#pastore errante

[valentina-lauricella]

Discorso intorno alla poesia

"Una notte serena e chiara e silenziosa, illuminata dalla luna, non è uno spettacolo sentimentale? Senza fallo. Ora leggete questa similitudine di Omero:

Sì come quando graziosi in cielo rifulgon gli astri intorno della luna, e l’aere è senza vento, e si discopre ogni cima de’ monti ed ogni selva ed ogni torre; allor che su nell’alto tutto quanto l’immenso etra si schiude, e vedesi ogni stella, e ne gioisce il pastor dentro all’alma.

Un veleggiamento notturno e tranquillo non lontano dalle rive, non è oltremodo sentimentale? Chi ne dubita? Ora considerate o Lettori, questi versi di Virgilio:

Adspirant aurae in noctem, nec candida cursus luna negat, splendet tremulo sub lumine pontus. Proxima Circaeae raduntur litora terrae, dives inaccessos ubi Solis filia lucos adsiduo resonat cantu, tectisque superbis urit odoratam nocturna in lumina cedrum, arguto tenues percurrens pectine telas. Hinc exaudiri gemitus iraeque leonum vincla recusantum et sera sub nocte rudentum.

[Spirano le brezze sulla notte né la candida luna nega il percorso, il mare splende sotto tremula luce. Si sfiorano i vicini lidi della terra di Circe, dove la ricca figlia del Sole fa risuonare i boschi inaccessibili di continuo canto, nella casa superba brucia l'odoroso cedro per le luci notturne scorrendo le sottili tele col pettine vivace. Di qui si sentono i gemiti e le ire di leoni che rifiutano le catene e ruggiscono nella tarda notte.]

Che ve ne pare? Quelle cose che sono sentimentali in natura, non sono parimente e forse da vantaggio in queste imitazioni?"

#discorso di un italiano intorno alla poesia romantica #giacomo leopardi #omero #virgilio #dolce e chiara è la notte e senza vento #il suon dell'ora #alla luna #pastore errante #senza inquietudine #traduzioni #poesia #1816 #diciott'anni #classicismo #natura #hyperfunctional brain syndrome

[dancingbirdie]

This request is really out of the blue but, i need I CRAVE i require a fic where tav and astarion finally find a cure for his vampirism (in dnd5 it can actually happen yay!) and he manages to see his reflection again and finally have his natural eye color again (blue bc he's prob a moon elf but I don't mind other colors too). The fangs can stay or not, idc, i just want my boy happy, in love, and cared for. Bonus points if there's cuddles too

OK first of all, thanks for this prompt!! Second, I had to break this up into two parts because I'm afraid of how unwieldy it would get otherwise. So see part 1 below. I'm actively writing part 2 and should have that posted within the next few days. Hope you enjoy!

UPDATE: Chapter 2 available here!

I Promised You (Chapter 1)

Rating: G

Pairing: Astarion x GN!reader

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings/Tags: mentions of unconsciousness, cheeky banter, domestic life, post-events of BG3, potentially problematic levels of self-sacrifice by reader.

***

“All right. I think you’re ready,” Gale affirmed as he peered over your shoulder, analyzing your hand movements as you practiced the incantation. 

“You think? Shouldn’t we wait until you’re sure?” you replied, heavy skepticism coloring your tone. 

“I can’t give you my complete assurance because you haven’t actually cast the spell,” the wizard sighed. 

The two of you had had this argument many times over the past several months as you studied and practiced. And studied and practiced some more. The conclusion was always the same, but your anxiety always managed to convince you that a different outcome would be had if you just asked him again. 

Conjuration magic was one of the most difficult forms to master. Yes, you had specialized in it during your formative years, under the tutelage of several learned wizards across Faerûn, but this spell was perhaps the pinnacle of feats in conjuration. Only a handful of wizards could perform it. Thankfully Gale was among that number, which is why you had come to him for help.

“As I’ve said, this isn’t a spell you can just cast for practice runs,” he continued. “You have one chance. And if it works, the sheer power of it is undoubtedly going to knock you unconscious.” 

“I know, I know,” you grumbled. “I just… I need to be absolutely perfect. I have to do this. For him.” 

“Have you told him what you’re planning yet?” Gale prodded.

“No. Not yet. I didn’t want to get his hopes up. Or have him tell me how unlikely success will be. Not until I was absolutely sure I could do this.” 

“I see,” the wizard returned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, tonight is as good a time to tell him as any. There’s nothing more I can teach you to prepare for this. You know the incantation by heart. You perform the gestures almost through muscle memory now. You’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” you repeated, as if saying the words would will it to be so. 

“Send me a missive if he wants to go through with this. I’ll come to the cottage and oversee the spell’s casting.”

“All right,” you nodded.

“It’s going to work. You have to believe it’s going to work,” Gale encouraged, meeting your eyes with a serious, stern sort of expression.

“It’s going to work,” you agreed. “It’s going to work.” 

