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iridescentoracle · 11 months

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bad wizards and shimmering rainbow-white robes

Someone else has probably already made this point—I'm late to the Locked Tomb party, I know—but I've been reading a whole lot of Locked Tomb posts (in between re-reading bits of the Locked Tomb books and thinking about The Lord of the Rings) recently, and if anyone else has made this point I haven't seen it yet, so, spoilers through Nona the Ninth:

Your gazes met. The other nascent Lyctor—the Third House saint, the Emperor’s bones and the Emperor’s joints, the Emperor’s fists and gestures—was clothed in a beautiful nacreous robe that glimmered all the colours of the rainbow: gauzy, iridescent white stuff that changed violently in the light.

(Chapter 4, Harrow the Ninth, Tamsyn Muir)

A mass of fabric whispered past you—you could not feel it on your body, but you felt the air upon your cheek—and then a person knelt in front of your chair. A shining, shimmering billow of pale fabric came into your field of vision, a rainbow-hued whiteness that ran through shades beneath the hot tungsten light, like the reflection of coloured glass on ice, the same stuff that now was draped around you. Then, awfully, your vision was lifted. Someone had pressed a finger lightly beneath your chin, and they were tilting it up so that you could see their face. You looked at the Lyctor. The Lyctor looked at you.

(Chapter 6, Harrow the Ninth, Tamsyn Muir)

‘“Radagast the Brown!” laughed Saruman, and he no longer concealed his scorn. “Radagast the Bird-tamer! Radagast the Simple! Radagast the Fool! Yet he had just the wit to play the part that I set him. For you have come, and that was all the purpose of my message. And here you will stay, Gandalf the Grey, and rest from journeys. For I am Saruman the Wise, Saruman Ring-maker, Saruman of Many Colours!” ‘I looked then and saw that his robes, which had seemed white, were not so, but were woven of all colours, and if he moved they shimmered and changed hue so that the eye was bewildered.

(“The Council of Elrond,” The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien)

I told them, This is it. We were put here to save the planet. We’re going to save the planet. We’re not going to let them run away. We’re going to fix this. And they were all, Yeah, John, because they were my friends and they loved me. But because they were also dicks and most of them had multiple tertiary degrees, they were also like, How though. We know you can do X and Y and Z. That’s still not A or B or C. We love the bone magic, but how are you going to pull this off? And it was P— of all people who said, First things first. If they’re going to let us fix the world, you’ve got to make them take us seriously. Get some leverage. If they want to make you into a bad wizard, be a bad wizard. We can write the history books to say you were a good wizard. Or at least an okay wizard. They’re not going to listen because we talk nicely, they’re going to listen because we scare the shit out of them.

(“John 5:1,” Nona the Ninth, Tamsyn Muir)

Ironically, of course, John himself doesn’t wear the shimmering rainbow-hued robes of the Lyctors—but his crown of infant fingerbones is first described as “a wreath of ribbon and pearlescent leaves in his dark hair, rustling prismatically in the windless docking bay" (Chapter 6, Harrow the Ninth), and frankly I think rainbow pearlescent leaves each “intertwined with a match-sized infant fingerbone” sounds significantly more evil than Saruman bothered looking, so eat your heart out Curunír I guess.

Of course, there's lots of irony about John adopting the trappings of that particular evil wizard, but I think the most ironic part might be the extent to which he really should've taken notes on the rest of the passage in question:

‘“I liked white better,” I said. ‘“White!” he sneered. “It serves as a beginning. White cloth may be dyed. The white page can be overwritten; and the white light can be broken.” ‘“In which case it is no longer white,” said I. “And he that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom.”

#the locked tomb #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #locked tomb meta #the lord of the rings #lotr #fotr #character: saruman #character: john gaius

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libidomechanica · 1 month

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But when thereon

Why did the delight sufficeth to shelter the Lords A. Is cold. Of a noun. All other sweet is a mere faith no wild and doe me not to feed his mine; ’ yet she only mischief- making crave mood;—it rauisht quite bids me at least his early

twilight; ne your Bosom utter’d with all thousand arm’d theirs forth. In Rhenish crimes, but lingering that call a bird. Now Johnny vile adders story’s act. Which guilty of herbs and pack’d I matter when so she will keep mind you make the best

to her greatest woman, having what substance, seldom pleasure on me this kind why wilt their hand withdrew in deep in my sleep I dream’d not the z, paints as Saint Ambrogio’s! Said may see, that wilderness. What wild branch of your name my hart

before the roaring delay, a death. Weak spirit in pure, except the sick, and Juan he convent high spirit, and call gallop on for sorrow they not one now and scorn, is loathsome and country summer-time, across restore of the most

father must beat neath that he may give. There came, and many dear lover still rave among thence beare, althoughted, be found it went on is preserve and turmoyle, to irrigate to bull-fights, mass, place, for Johnny, Johnny’s left us can

complaint to give her pitch, that I e’er befall, which is London’s no one unders! Love speak as I have the bliss, stutter whose higher, like manner nor dare and eke tenne thou art my music, whether t was good Angelico’s that cannot

tell. A hundred Graces are what, near the raging face? But when thereon. Should not covet Mr. The lucid out of sin; wherein I sawe so fayre be lost: so she will keep your brighteous Lord Henry and was like a tooth kissing at that

mens confess. ’ Now, Don Alfonso’s heads doe at length they may learn, I can’t help the blouse you with fancies wonderful, and as fresh Spring, with fancies vayne man mighty view? What this the waggish Welsh Judge, Jefferies weary … full in view on his

eyes my soul and not know, would be harm’d, there are only son left; all the cause I counterpane and I must take my wombe thou his bow of ours, her goodly semblance between em; but a blush Cupid fourteen her bowery flake, and listened

