getting frustrated by your imperfections, it is crucial to enjoy the process of striving and accept that you will never see a definitive result.

After years of excitedly telling people I study charisma, I have noticed that the word often seems to leave a bad taste in peoples’ mouths. It is true that charisma is commonly associated with manipulation and dishonesty. Most sources that purport to teach charisma do it through the lens of some ulterior motive: “Be Charismatic To Pick Up Girls!” or “Learn Charisma Today, And Succeed Instantly In Business!” I have a problem with these sources for a number of reasons. Although they use certain rudimentary psychological tools, I find their facade is usually quite transparent. I believe this “means to an end” approach is a product of a modern western culture in which we are trained to be goal-oriented go-getters, and any activity with no obvious, concrete result is seen as a waste of time. I believe this cultural mind-set is diametrically opposed to the relaxation and self-compassion necessary to hone a charismatic mindset. Instead of seeing charisma as a means to an end I like to think of it more as an art form: something it is best to learn for its own sake. If charisma is something you respect or admire in other people, you don’t need any other reason to start learning.

I also think charisma has a negative reputation because the first charismatic people who jump to mind are unsavory historical figures who have used their charisma to commit atrocities, such as Hitler and Charles Manson. However, I do not think this is a reason to fear charisma itself. If anything, I believe that if knowledge of charisma were to become more widespread, charismatic leaders would cease to possess an unfair advantage. Furthermore, there are abundant examples of charismatic leaders who use their abilities for good, from Stephen Colbert to the Dali Llama. And I personally know many individuals who happen not to be leaders or even extroverts, but are still very charismatic, these individuals simply never become the focus of the public eye.

Charisma is simply what allows us to have smooth and pleasurable social interactions. This is beneficial to all parties involved. So although charisma can be used for self-serving purposes, in can just as easily be used to simply make those around you feel good. I like to compare charisma to martial arts: although learning a martial art arguably makes you more dangerous, this doesn’t mean you are going to go around assaulting people. Learning a martial art can actually boost one’s confidence, self-control, and coordination, decreasing the risk of any actual altercation. Charisma is the same way. Just as learning a martial art is a way of mastering your body, learning charisma is a way of mastering your mind and social abilities.

I want to dispel another myth which is that learning charisma will make you “fake.” Charisma is not about teaching you to have a personality that isn’t your own. Rather it’s about understanding social obstacles, and cultivating your social skills to navigate these barriers. I think this is why people often compare charisma to a “shine, glow, or aura.” Cultivating charisma literally makes your personality clearer, easier to read. For this reason, I have come to understand charisma as a lack of social barriers rather than one specific capability. I truly believe that a charismatic version of every person exists, and the key is to simply overcome the social obstacles you confront habitually, and allow your charismatic self to shine through.

Looking at charisma as a lack of social barriers allows us to approach it in a more relaxed, passive way. Charisma isn’t necessarily about being the center of attention, or always saying the right thing. Sometimes it’s about not saying anything, and instead, giving your full attention to another person, just letting the interaction flow in whatever way is natural. Personally, learning charisma has allowed me to let go of distracting self-focused thoughts, (ie. am I acting awkward or uncomfortable? Can the other person tell? etc.) and really pay attention to the person I’m interacting with. I have come to realize that there is something interesting in almost everyone I meet.

I started learning charisma as something of an act of desperation: I needed to understand human behavior to avoid being a social outcast. I never expected that learning charisma would not only be intellectually fascinating, but also allow me to appreciate life in a way I never had before, and I hope sharing my insights and experiences inspires others to investigate this field as well.

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