***

It was dusk by the time you returned to the cottage. It was a modest home you shared with Astarion, situated just outside the city walls. It had a lovely view of the rolling hills that surrounded Baldur’s Gate, and proximity to the Chionthar River gave the air a refreshing, misty feel. Pastoral communities dotted the countryside with sheep and cattle grazing freely during the day, though they had returned to their stables long before your return.

Astarion was no fan of the bucolic lifestyle, as he was wont to remind you. But you both agreed that this living situation afforded him better meal prospects than the rats, cats and errant stray dogs that dwelled within the city limits. At least this way, he had more fulfilling options for food, since the livestock attracted their fair share of large predators. A mild, perpetual confusion charm that you cast kept the neighbors from questioning why – unlike their peers in neighboring villages and towns – their animals were never plagued by roving bears and panthers. 

Astarion was lounging listlessly in the bay window of the den when you entered your home, one leg dangling off the ledge of his reading nook while he carelessly flipped through a book. Probably one he had pilfered from Gale’s stockpile a few weeks ago, you surmised. There had been an uptick in the wizard’s grumbling about discrepancies in his library catalog of late. 

“Anything interesting?” you asked as you shrugged out of your traveler’s cloak and hung it on the coat rack by the door. 

“Ugh, hardly,” Astarion grouched. “Nothing but debunked theories and philosophies from bloated scholars who died a hundred years ago.”

“You’re going to have to return Gale’s books to him eventually, you know. He’s beginning to realize how many from his library are missing.”

“Haven’t the slightest clue what you’re referring to, darling,” he replied breezily.

“Of course, love,” you chuckled, planting a kiss on his forehead as you passed him by to make your way into the kitchen. 

“Care for a glass of wine?” you called.

“Mm, yes,” Astarion returned. “Red, please, dear.”

Uncorking the bottle and pouring the glasses gave you a brief moment to collect your thoughts. To steel your nerves for the conversation looming before you. Drawing a deep breath in and exhaling it slowly, you made your way back into the den and braced for the inevitable. 

“Darling, do you have a moment?” you asked as you offered Astarion his glass before taking a seat next to him. “I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Gods, it must be serious,” he teased, straightening from his reclined pose to take the proffered glass and make room for you. “You like you’re about to be ill. Go on then, love, before you faint and spill this vintage all over the floor.”

“It is rather serious, in fact,” you began, clearing your throat that had suddenly become tight with nerves.  “I’ve waited to tell you until now, but I’ve been researching some more difficult conjuration magic with Gale the past few months…”

“Oh?” Astarion prompted as you paused. “For what purpose, darling? I thought you had already mastered the school of conjuration.”

“I have. But this is a more specialized form. More… niche, I guess one might say. And, well…” you trailed off again, hesitant.

“Go on,” he encouraged. 

“I’ve-been-researching-a-spell-that-cures-vampirism-and-I-think-I’ve-found-a-way,” you spat out all at once, the words tumbling into each other like a wagon train gone wild. 

Astarion met your eyes with a blank stare, seemingly forgetting that his one hand had been in the process of lifting the wine glass to his lips. 

“I beg your pardon?” he asked hoarsely.

You coughed to clear your throat. “What I mean to say is: I’ve been working with Gale for months now to learn a spell that can cure your vampirism. He and I believe I’m ready to perform it. If you would allow me to try, that is.”

“If this is your idea of a joke,” he murmured, a slight quiver in his voice. “Then I have to tell you, it’s absolutely not funny at all.”

“It’s not a joke!” you assured. “I swear to you, Astarion. It’s not a joke,” you continued, squeezing one of his hands in yours. 

He nodded absently, his gaze trained on your thumb as it soothed over the knuckles of his fingers.

“H-how?” he whispered finally. “How can you cure it? I’ve read every tome I could get my hands on for over two hundred years. Nothing, nothing, I’ve read has ever offered a solution.”

“Because this is a highly guarded spell. It’s only passed down through oral tradition among wizards who specialize in conjuration magic. Which is why I’ve needed Gale’s help,” you explained. “I broached the topic with him some time ago, told him how we were going to look for some way to cure your vampirism. Being a master of magicks himself, I thought he would be a good source of information for me to begin my research. I wasn’t even aware of the spell until he shared it with me. He’s been teaching me the mechanics of it since then. It’s been a difficult spell to master but–” 

“What’s the cost?” Astarion interjected suddenly, meeting your gaze with a new intensity.

“It will cost you nothing, obviously,” you retorted, disliking where the conversation was heading. 

Astarion huffed through his nose. A caustic, frustrated sort of sound. “Don’t play cute with me, darling. You know what I mean.”

“No. I don’t,” you hedged.

“What will the spell cost you,” he bit out through a clenched jaw. 

You bit your lip, hesitant to reply. Astarion’s gaze never wavered. 

Finally you sighed. Better to reveal the consequences of it all than attempt to hide the downsides from him. Even though they were negligible in your eyes, compared to the wonder that would be returning his elfhood to him, you knew he would resent being told only partial truths. You couldn’t fault him for it. You would feel the same, were the roles reversed. 

“It will permanently weaken me. There’s a small, very small, chance it could kill me if I perform it wrong,” you confessed.