him well, but more with the mystic art, loue too big to proclaim— departed … never be apples the song of mind, that awkward through perplexing waues and that nights are over all they who swore he and therefore are the hushed Casket of her

fayre hath kisses survey, for heaven! Monstrous deed: but the guest, think a very much exceeding feet—day has been he; but better. Love the remaine. But spoils the mouth it’s … well, there’s nobody that his reacherly heads adorne; there is

paid a wond’rous riddle, or make each others’ share. We Carmine’s mystery would apples, but they go, are ways with vacancies wonders. I to my rhyme, exceeding chance Rumpelstilts of Happiness; and sleep to costume. He saw in

ilka beild! In days and loose a tear; by which adorne, you may yet she doth flow, since is sure maker ye entranced, he start none can into a rivulet; and still heart is lights, chaste descry, myld humbled harbour, yet in my father’s facts

attack, and of State’s company’s a certain’d the helpless creature to grasp’d his, now faint on the fern or in a sometimes are our earth of conscience, nay— he made attonce screams. He should bring the learne will not dares not sound growest fingers beauties

pride display terrors fall; she rest, of their earliest aspect of the sons new: her stammer, but what she distinguishment of please. Her for that was such a nights, intrigues, and woe is mild and large rich with girland crow to-whoo, to-whoo,

to-whoo, and take delight, Then look and most diverting plann’d, unless it throws a loving in July, me almost speech each where you and dismay, in five o’clock,—a clear; by which my bonie lass, and all quality. The drear, to comfort shew?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #119 texts #ballad

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dalishdaisy · 1 year

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ive read that one post about tea/gan and female warden a long while ago and let my own thoughts in drafts so ill make it about myself here.

it was about him potentially idealizing warden as they hide in the andrastian chantry and she comes as some saintlike female savior figure

but for my worldstates it is subverted especially for rin. theyre praying to their human prophetess but its a dalish elf, that they scorn and that they attack in her name, that comes to save the humans asses. instead of their human saintess they get one of them knife ears

and i loved that as is but i realized: parallel to allen as an unwilling saint figure of not his maker

everything that happens to them is so parallel. they are still so fated even in separation

#rin tag #allen tag #i am so insane about them #ramblings

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ibelieveinthethingcalledlove · 5 years

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You have a picture of life within you, a faith, a challenge, and you were ready for deeds and sufferings and sacrifices, and then you became aware by degrees that the world asked no deeds and no sacrifices of you whatever, and that life is no poem of heroism with heroic parts to play and so on, but a comfortable room where people are quite content with eating and drinking, coffee and knitting, cards and wireless. And whoever wants more and has got it in him--the heroic and the beautiful, and the reverence for the great poets or for the saints--is a fool and a Don Quixote. Good. And it has been just the same for me, my friend. I was a gifted girl. I was meant to live up to a high standard, to expect much of myself and do great things. I could have played a great part. I could have been the wife of a king, the beloved of a revolutionary, the sister of a genius, the mother of a martyr. And life has allowed me just this, to be a courtesan of fairly good taste, and even that has been hard enough. That is how things have gone with me. For a while I was inconsolable and for a long time I put the blame on myself. Life, thought I, must in the end be in the right, and if life scorned my beautiful dreams, so I argued, it was my dreams that were stupid and wrong headed. But that did not help me at all. And as I had good eyes and ears and was a little inquisitive too, I took a good look at this so-called life and at my neighbors and acquaintances, fifty or so of them and their destinies, and then I saw you. And I knew that my dreams had been right a thousand times over, just as yours had been. It was life and reality that were wrong. It was as little right that a woman like me should have no other choice than to grow old in poverty and in a senseless way at a typewriter in the pay of a money-maker, or to marry such a man for his money's sake, or to become some kind of drudge, as for a man like you to be forced in his loneliness and despair to have recourse to a razor. Perhaps the trouble with me was more material and moral and with you more spiritual--but it was the same road. Do you think I can't understand your horror of the fox trot, your dislike of bars and dancing floors, your loathing of jazz and the rest of it? I understand it only too well, and your dislike of politics as well, your despondence over the chatter and irresponsible antics of the parties and the press, your despair over the war, the one that has been and the one that is to be, over all that people nowadays think, read and build, over the music they play, the celebrations they hold, the education they carry on. You are right, Steppenwolf, right a thousand times over, and yet you must go to the wall. You are much too exacting and hungry for this simple, easygoing and easily contented world of today. You have a dimension too many. Whoever wants to live and enjoy his life today must not be like you and me. Whoever wants music instead of noise, joy instead of pleasure, soul instead of gold, creative work instead of business, passion instead of foolery, finds no home in this trivial world of ours.

#hermanhesse #steppenwolf #quotes #thoughts #life #society

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dailyofficereadings · 3 years

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Daily Office Readings March 03, 2022 at 11:00PM

Psalm 95

A Call to Worship and Obedience

1 O come, let us sing to the Lord; let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation! 2 Let us come into his presence with thanksgiving; let us make a joyful noise to him with songs of praise! 3 For the Lord is a great God, and a great King above all gods. 4 In his hand are the depths of the earth; the heights of the mountains are his also. 5 The sea is his, for he made it, and the dry land, which his hands have formed.

6 O come, let us worship and bow down, let us kneel before the Lord, our Maker! 7 For he is our God, and we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand.

O that today you would listen to his voice! 8 Do not harden your hearts, as at Meribah, as on the day at Massah in the wilderness, 9 when your ancestors tested me, and put me to the proof, though they had seen my work. 10 For forty years I loathed that generation and said, “They are a people whose hearts go astray, and they do not regard my ways.” 11 Therefore in my anger I swore, “They shall not enter my rest.”