“No,” Astarion responded bluntly, without a hint of hesitation. He rose from the bench and made to leave the room. As if the matter had been settled and it was time to crack on. 

“Wait! What do you mean, ‘no’?” you blurted. Jumping to your feet, you snatched at the sleeve of his nightshirt. 

He turned to peer at you with a haughty gaze, one eyebrow arched delicately. “Exactly that. No. You’re not risking your life on the off chance of this working.”

“But it’s not an off chance. It will work! And the likelihood of me dying is incredibly slim!” you protested.

“But the likelihood of you being ‘permanently weakened’ is essentially certain, yes?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as it sounds. And besides, I don’t mind. I want to do this, Astarion.”

He scoffed. “Have you gone absolutely mad? ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds.’ Do you even know what will actually happen to you afterwards?” he shot back angrily.

“No,” you admitted, a bit quieter. 

He deliberately widened his eyes at your response, crossing his arms across his chest as if to say See? My point proven. 

“But I know I can handle it! And I love you enough to try!” you retorted.

That appeared to be the wrong choice of words. You realized it immediately as his expression morphed from outright anger to something darker, icier.

“Well then, it seems we’re at an impasse, darling,” he growled. “Because I love you enough not to have you go through with this.” 

You opened your mouth to object once more, but he continued, ignoring you. 

“AND, since it is my body and my life we’re discussing, it means I have the final say on the matter. My answer is no.”

You had anticipated this conversation going many different ways. You thought you had prepared for the most likely scenarios. But, in all your pondering, you hadn’t seriously considered the possibility that Astarion would reject this opportunity outright. 

Your eyes welled with tears. Hot, angry, disconsolate tears. 

“Astarion,” you murmured, desperate. Angry though you both were, you couldn’t resist the urge to curl into his embrace. Gently, you pulled at his arms in an attempt to un-cross them. With a soft sigh, he allowed you to manipulate him so that you were pressed chest to chest. Your arms banded around his waist, locking him against you. Slowly, he raised his arms to mimic your stance, peering down at you.  

“Astarion, my darling, this is your chance. It’s the only chance we’ve found in over two years of searching. I know I can do it. And you can win it all back. I can help you. Let me do this,” you pleaded. 

“Darling, how could I ever ‘win it all back’ when there’s a possibility I could lose you forever? Or that you could be seriously harmed in the process?” he lifted a hand to cup your cheek, smiling sadly. “I would never forgive myself if you were harmed in an attempt to cure me.”

You closed your eyes, tears slipping freely down your cheeks. “Please. I know I can do this. Please let me do this. I want to do this for you.”

“Come, pup, no more tears. I’ve given you my answer,” he murmured, swiping a thumb across your cheekbones to catch each tear.

You opened your eyes to glare at him. “If the roles were reversed, would you want to try this for me?”

“Of course,” Astarion huffed. “But that’s obviously different, I –”

“WHY? Why is it different?” you cried, clutching him. 

“Because you’re worth it!” he implored, arms vibrating as though he were resisting the urge to shake sense into you. “Your soul is worth a thousand of mine! It’s not marred by death and torture and sacrilege. Can’t you see that? Don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t,” you argued obstinately. “Because you are worth it to me. Your soul is priceless to me. I love you. You’re the love of my life.”

Astarion said nothing, just stared at you with sad eyes. You couldn’t tell if his silence meant you were persuading him, but you couldn’t relent without giving at least one more desperate plea. 

“I promised you. Remember? After everything that happened, I promised you we would find a way for you to walk in the sun once more. I didn’t make that promise lightly. I want to do this for you.”

“Darling…” he murmured sadly, shaking his head. 

“Astarion, please,” you beseeched, shifting to clutch his face between both of your palms. “I’m literally begging you to let me try. Gale and I have been practicing for almost a year now. He wouldn’t tell me I was ready unless he was certain. I know I can do this. Please. Let me try.”

“Don’t you have any regard for your own life?” he whispered. “How is it that I’m more concerned for your well being than you are?” 

“Darling, all of us have the slightest potential of dying every single day we continue to breathe. Anything poses some risk to our lives. I’m telling you, the risk of me dying from this is the same as the risk I take casting any other magic.”

“But there’s still a permanent cost to doing this. Have you even asked Gale to elaborate on what that entails?” 

“No,” you admitted a bit sheepishly. “I didn’t really think about it.” 

Astarion rolled his eyes but planted a kiss against your forehead. “You’re ridiculous, you know.”

“I’m sorry that I was so ecstatic about finding a cure that I leapt straight into studying it!” you said defensively, although your tone lacked teeth. 

He chuckled and wrapped you in a tighter embrace, resting his cheek on the top of your head. The two of you stood like that for some time, arms wrapped around each other, lost in thought. 

After a while, Astarion cleared his throat. “I want us to speak to Gale. I want to know the full details, the consequences of a spell like this.”

You jerked your head up in surprise, staring at him with wide, elated eyes. 

“I’m not saying yes,” he clarified, attempting to tamp down your burgeoning excitement. “But I’m willing to hear more about this… possibility.”

A delighted squeal rocketed up your throat. Quick as a flash, you jumped to wrap your legs around his waist. Long used to your ebullient antics, Astarion caught you with a practiced ease. His arms banded under your thighs and across your lower back, squeezing gently. 

“I love you, you daft, feral thing,” he chuckled, nuzzling your cheek. 

***

“I would have gone over this months ago, had you afforded me the opportunity,” Gale had groused upon arriving at the cottage the following evening. The three of you shared a bottle of barrel-aged Callidyren while Astarion peppered the wizard with umpteen questions about the spell’s mechanics. To his credit, Gale managed to assuage Astarion’s concerns. At least for the most part. 

The permanent effects of casting the spell, you both learned, would diminish your inner well of magic, rendering you unable to cast as many spells as you currently could before resting for a longer period of time. Almost as though the cost of performing the spell would revert you back to the strength you had had as an apprentice so many years ago. You would still be powerful, capable of wielding even the most intricate of spells. But your endurance would be shorter, more concentrated. It was a price you were more than willing to pay. Even more so now that you had actually allowed Gale to describe the effects in detail. 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t press for more details,” Astarion grumbled. 

“It didn’t seem important at the time,” you sniffed, waving a hand dismissively. “Still doesn’t, in my opinion.”

“You know, in some schools of thought,” Astarion countered dryly, “people believe the difference between bravery and complete idiocy is so fine a line that it frequently gets crossed.”

“So I’ve heard,” you crooned. “But, alas, I’m nothing if not an incredibly adept fool in love.” 

Gale observed the two of you warily, as if uncertain whether this exchange constituted harmless domestic banter or an undercurrent of severe agitation. 

“Yes, well,” he interrupted awkwardly, “as I said before, you’re as ready as you will ever be to perform this magic. I’ll be here to supervise and intervene, if necessary, though I don’t think it will be.”

“Bully for us. Is there anything else we should be prepared for, if we’re to go through with this?” Astarion snapped. “Sudden onset sliminess? Gills? Frothing at the mouth?”

You winced. He was always his most discourteous self when he was afraid. Gale might not realize it, but you knew him well enough to tell when his rudeness was obfuscation.   

“Ahem,” Gale coughed, clearly affronted by the impertinent question. “No, nothing of that sort. But this spell is incredibly demanding on one’s body. It’s very likely they’ll fall unconscious once it’s been cast. The effect shouldn’t last for more than a few hours. Enough time for a proper rest.”  

“You failed to mention that yesterday,” Astarion said peevishly, glaring at you from across the dining table. 

“Because it’s the equivalent to me needing a good sleep after a tiring day,” you quipped. 

Gale winced. “It’s a bit more serious than that, I’d argue.”

“Thank you,” Astarion intoned. 

“Tsk. An inconvenience at worst. Nothing unmanageable,” you retorted. “So, what say you, darling? Are you willing to give this a try?”

Astarion’s glare shifted between you and Gale, studying you both. 

“And you both swear to me that all information is now disclosed, yes? No partial truths, no hidden side effects?”

“I swear,” the two of you responded in unison. You reached for Astarion’s hand across the table. 

“My darling, this will work. I’m going to be fine. And you’re going to be cured,” you smiled gently. “Please, trust me.”

He squeezed your hand, crimson eyes boring into your own. 

Finally, after a moment, he gave you a terse nod.

“All right. Let’s try,” he agreed.

#dancingbirdiewrites #astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #astarion x mc #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion fic #baldurs gate astarion #baldur’s gate astarion #astarion x f!reader #tav x astarion #astarion x you #astarion x gn reader #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #astarion fluff #astarion fanfic #astarion fic

[ardentwench]

Steve and Eddie getting drunkenly married in a basement party by an errant pastor illegally performing ceremonies for couples during a pride event only to both personally take their vows seriously once they’re sober, despite the fact Robin insists they can all pretend it didn’t happen since it wasn’t legal or documented and they just got together that same day so it’s insane to hold themselves to it.

#steddie #steddie prompts #i might expand on this later the thought won’t leave my head #steve/eddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie

[gwensparlour]

#welcome to italy #poetry #tumblr polls

[the---hermit]

Some lovely sheep I met on my walk, and the dedication I wrote for my best friend in the book I am gifting her.

14|12|2022

My months of rest and relaxation // day 36

Productivity:

answered to a bunch of asks

worked on some future posts

practiced Irish on duolingo

got the last Chrstmas presents, this year I am mostly gifting books and I am very happy with my picks

wrapped all the gifts I got

worked in the afternoon

Self care:

didn't set an alarm

read in the morning

went for a short walk, no headphones on just listening to the sounds around me

went out for lunch with my mom

Made sure to drink enough (I mostly drank herbal teas but that's still hydration™)

lunlun's reading challenge // day 16

Do you like to read poetry? If so, share your favorite poem with us.

I used to love poetry when I studied it in high school, but after that I had stopped reading it. This year I slowly started to get back into it and I am loving it. My personal favourite poem is Giacomo Leopardi's Cantico Notturno Di Un Pastore Errante Dell'Asia. I also really like Aube by Arthur Rimbaud. Totally different vibes I know.