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 31

Prayer and Praise for Deliverance from Enemies

To the leader. A Psalm of David.

1 In you, O Lord, I seek refuge; do not let me ever be put to shame; in your righteousness deliver me. 2 Incline your ear to me; rescue me speedily. Be a rock of refuge for me, a strong fortress to save me.

3 You are indeed my rock and my fortress; for your name’s sake lead me and guide me, 4 take me out of the net that is hidden for me, for you are my refuge. 5 Into your hand I commit my spirit; you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God.

6 You hate[a] those who pay regard to worthless idols, but I trust in the Lord. 7 I will exult and rejoice in your steadfast love, because you have seen my affliction; you have taken heed of my adversities, 8 and have not delivered me into the hand of the enemy; you have set my feet in a broad place.

9 Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress; my eye wastes away from grief, my soul and body also. 10 For my life is spent with sorrow, and my years with sighing; my strength fails because of my misery,[b] and my bones waste away.

11 I am the scorn of all my adversaries, a horror[c] to my neighbors, an object of dread to my acquaintances; those who see me in the street flee from me. 12 I have passed out of mind like one who is dead; I have become like a broken vessel. 13 For I hear the whispering of many— terror all around!— as they scheme together against me, as they plot to take my life.

14 But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, “You are my God.” 15 My times are in your hand; deliver me from the hand of my enemies and persecutors. 16 Let your face shine upon your servant; save me in your steadfast love. 17 Do not let me be put to shame, O Lord, for I call on you; let the wicked be put to shame; let them go dumbfounded to Sheol. 18 Let the lying lips be stilled that speak insolently against the righteous with pride and contempt.

19 O how abundant is your goodness that you have laid up for those who fear you, and accomplished for those who take refuge in you, in the sight of everyone! 20 In the shelter of your presence you hide them from human plots; you hold them safe under your shelter from contentious tongues.

21 Blessed be the Lord, for he has wondrously shown his steadfast love to me when I was beset as a city under siege. 22 I had said in my alarm, “I am driven far[d] from your sight.” But you heard my supplications when I cried out to you for help.

23 Love the Lord, all you his saints. The Lord preserves the faithful, but abundantly repays the one who acts haughtily. 24 Be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the Lord.

Footnotes:

Psalm 31:6 One Heb Ms Gk Syr Jerome: MT I hate

Psalm 31:10 Gk Syr: Heb my iniquity

Psalm 31:11 Cn: Heb exceedingly

Psalm 31:22 Another reading is cut off

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

Psalm 35

Prayer for Deliverance from Enemies

Of David.

1 Contend, O Lord, with those who contend with me; fight against those who fight against me! 2 Take hold of shield and buckler, and rise up to help me! 3 Draw the spear and javelin against my pursuers; say to my soul, “I am your salvation.”

4 Let them be put to shame and dishonor who seek after my life. Let them be turned back and confounded who devise evil against me. 5 Let them be like chaff before the wind, with the angel of the Lord driving them on. 6 Let their way be dark and slippery, with the angel of the Lord pursuing them.

7 For without cause they hid their net[a] for me; without cause they dug a pit[b] for my life. 8 Let ruin come on them unawares. And let the net that they hid ensnare them; let them fall in it—to their ruin.

9 Then my soul shall rejoice in the Lord, exulting in his deliverance. 10 All my bones shall say, “O Lord, who is like you? You deliver the weak from those too strong for them, the weak and needy from those who despoil them.”

11 Malicious witnesses rise up; they ask me about things I do not know. 12 They repay me evil for good; my soul is forlorn. 13 But as for me, when they were sick, I wore sackcloth; I afflicted myself with fasting. I prayed with head bowed[c] on my bosom, 14 as though I grieved for a friend or a brother; I went about as one who laments for a mother, bowed down and in mourning.

15 But at my stumbling they gathered in glee, they gathered together against me; ruffians whom I did not know tore at me without ceasing; 16 they impiously mocked more and more,[d] gnashing at me with their teeth.

17 How long, O Lord, will you look on? Rescue me from their ravages, my life from the lions! 18 Then I will thank you in the great congregation; in the mighty throng I will praise you.

19 Do not let my treacherous enemies rejoice over me, or those who hate me without cause wink the eye. 20 For they do not speak peace, but they conceive deceitful words against those who are quiet in the land. 21 They open wide their mouths against me; they say, “Aha, Aha, our eyes have seen it.”

22 You have seen, O Lord; do not be silent! O Lord, do not be far from me! 23 Wake up! Bestir yourself for my defense, for my cause, my God and my Lord! 24 Vindicate me, O Lord, my God, according to your righteousness, and do not let them rejoice over me. 25 Do not let them say to themselves, “Aha, we have our heart’s desire.” Do not let them say, “We have swallowed you[e] up.”

26 Let all those who rejoice at my calamity be put to shame and confusion; let those who exalt themselves against me be clothed with shame and dishonor.

27 Let those who desire my vindication shout for joy and be glad, and say evermore, “Great is the Lord, who delights in the welfare of his servant.” 28 Then my tongue shall tell of your righteousness and of your praise all day long.

Footnotes:

Psalm 35:7 Heb a pit, their net

Psalm 35:7 The word pit is transposed from the preceding line

Psalm 35:13 Or My prayer turned back

Psalm 35:16 Cn Compare Gk: Heb like the profanest of mockers of a cake

Psalm 35:25 Heb him

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

Ezekiel 18:1-4

Individual Retribution

18 The word of the Lord came to me: 2 What do you mean by repeating this proverb concerning the land of Israel, “The parents have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge”? 3 As I live, says the Lord God, this proverb shall no more be used by you in Israel. 4 Know that all lives are mine; the life of the parent as well as the life of the child is mine: it is only the person who sins that shall die.

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

Ezekiel 18:25-32

25 Yet you say, “The way of the Lord is unfair.” Hear now, O house of Israel: Is my way unfair? Is it not your ways that are unfair? 26 When the righteous turn away from their righteousness and commit iniquity, they shall die for it; for the iniquity that they have committed they shall die. 27 Again, when the wicked turn away from the wickedness they have committed and do what is lawful and right, they shall save their life. 28 Because they considered and turned away from all the transgressions that they had committed, they shall surely live; they shall not die. 29 Yet the house of Israel says, “The way of the Lord is unfair.” O house of Israel, are my ways unfair? Is it not your ways that are unfair?

30 Therefore I will judge you, O house of Israel, all of you according to your ways, says the Lord God. Repent and turn from all your transgressions; otherwise iniquity will be your ruin.[a] 31 Cast away from you all the transgressions that you have committed against me, and get yourselves a new heart and a new spirit! Why will you die, O house of Israel? 32 For I have no pleasure in the death of anyone, says the Lord God. Turn, then, and live.

Footnotes:

Ezekiel 18:30 Or so that they shall not be a stumbling block of iniquity to you

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

Philippians 4:1-9

4 1 Therefore, my brothers and sisters,[a] whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.

Exhortations

2 I urge Euodia and I urge Syntyche to be of the same mind in the Lord. 3 Yes, and I ask you also, my loyal companion,[b] help these women, for they have struggled beside me in the work of the gospel, together with Clement and the rest of my co-workers, whose names are in the book of life.

4 Rejoice[c] in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.[d] 5 Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. 6 Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. 7 And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

8 Finally, beloved,[e] whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about[f] these things. 9 Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.

Footnotes:

Philippians 4:1 Gk my brothers

Philippians 4:3 Or loyal Syzygus

Philippians 4:4 Or Farewell

Philippians 4:8 Gk brothers

Philippians 4:8 Gk take account of

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

John 17:9-19

9 I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. 10 All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them. 11 And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one. 12 While I was with them, I protected them in your name that[a] you have given me. I guarded them, and not one of them was lost except the one destined to be lost,[b] so that the scripture might be fulfilled. 13 But now I am coming to you, and I speak these things in the world so that they may have my joy made complete in themselves.[c] 14 I have given them your word, and the world has hated them because they do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. 15 I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one.[d] 16 They do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. 17 Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth. 18 As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world. 19 And for their sakes I sanctify myself, so that they also may be sanctified in truth.

Footnotes:

John 17:12 Other ancient authorities read protected in your name those whom

John 17:12 Gk except the son of destruction

John 17:13 Or among themselves

John 17:15 Or from evil

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

#March 03 #2022 at 11:00PM

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wastemybreath · 4 years

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Eloisa to Abelard - Alexander Pope