#studyblr #studyinspo #book #bookblr #booklr #nature #sheep #mine #journal #studying #productivity #self care #readingwithlunlun #myhoneststudyblr #hiyatranquil #journaling #the---hermit

[paginacentosessantuno]

"Canto di pastore errante felice molto felice di aver trovato la strada ma triste molto triste perché si è accorto che non è quella giusta"

#io bergonzoniposting solo per me ma che me frega #internet explorer me is at the beginning of mahmood performance now #sanremo

[notchainedtotrauma]

What Did We Do to the Dr Martin Luther King Jr. ? The Story of A Crossed Out History ?

Be forewarned: this is the historical opinion of an errant opinion. Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. haven’t only being sanitized by white voices; he’s been done so by countless Black voices, within their admiration for him. Something to think about that completely undoes the perception of Dr King’s politics: he wasn’t appealing to white people’s conscience, he was appealing to their internal shame, and by internal shame, I mean the betrayal of the belief they were better than that. It’s 1955 when Martin King Jr. becomes a pastor and a Doctor. Elvis Presley is at the height of his career; white girls are falling apart for diluted and siphoned Black music. But white girls also listen to actual Black music. It’s a time of rebellion and freedom right ?

But what I want to say, is that in some capacity, white people had convinced themselves that they had given enough space to the Negro, that it was enough, and they were proud of their compassion given the savagery of the beings they let amongst their civilized selves. And then Dr Martin Luther King came and decided to use non-violence cynically not as wake up the consciences and attract sympathies, but to taunt white people knowing that their newly constructed self image as “civilized and bloodless” would be tainted forever if they used deathly (insistence on deathy) violence. So they still unleashed the hounds, used high pressure water jets on protestors (Birminghan protest included children, and yes they were hosed).

From Birmingham, Alabama, to St Augustine, Florida, to Selma voting rights movement and Bloody Sunday, Dr Martin Luther King was being extremely strategic. And I believe the opposition between Malcolm X and Dr Martin Luther King Jr. was more a matter of strategies than of philosophies. You’re welcome to debate.

#stories from the void #Dr Martin Luther King Jr. #Malcolm X

[emz26]

Zelda

Volevo solamente raccontare delle storie...ma questa non è una storia, è una leggenda.

Domani esce il nuovo Zelda, e Zelda è una leggenda, nasce dalla mente di Shigeru Myamoto, quando in un momento di crisi creativa si ricordò dei suoi giochi di bambino, si ricordò di quando attraversando un bosco, immaginandosi di combattere con mostri e draghi scoprì un lago, un lago mai visto, mi immagino gli occhi di un Mya bambino spalancarsi di stupore, e con questa immagine nella mente e con il cuore vibrante nel 1986 creò il primo leggendario Zelda, che ci crediate o no è questo che accade al giocatore quando prende il controllo di Link, torna bambino, torna il desiderio della scoperta, torna la voglia di scalare un'altra montagna, di guadare un altro fiume e di esplorare un'altra caverna, tutto con gli occhi sgranati e pieni di meraviglia.

Zelda, in onore di Zelda Fitzgerald, una delle prime donne libere, Link, il protagonista, colui che permette il «legame» tra il mondo di gioco e il giocatore, Hyrule, il mondo da esplorare, l'incredibile parco giochi messoci a disposizione.

Cosa significa Zelda per me? rinascita, significa questo.

Erano due anni che non riuscivo ad ascoltare musica, mi venivano i conati di vomito ad ogni tentativo, niente autoradio, niente colonna sonora nei videogames(si può eliminare), niente film, ma Zelda è famoso per la sua colonna sonora, per la qualità dei suoi suoni ambientali, è letteralmente immerso nella musica, non potevo perdermi una parte cosi importante dell'esperienza, tentai, ne venni accarezzato, mi prese e mi invitò ad essere ascoltata e amata.

Nella vita ho visto molti cieli, ho visto quelli solcati dai draghi di Escaflone, quelli con più astri solari del dovuto, quelli vaniglia, ho visto il cupo cielo di Nosgoth scalato dagli altissimi pilastri dell'equilibrio, li ho visti corrompersi e crollare per poi tornare integri in un loop infinito di morte e rinascita, sotto di essi ho visto un'anima tormentata tentare la sorte infinite volte sperando che quella fottuta moneta dalle due facce mortali per una volta cadesse di taglio, ho visto i movimentati cieli di una notte stellata, li ho scorti tra le parole di un «canto notturno di un pastore errante», ho visto i cieli luminosissimi di Makoto Shinkaie e ho immaginato quelli di «to the moon», ma il cielo sotto quale desidero stare è quello della mia nuova terra «natia», sotto i cieli di Hyrule.

Nel suo peregrinare il buon Mya incontrò la sede di un vecchio clan giapponese, il simbolo del clan erano tre triangoli dorati uniti in modo da formarne uno più grande, in origine simboleggiavano 3 scaglie di drago, nel gioco rappresentano la triforza... forza, saggezza e coraggio, le doti che il nostro eroe deve trovare, ed è proprio la ricerca di queste che porta a possederle, non è la fine del percorso che te le regala, ma sono le prove che vengono superate durante il tragitto che ti donano queste ultime.