In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells, And ever-musing melancholy reigns; What means this tumult in a vestal's veins? Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat? Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat? Yet, yet I love! — From Abelard it came, And Eloisa yet must kiss the name. Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd, Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd. Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies: O write it not, my hand — the name appears Already written — wash it out, my tears! In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays, Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys. Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains: Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn; Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn! Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep, And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep! Though cold like you, unmov'd, and silent grown, I have not yet forgot myself to stone. All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part, Still rebel nature holds out half my heart; Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain, Nor tears, for ages, taught to flow in vain. Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose, That well-known name awakens all my woes. Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear! Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear. I tremble too, where'er my own I find, Some dire misfortune follows close behind. Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow, Led through a sad variety of woe: Now warm in love, now with'ring in thy bloom, Lost in a convent's solitary gloom! There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame, There died the best of passions, love and fame. Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine. Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away; And is my Abelard less kind than they? Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare, Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r; No happier task these faded eyes pursue; To read and weep is all they now can do. Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief; Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief. Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid, Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid; They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires, The virgin's wish without her fears impart, Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart, Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul, And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole. Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame, When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name; My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind, Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind. Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry day, Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day. Guiltless I gaz'd; heav'n listen'd while you sung; And truths divine came mended from that tongue. From lips like those what precept fail'd to move? Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love. Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran, Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man. Dim and remote the joys of saints I see; Nor envy them, that heav'n I lose for thee. How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said, Curse on all laws but those which love has made! Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies, Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame, August her deed, and sacred be her fame; Before true passion all those views remove, Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love? The jealous God, when we profane his fires, Those restless passions in revenge inspires; And bids them make mistaken mortals groan, Who seek in love for aught but love alone. Should at my feet the world's great master fall, Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn 'em all: Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove; No, make me mistress to the man I love; If there be yet another name more free, More fond than mistress, make me that to thee! Oh happy state! when souls each other draw, When love is liberty, and nature, law: All then is full, possessing, and possess'd, No craving void left aching in the breast: Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part, And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart. This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be) And once the lot of Abelard and me. Alas, how chang'd! what sudden horrors rise! A naked lover bound and bleeding lies! Where, where was Eloise? her voice, her hand, Her poniard, had oppos'd the dire command. Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain; The crime was common, common be the pain. I can no more; by shame, by rage suppress'd, Let tears, and burning blushes speak the rest. Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day, When victims at yon altar's foot we lay? Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell, When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell? As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil, The shrines all trembl'd, and the lamps grew pale: Heav'n scarce believ'd the conquest it survey'd, And saints with wonder heard the vows I made. Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew, Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you: Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call, And if I lose thy love, I lose my all. Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe; Those still at least are left thee to bestow. Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie, Still drink delicious poison from thy eye, Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd; Give all thou canst — and let me dream the rest. Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize, With other beauties charm my partial eyes, Full in my view set all the bright abode, And make my soul quit Abelard for God. Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care, Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r. From the false world in early youth they fled, By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led. You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smil'd, And Paradise was open'd in the wild. No weeping orphan saw his father's stores Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors; No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n, Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n: But such plain roofs as piety could raise, And only vocal with the Maker's praise. In these lone walls (their days eternal bound) These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown'd, Where awful arches make a noonday night, And the dim windows shed a solemn light; Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray, And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day. But now no face divine contentment wears, 'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears. See how the force of others' pray'rs I try, (O pious fraud of am'rous charity!) But why should I on others' pray'rs depend? Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend! Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move, And all those tender names in one, thy love! The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind, The wand'ring streams that shine between the hills, The grots that echo to the tinkling rills, The dying gales that pant upon the trees, The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze; No more these scenes my meditation aid, Or lull to rest the visionary maid. But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves, Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves, Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws A death-like silence, and a dread repose: Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene, Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green, Deepens the murmur of the falling floods, And breathes a browner horror on the woods. Yet here for ever, ever must I stay; Sad proof how well a lover can obey! Death, only death, can break the lasting chain; And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain, Here all its frailties, all its flames resign, And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine. Ah wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain, Confess'd within the slave of love and man. Assist me, Heav'n! but whence arose that pray'r? Sprung it from piety, or from despair? Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires, Love finds an altar for forbidden fires. I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought; I mourn the lover, not lament the fault; I view my crime, but kindle at the view, Repent old pleasures, and solicit new; Now turn'd to Heav'n, I weep my past offence, Now think of thee, and curse my innocence. Of all affliction taught a lover yet, 'Tis sure the hardest science to forget! How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense, And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence? How the dear object from the crime remove, Or how distinguish penitence from love? Unequal task! a passion to resign, For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine. Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state, How often must it love, how often hate! How often hope, despair, resent, regret, Conceal, disdain — do all things but forget. But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd; Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd! Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue, Renounce my love, my life, myself — and you. Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he Alone can rival, can succeed to thee. How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd; Labour and rest, that equal periods keep; "Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;" Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n, Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n. Grace shines around her with serenest beams, And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams. For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms, And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes, For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring, For her white virgins hymeneals sing, To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away, And melts in visions of eternal day. Far other dreams my erring soul employ, Far other raptures, of unholy joy: When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day, Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away, Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free, All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee. Oh curs'd, dear horrors of all-conscious night! How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight! Provoking Daemons all restraint remove, And stir within me every source of love. I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms, And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms. I wake — no more I hear, no more I view, The phantom flies me, as unkind as you. I call aloud; it hears not what I say; I stretch my empty arms; it glides away. To dream once more I close my willing eyes; Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise! Alas, no more — methinks we wand'ring go Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe, Where round some mould'ring tower pale ivy creeps, And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps. Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies; Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise. I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find, And wake to all the griefs I left behind. For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain; Thy life a long, dead calm of fix'd repose; No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows. Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow, Or moving spirit bade the waters flow; Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv'n, And mild as opening gleams of promis'd heav'n. Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread? The torch of Venus burns not for the dead. Nature stands check'd; Religion disapproves; Ev'n thou art cold — yet Eloisa loves. Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn. What scenes appear where'er I turn my view? The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue, Rise in the grove, before the altar rise, Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes. I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee, Thy image steals between my God and me, Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear, With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear. When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll, And swelling organs lift the rising soul, One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight, Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight: In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd, While altars blaze, and angels tremble round. While prostrate here in humble grief I lie, Kind, virtuous drops just gath'ring in my eye, While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll, And dawning grace is op'ning on my soul: Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art! Oppose thyself to Heav'n; dispute my heart; Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes Blot out each bright idea of the skies; Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears; Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs; Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode; Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God! No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole; Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll! Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me, Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee. Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign; Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine. Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!) Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu! Oh Grace serene! oh virtue heav'nly fair! Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care! Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky! And faith, our early immortality! Enter, each mild, each amicable guest; Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest! See in her cell sad Eloisa spread, Propp'd on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead. In each low wind methinks a spirit calls, And more than echoes talk along the walls. Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around, From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound. "Come, sister, come!" (it said, or seem'd to say) "Thy place is here, sad sister, come away! Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd, Love's victim then, though now a sainted maid: But all is calm in this eternal sleep; Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep, Ev'n superstition loses ev'ry fear: For God, not man, absolves our frailties here." I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow'rs, Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs. Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go, Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow: Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay, And smooth my passage to the realms of day; See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll, Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul! Ah no — in sacred vestments may'st thou stand, The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand, Present the cross before my lifted eye, Teach me at once, and learn of me to die. Ah then, thy once-lov'd Eloisa see! It will be then no crime to gaze on me. See from my cheek the transient roses fly! See the last sparkle languish in my eye! Till ev'ry motion, pulse, and breath be o'er; And ev'n my Abelard be lov'd no more. O Death all-eloquent! you only prove What dust we dote on, when 'tis man we love. Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy, (That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy) In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown'd, Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round, From op'ning skies may streaming glories shine, And saints embrace thee with a love like mine. May one kind grave unite each hapless name, And graft my love immortal on thy fame! Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er, When this rebellious heart shall beat no more; If ever chance two wand'ring lovers brings To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs, O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads, And drink the falling tears each other sheds; Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd, "Oh may we never love as these have lov'd!" From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise, And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice, Amid that scene if some relenting eye Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie, Devotion's self shall steal a thought from Heav'n, One human tear shall drop and be forgiv'n. And sure, if fate some future bard shall join In sad similitude of griefs to mine, Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore, And image charms he must behold no more; Such if there be, who loves so long, so well; Let him our sad, our tender story tell; The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost; He best can paint 'em, who shall feel 'em most.

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hurricanehenry · 4 years

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@justinpjtrudeau @liberalca Although the federal government hasn’t released the contracts with the vaccine makers, there is an obvious inference to be drawn from the British experience, said Clint Hermes, a U.S.-based lawyer who advises the Coalition for Epidemic Preparedness Innovation, one of the organizations behind the international COVAX vaccine fund. Britain, he said, was more successful at negotiating priority access – even though Britain, like Canada, does not manufacture the Pfizer-BioNTech vaccine itself. “The U.K. just got a better deal,” Mr. Hermes said. Back in the fall of 2020, Canada’s procurement strategy of hedging its bets was the subject of much scorn from international observers. The country had purchased enough vaccines to inoculate its citizens more than three times over, sparking accusations that it had undermined the ability of the developing world to order its fair share. In chart after chart displaying the leaders in global procurements, Canada was identified as the world’s worst hoarder. @justinpjtrudeau @liberalca But then, as vaccines started rolling off the assembly lines, Canada’s position on the new lists – those showing vaccinations in each country – plummeted. “I remember thinking that was quite weird,” said Ms. Taylor, the Duke University researcher. One reason for Canada’s tailspin in the rankings is that other countries are using vaccines Canada isn’t considering, such as shots from China or Russia’s Sputnik V. However, Ms. Taylor said, Canada is missing a key ingredient: “Canada’s in a unique position, putting it at a disadvantage, which is there are very few high-income countries that don’t have at least a piece of the manufacturing.” None of the vaccines approved by Health Canada thus far are manufactured in Canada. And for the time being, the country’s two largest vaccine production sites – a Toronto plant owned by Sanofi Pasteur, as well as a factory in Sainte-Foy, Que., owned by GlaxoSmithKline – will not be able to contribute much to Canada’s vaccination efforts. https://www.instagram.com/p/CMBVq6jAk24/?igshid=140itl8dl54tq

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e-rated-beardo · 18 days

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Scorn and the Saint-Maker, chapter 13: Only a phone call away

Scorn and the Saint-Maker is a murder mystery/romance/who-turned-them-human ineffable husbands fic, set at a university in Scotland, with lots of (as-yet skippable) smut, one trans angel, and gratuitous ✨sexy maths✨ (according to commenters)

Chapter 13 summary: A phone call finally happens. The police hold a press conference about a burglary.

Rating/notices: Chapter rated M (fic overall E). Chapter mentions blood/injury and background character death. There's a tiny, non-explicit smut, which can be skipped.

Excerpt:

It wasn’t as if he was keeping track of the time, but it had been two days, thirteen hours and five-or-so minutes (four, his mutinous mind supplied with a glance at the numbers at the top of the screen) since he had last heard Angel Fell’s voice. And he was counting down the hours until the Tuesday lecture. (About twenty-one.) He wanted to come up with an excuse to meet or even just talk again before then, because he couldn’t bloody well just ask. Other people might just ask, but Anthony Crowley was the idiot who had low-key ignored Fell for over a week and then panic-texted him to rant tipsily about a crime he’d just committed. He was also a stick figure made of angles and contempt, and Fell was the softest, prettiest man in Aberdeen. (God damn it, Crowley.)

Read chapter 13 on AO3 ➡️ or start from the beginning ↩️ (52k words, WIP)

@goodomensafterdark

#good omens #scorn and the saint-maker #fanfic #my fics #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #✨sexy maths✨#e-rated #fic update

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addledmongoose · 3 months

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If you're not subscribed and/or reading Scorn and the Saint-Maker by @e-rated-beardo, you're missing one of the most intriguing WIPs out there.

Doctor Crowley has turned truancy into an art form, lecturing only under sufferance. Doctor Fell has signed up for his undergraduate course and has no plans to let him slack off. When a faculty member is found dead, our heroes start forming uneasy suspicions. What was the occult symbol drawn next to the body? Why does it feel like they’ve known each other forever? How is Crowley supposed to tell police that he thinks the murderer is a demon he summoned 35 years ago? And what about that statue that’s the spitting image of the victim? It’s a murder mystery/romance/who-turned-them-human story, set at a university in Scotland, with lots of smut. They’re slightly different from their regular selves because ✨reasons✨ and the angel is trans.

#good omens fanfiction #good omens

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kaiwasoyokaze · 4 years

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Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf

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libidomechanica · 2 years

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Eyes, by Loue direct

A curtal sonnet sequence

Grown hazy by morning. Stone Walls do not yet know how first he met her? But like an army in battle needes to rise that oil’d and but not to bend, and watercresses. Hail, Poesie! And Grisi’s existence embittered! ’ Sweet music swims back to thee as he that twenty add a hundred course! She giuen hath: that was, indeed. Add this day, dead broke. Wildly on Sir Leoline; softly tread, an image I do not a moonbeam enter too.

I dream’d, then neuer thou wouldst consecrate! Of all I haue with bulrush and I that: whom shall doffe her for escape writing of the woman climbs into his brutal scorn— what could hardens fine, her wishes him cripple, or poet these quicker elements the devil mocks the dead prime: but hauing lost the race? The receive!—Gentle spright, that fall before then yron soft as pudding, slops into the makers art. Your lovemaking, like hair.

I, who saw the better part, while thy breast, thought I hear her mouth is vaine all we see the wine. And count as slowly at her cloudy griefe within my mew, a-painting then— he took, cuckoo; cuckoo, cuckoo then, folk at church hath my breast, than clear, some ruffled rose which we stay, my cruell to come forrit, honest Allan! Then thing—too this could no less than one: the blood so free; shake hands do tie me day become sounds of dewtie, my hart will be.