Forza, saggezza e coraggio sono le doti che ci servono per affrontare la vita, ma è l'affrontarla che ce le dona, l'importate è fare il primo passo.

Vi lascio alcuni link dove potrete ascoltare le musiche di zelda, alcuni puntano alle musiche originali, altri a delle reinterpretazioni.

Main theme

la mia favorita

lullaby

midna’s lament

#legend of zelda #musica #Youtube

[the-cormorant]

1/100 Days of productivity.

Was in Rome for two days, in order to visit the chemistry department. And obviously, to visit the eternal city herself. Now i have a 5h train ride to catch up on some schoolwork.

Done:

Reading some of Zeno's Conscience

Some scenes from Faust

Organized my notion

Copied down notes about the edwardian age

To read:

Dialogo della Natura e di un Islandese

Dialogo di un venditore di almanacchi e di un passeggere

Dialogo di Cristoforo Colombo e di Pietro Gutierrez

Canto notturno di un pastore errante dell'Asia

I am honestly not too keen on only studying literature. Nonetheless, I'll try to enjoy it, since it won't happen once i'm in university.

#studyblr #literature #italian #german #100 days of productivity

[chaosdancer]

Luna e cielo stellato 🌌🌙

Alba 🌅

O tramonto? 🌇

Scrivo questa introduzione all'inizio come post scriptum. So di aver "evitato" di dare una risposta netta, secca e diretta a questo ask ma spero di aver risposto in modo esaustivo in ogni caso. Ti ringrazio davvero di cuore per avermi chiesto qualcosa che mi abbia stimolato a scrivere ed esprimermi così tanto🤍

Oddio anon così mi metti in difficoltà, è come scegliere un solo gusto tra la tua top 3 dei gusti dei gelati ahaha

A mio parere, per come sento io la bellezza di questi elementi naturali, direi che tutti e tre sono momenti magici allo stesso modo. Non credo di poter scegliere cosa io preferisca tra i tre dato che hanno tutti le loro peculiarità e le loro unicità. Esattamente come credo che sia quando si parla di persone (o di un brano pianistico/musicale che scegli di studiare e portare in concerto)

Luna e cielo stellato è un paesaggio magico (anche perché qui ho un favoritismo per quanto riguarda la magia, la pace e l'introspezione che riesce a donare la notte). Non a caso la notte era un'ispirazione e una parte centrale in varie opere che sono state concepite durante il Romanticismo in ogni sua espressione artistica e letteraria. Beh, io non aggiungerò niente di nuovo alla loro poetica vecchia di circa 200 anni ormai ahah La notte è sempre stata un'ispirazione anche per me. In estate, quando ho meno impegni e più libertà nella quotidianità mi piace ritagliarmi delle nottate in cui contemplo la Luna e le stelle. C'è sempre molto silenzio (soprattutto dalle mie parti) e quindi la vista mi è sempre stata accompagnata da quei suoni che durante il caos del giorno non si sentono. Oltre a questo, la Luna e il cielo stellato mi fanno sempre volare con l'immaginazione per quanto riguarda tutto quello che c'è in quello spazio sconfinato che sto ammirando. Questa contemplazione mi fa sentire sempre piccolo, insignificante, un granello di polvere microscopico. Però è lì che mi sento ritornare anche un po' con i piedi per terra, è il mio reminder di quanto tutti noi dovremmo rimanere umili e che siamo esseri piccolissimi destinati a ritornare alla Natura nel nostro breve ciclo esistenziale. Al tempo stesso riesco anche a capire cosa si prova nel contemplare e provare un certo tipo di amore platonico per un qualcosa che, per me, sarà irraggiungibile per tutta la vita. Il tutto accompagnato spesso e volentieri dai meravigliosi Notturni di Chopin (quando ho finito di tenere la mia attenzione uditiva sui piccoli suoni notturni).

Ed è qui che poi arriva lentamente l'alba, dopo l'aurora. Magari in quel delirio mentale dovuto alla stanchezza, quando ormai i pensieri vanno alla deriva e ci si sente un po' ubriachi e poco lucidi. Ed è qui che si viene poi colpiti dai primi raggi di Sole ed è come se la Natura si mettesse a dipingere il cielo con colori magici che stregano il nostro spettro visivo. Oltre a quanto scritto sopra posso dire anche che è una sensazione diversa quando ci si sveglia presto e si riesce ad ammirare l'alba. Un momento dove il tempo sembra quasi fermarsi, il cielo diventa una tela e senti che il mondo intorno a te si sta lentamente svegliando un passo alla volta. A differenza della notte (dove ci si sente un viandante o un "pastore errante" e solitario nel mistero e nel misticismo quasi primordiale delle ore notturne), all'alba ci si sente meno soli e più partecipi del meccanismo sociale del mondo. E, nel frattempo, ci si sente anche un po' curiosi su cosa il futuro della giornata avrà da offrirci. Diciamo che è da mesi che sono diventato molto più ottimista e mi piace anche svegliarmi presto all'alba per avere quella sensazione di avere davanti a me un giorno nuovo, colmo di possibilità (soprattutto di miglioramento per fare più di ieri). Tutto questo oltre alla magnifica sensazione di sentire di avere a disposizione tantissimo tempo per fare tutto quello che si vuole.