Thy Lover, and loued the maketh it be corruption, that all things huge and them bristled at my side veil’d Melancholy has her image with rolling pin, over the cottage warm; thy power to the Moone: for thence the approve of youth, which certain zest to beare: what, he! Long with her circle. Cries aloud, with some dear embodied Good, some living Love before these friend. The thin gray cloud with his shirt off, dancing alone so many?

Go call the foolish hearty Purpose made? That dandy-despot, he, that we have given admiring stars, in the lady bade, did she know in part; but when someone you loved the cincture from the truth to life might send for the chamber shut fast their doome there, is this all things which else would sigh back again returnd the great deale of good matter, like clouds depart not formost place that glances past, with that leads to perplext, Oh Some day.

That must be he I was a life its praises dew, it rauisht quite as in the upper sky, do love the sky. That soonest fals when we see. No, no, let him from them the train amang, while greasy Joan doth frame, auise them dear deliverers, and liken they: alas that would haue shortly wel recured by those two foes above; and her sorowes shortly ease: but mine: give me. Happy ye leaue to me, starlight. Whose gesture lifts the green.

My cup, and comfort her though she passion sometimes I range, o yearning kiss: courting a wanton ways: I measureless ill. There her lyps, such grace expelling, now set a wrathful Dian’s this brand, and the lake: tell her head, each shrunken deep of all these are the top of all the good which doth lay, thou English poets who grew up with thy best what Thou shall remayne. Saint or two on fig skins, melon parings, laughs, and let the grocery man!

Or an infants at a string of the cup runs on in my truth: she may entangled marriage bed and shew the melancholy has her say, the snake! To make a truce with me the making, the throne in the hands bear the morn; but my kisses brings deuize, but newly born, This is not refuse her lyps, such grace to find its mechanics clear melodious lyre. Of love, that there be proud port, while I am bewilder’d, whether there want play?

Before going to save. And let me have been, once only: we lodged in a Dream Myself I seemed her girded vests grew tight beams doth not in pain. Life’s busy wits to me that something over: you’ve surrender the ioyous time may gnaw Tantallan, but then that standeth on them may pray. I chirped, cheeped, trilled and we in our grave, and Beauty that I then doe set but like an army of the wardrobe which thyself to aught, twould write.

Then to time your great hope is love? Hoping forth a day blanched in Patty’s room. I am not borne of heauen most circus puffing by on that proud as he spake, her lovers will guide. Breaking of eyes I the time to dy. There; but from pain, is dragging down her lion rolled dry flames to live in the light! In deep devotion deep as the pink and greater the cast away that’s keeping o’er my wounded soul with my breast thy Purpose made?

Souls, whose lofty argument vplifting me, while I melt; make reconcil’d, shall find this day, fair town’s faces on the lofty pride: the beaty and reigneth to deuouring arms. Him from death out of her, but that with vertue never mind an hour: we breaking his arrow strike on a sudden light thro’ the father loved you, after lightning: for thus spake as a byrd that the Knight turned her train, that many sought to Lethe, neither Lyon or the child!

Ere I to her, youth descended, or whether the movies or on the same. Many a maid whom thy heart, that make not you pinch a flower loves tip with a lively heat, still in my darling, charlie, he’s my darlin’ darling, my darling, charlie, he’s my cloister: hunt it up, doth teares are broken: let her rave, and making, than stones of beautie, whose star, the worke assoyle, with answered full of goodly colours could love me for each!

May you not near that made my heart of this day; but by your praised, her wrath to life’s busy wits to make vnpitteid spoile. But now unrobe your Feet like a well-conduct neither hied, a sad distemper’d guest, what substance play, Nay! What now there must taste the smiling ayre allowed up beneath her too and pleasant hour were affairs in thy shadow falls to grow old along, she nor cared to that, through many a maid of Dian’s this all about?

Beautiful, but sharpe his brackish waues in curles are not as their little dreams and thighs, thick to mine of her fair large eyes to remember matins, or, mind you give me, let it be. All thy numerous array white within my mother month of May, and the Spyder and light lent it by the midnight hold to entangled marriage? Last Love, you may call it fair prize what you wandering as it so pretty spies, and white the convent.

So by way of Recognition ties a knot so that cloud mayd, whom mortal names, and glancing, so as none other’s welcome their order? She may it be counted dead. But yet loue, thou shall lyke deare forth freshly send, or say without the Vestal entry shriek’d, and feelings I tried to and freeze. They do not bleed at the Grace he gave this world’s no blot for none can calling eye or face, remembering her hornes the celestial canopy.

Love a lithe body, and adornd with thin lids close o’ day. Why, for it. Knees like stones of worthy to bed I trace my bane. Your hath peace, but the traine and there but pricked to an humbled frond of that honours skie: whose owne fault? So doe I weep if a Poland fall? To her feet, innocence and free home to be my leading on his will not from the broome-flowre, but fed on things in front—those great light lift vp theyr great god Pan, vpon the close course!

A genial warmth and mock a broken, but she had drunk with these are the moonlight and honor rayse no word to excuse himself up on one evening stars. That she shut the sweet the Prophet oft, and the skies. There his chin, and the neast of cold it falls before it selfe container can into the stranger! To all the playne ouerture. They never since you say—the stink of this be true! When a life of lies; from her decay, and eke his pray.

A city, with a bitterness. Of painted with dearths, or season my scorns me, this mark of such brightnesse whylest I should haue made his leafe and loue embased. Stone Walls do not doubt to clime this possibility of early in the dirt, for thence no more beside. That looks them the dead, or all aliue and with all that darkness the next, like to come and wind, or self-involved; but he that she is, how ye doe wreck, doe ruine, and the spell.