Per quanto riguarda il tramonto e il conseguente crepuscolo si può parlare quasi all'opposto di quanto detto prima. La luce del Sole che ha accompagnato la nostra giornata ci sta dando la buonanotte e un "arrivederci e a domani" e, qui, la Natura gioca di nuovo a fare la pittrice usando altre tecniche e tavolozze di colori rispetto a quanto fatto precedentemente. Io amo particolarmente quando ci sono quelle sfumature di colori che vagano indefinitamente intorno al rosa chiaro e all'arancione tenue. In questo momento si iniziano a tirare le somme della giornata e a pensare a quali propositi si sono riusciti a portare a termine e a che cosa si possa ancora migliorare in futuro. Il momento di transizione tra il crepuscolo e la sera mi porta alla mente proprio questa rendicontazione da farsi. Si entra nella sera, in un momento che, almeno per me, è spesso di riposo mentale per stare da solo o in compagnia delle persone a me care. E pian piano si sente il mondo intorno a sé sprofondare nel sonno, spegnersi, farsi sempre più silenzioso fino a chiudere il ciclo e sfociare di nuovo nel "silenzio" e nella solitudine della notte.

Scusami per la prolissità e ti ringrazio (ringraziando anche tutti coloro che avranno voglia di leggere fino a questo punto). Non mi aspetto che nessuno legga fino a qui dato che la lettura di una serie di pensieri scritti non dovrebbe mai essere obbligatoria ma spontanea, che sia mossa da interesse o curiosità (secondo me).

Grazie🤍

#domande #domande anonime #fatemi domande #anonimi #ask me questions #anons please #anons welcome #anonimo #anon ask #questions #anons reply #anon reply #replies #replying #compagnia #domandine #fatemi qualche domanda #fatemi una domanda #domandare #natura #notte #alba #tramonto #aurora #crepuscolo #arte #romanticismo #poesia #letteratura #musica

[valentina-lauricella]

#david foster wallace #gentilezza #mi ricorda #pastore errante #ginestra

[crazy-so-na-sega]

14 giugno 🎚

Nasce l'uomo a fatica, | ed è rischio di morte il nascimento. | Prova pena e tormento | per prima cosa; e in sul principio stesso | la madre e il genitore | il prende a consolar dell'esser nato. 

-G.Leopardi -Canto notturno di un pastore errante dell'Asia

------

che ciò sia miele per il vostro pessimismo cosmico...;-)

#poesia

[gwensparlour]

#welcome to italy #poetry #tumblr polls

[pandaemoniumpancakes]

[...] a knight errant deserves neither glory nor thanks if he goes mad for a reason. The great achievement is to lose one’s reason for no reason, and to let my lady know that if I can do this without cause, what should I not do if there were cause? Moreover, I have more than enough reason because of my long absence from her who is forever my lady, Dulcinea of Toboso; as you heard the shepherd Ambrosio say, all ills are suffered and feared by one who is absent. And so, friend Sancho, do not waste time advising me to abandon so rare, so felicitous, so extraordinary an imitation. Mad I am and mad I shall remain until you return with the reply to a letter which I intend to send with you to my lady Dulcinea; if it is such as my fidelity warrants, my madness and my penance will come to an end; if it is not, I shall truly go mad and not feel anything.

Miguel de Cervantes, from Volume I:25 in Don Quixote, trans. Edith Grossman.

   “el toque está desatinar sin ocasión y dar a entender a mi dama que si en seco hago esto, ¿qué hiciera en mojado?”

   “loco soy, loco he de ser”

   “[...] que volverse loco un caballero andante con causa, ni grado ni gracias: el toque está desatinar sin ocasión y dar a entender a mi dama que si en seco hago esto, ¿qué hiciera en mojado? Cuanto más, que harta ocasión tengo en la larga ausencia que he hecho de la siempre señora mía Dulcinea del Toboso; que, como ya oíste decir a aquel pastor de marras, Ambrosio: quien está ausente todos los males tiene y teme. Así que, Sancho amigo, no gastes tiempo en aconsejarme que deje tan rara, tan felice y tan no vista imitación. Loco soy, loco he de ser hasta tanto que tú vuelvas con la respuesta de una carta que contigo pienso enviar a mi señora Dulcinea; y si fuere tal cual a mi fe se le debe, acabarse ha mi sandez y mi penitencia; y si fuere al contrario, seré loco de veras, y, siéndolo, no sentiré nada.”

#cervantes #don quixote

[the---hermit]

Do you have a favorite of all time poem, or poet?

Hello anon, let it be said that my poetry days were mostly in high school. I studied a lot of poetry and loved it, but since then I kinda stopped (and would definitely love to get back into it). My favourite poem of all time is Canto Notturno Di Un Pastore Errante Dell'Asia by Giacomo Leopardi. The Italians reading this are probably rolling their eyes because this is the depressed poet™ (we are talking about the guy who invented cosmic pessimism), but hear me out. This poem hit me in the guts when I first read it as a teen, very similarly to what Frankenstein by Mary Shelly did for me more or less at the same time. This poem put to words feelings I had but couldn't conceptualize at the time, it made me feel understood and somehow comforted, even though it's not a comforting poem. But to me it was because I realized what I was living emotionally wasn't due to the fact that I had something wrong with me, I felt less alone, someone worded these emotions centuries before I was even born and that made me feel a little less cold. I have a deep emotional attachment to it as you can tell, and it's not super easy to explain but I hope I managed!

Thank you for your question anon! (If you have some poetry recs please let me know as I am trying to get back the genre as I said)

Keep me company with an ask!!

#ask #asked #asks #anon #poetry #bookblr #reading #favourite poem #italian litterature #cris speaks #mine #the---hermit

[77jose-ricardo77]

LUNES DE LA VI SEMANA DEL TIEMPO ORDINARIO, feria

Leccionario

Primera lectura

Gén 4, 1-15. 25

“Caín atacó a su hermano Abel y lo mató”

Lectura del libro del Génesis.

El hombre conoció a Eva, su mujer, que concibió y dio a luz a Caín. Y ella dijo: «He adquirido un hombre con la ayuda del Señor». Después dio a luz a Abel, su hermano. Abel era pastor de ovejas, y Caín cultivaba el suelo. Pasado un tiempo, Caín ofreció al Señor dones de los frutos del suelo; también Abel ofreció las primicias y la grasa de sus ovejas. El Señor se fijó en Abel y en su ofrenda, pero no se fijó en Caín ni en su ofrenda; Caín se enfureció y andaba abatido. El Señor dijo a Caín: «¿Por qué te enfureces y andas abatido? ¿No estarías animado si obraras bien?; pero, si no obras bien, el pecado acecha a la puerta y te codicia, aunque tú podrás dominarlo». Caín dijo a su hermano Abel: «Vamos al campo». Y, cuando estaban en el campo, Caín atacó a su hermano Abel y lo mató. El Señor dijo a Caín: «¿Dónde está Abel, tu hermano?». Respondió Caín: «No sé; ¿soy yo el guardián de mi hermano?». El Señor le replicó: «¿Qué has hecho? La sangre de tu hermano me está gritando desde el suelo. Por eso te maldice ese suelo que ha abierto sus fauces para recibir de tus manos la sangre de tu hermano. Cuando cultives el suelo, no volverá a darte sus productos. Andarás errante y perdido por la tierra». Caín contestó al Señor: «Mi culpa es demasiado grande para soportarla. Puesto que me expulsas hoy de este suelo, tendré que ocultarme de ti, andar errante y perdido por la tierra, y cualquiera que me encuentre me matará». El Señor le dijo: «El que mate a Caín lo pagará siete veces». Y el Señor puso una señal a Caín para que, si alguien lo encontraba, no lo matase. Adán conoció otra vez a su mujer, que dio a luz un hijo y lo llamó Set, pues dijo: «Dios me ha dado otro descendiente en lugar de Abel, asesinado por Caín».

Palabra de Dios.

Salmo responsorial

Sal 49, 1bc y 8. 16bc-17. 20-21 (R.: 14a)

R. Ofrece a Dios un sacrificio de alabanza.

V. El Dios de los dioses, el Señor, habla: convoca la tierra de oriente a occidente. «No te reprocho tus sacrificios, pues siempre están tus holocaustos ante mí.

R. Ofrece a Dios un sacrificio de alabanza.

V. ¿Por qué recitas mis preceptos y tienes siempre en la boca mi alianza, tú que detestas mi enseñanza y te echas a la espalda mis mandatos?

R. Ofrece a Dios un sacrificio de alabanza.

V. Te sientas a hablar contra tu hermano, deshonras al hijo de tu madre; esto haces, ¿y me voy a callar? ¿Crees que soy como tú? Te acusaré, te lo echaré en cara».

R. Ofrece a Dios un sacrificio de alabanza.

Aleluya

Jn 14, 6bc

R. Aleluya, aleluya, aleluya.

V. Yo soy el camino y la verdad y la vida —dice el Señor—; nadie va al Padre sino por mí.

R. Aleluya, aleluya, aleluya.

Evangelio

Mc 8, 11-13

“¿Por qué esta generación reclama un signo?”

+Lectura del santo Evangelio según san Marcos.

En aquel tiempo, se presentaron los fariseos y se pusieron a discutir con Jesús; para ponerlo a prueba, le pidieron un signo del cielo. Jesús dio un profundo suspiro y dijo: «¿Por qué esta generación reclama un signo? En verdad os digo que no se le dará un signo a esta generación». Los dejó, se embarcó de nuevo y se fue a la otra orilla.

Palabra del Señor.