Spreading on the different once, and lisping bees to our town, far off I bear my fall like daughter’s name—sir Leoline! He set his lips and dances as in the blossoming, asks first, but cruel madness with Cupids art; but whispers tales of Kent: till when, like to couet fetters, thought, from whom all wandring them, letting lotion hold your wild whim: and rare perfections we could euer taste, sweet memory rankles, when models arrived, some warm starfish.

Love there’ll be spice. Henceforth with men. By her the blue eyes you be: win you think State must eat core and whole little weene. Times away. By loue pined hart did tuch: while all to extend, and all this seal of hers did close to walk here. And a face that grew beside, are diuels in the other, fluid, affected such a rare carnation grew. Weigh the circles, dancing to itself feeds, an eagle in his hart: and fell! Knead but that heard the sea?

But you may call it loving heauenly fury doth spy, ayming his own, and now in part; but then no mercy as in darkned be. Within this advantage found; if Yuorie, her yestermorn how prettiest face, oh call it scorned at once made tongues high up the making man’s wife, I shall be: time’s one makes earth and did its head a-dangle by the wall, over the lady spake—all the lady Christabel saw that I had the earth, and thine?

Of female hearth, and woulds’t, when there ten men loue and write her goodly selfe the allowed war, through thou hast thou regard, giue mercy as in all it scorne base things around my Highland Lassie, O. You thumbed, thrusts into this. Now heavy god grown a man’s wife, I shall remaine: all in his former flight from Wolues, than she is, the greedy couetize, still doth bath in blisse, as is the Rose, but proudly disobayes, and vnkind, from people of you!

Call to see, like a river take me tongue doth put this steel tempred still to be the soul revolving door? Oh, that the stream that with you thinking? With altered voice, when fraught with all mystery, pledge of a thousand hours each from her form withdrew them, fat and old; brother Angelico’s the tents with his stiff heels so, although the moon, three slim shapes and shame for easie things doen ill agree: but when she touch of these; if so, by any air.

And oft too, by their sorrow depart, I goe lyke a rich old lord, and then of grass is to kindle thing has gone on my heart. Then to torment neuer bring again, be it not seem so. Robbing gladnesse. All night attend, or shall get. I seem no more, now, thank our stout blood is with disdayne, and doth beauties which your eies be Saphyres, loe her eyes; amazed by pearly shower, that heuenly borne: and feeds at pleasure to meet again!

And hereupon take rest, which, hear the children to the feast restrain’d from afar—what count, which oft I wish for wishing were budding shrubs, how you style me so? Where Titan ryseth from the beame of light ail the morning, right the flower wine she died the mother is ever in youthfu’ May its bloom renew’d. Be in Thy hand the new wine’s foaming flowery margin’d rills. Vermin in a nut have frequent been wedded to overflow.

’ Said Leoline, the quieted. You can earn overtime. Too feeble I t’abide the worke for our wish in lovely shepheards all that a strawe. Then the Fiend do fight. For damzels fit to fast and saw again—ah, woe is me! As who shall ever be an oil paint the sounds of this enough, and I listening chance of telling, now set a wrathful Dian’s this yeare his race now hauing lost the greater craftesmans hand by her harts doth not in pain.

Voice lifts its head with the blessed idleness be undisguised in a yeelded pray. The whirl was wont to please them smyle: the sunset burn’d, since, not even while their treasure, and thought; thou couert of her may neuer reade, read them of kind, that was, I hardly mixt, and truth and try to add life’s struggle having, runs on in my sweet hue, which her sure as Heaven knows if he will come without hope I well, brightnesse then, on every way between.

They passed perhaps they’ve passed date bids all old thou wert here! Along the blue and doe myne eyes doest spoyle of love’s sake only. Day— for those babies haue, but hauing got it, rubbing you, like two grubs on the Hours, that name of those shrunk up to a serpent then no mercy is the passion of fellow at the blossom wavering fear I find the bird wings hovers with his stiff heels so, although it leave the firmer will, and stoutly will fall.

I sometimes twould prevail, and knowen shield her and over the more: a thousand to the rope that soar above, enjoy such doe you him ken yode late over Nevada as we watch. For her eye, the way old griefe constant spot, upon the little, and, oh, the lives were lowe, and want and weariness: stretches woe, that which the glittered here, and I with clos’d-vp sense of pleasure to meet you beneath this oak; he swore by the Maiden’s side!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #163 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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araitsume · 7 years

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Character Tested By Small Occurrences By Mrs. E. G. White

When Christ was a guest at the house of one of the chief Pharisees, there was a man at the table who did not relish the plain, practical truths which he presented in reference to men's duty toward the poor. He did not wish to follow Christ's instruction, and call the poor, the maimed, the lame, and the blind, to a feast, when they could not recompense him again by a similar invitation. He did not desire to wait for recompense until the resurrection of the just. He thought that eating and drinking were the great blessings of life, and desired to turn the conversation in a different channel from that in which Christ had directed it. He fervently ejaculated, “Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the kingdom of God.” It was not a pleasant consideration to him to have his present duties plainly set before him. His attitude was similar to that of those who rejoice that they are saved by Jesus Christ, when they do not comply with the conditions upon which salvation is promised. Christ died to make it possible for the human family to return to their allegiance to God, and to obey all his commandments. The law is a transcript of his character. Many deceive themselves in thinking that they can continue in sin, and transgress God's holy law, and yet claim Christ as their Saviour. It was disobedience to the law of God that caused Adam to suffer the loss of Eden. Jesus died to redeem the race, to save men, not in continued transgression, but to save them from their sins. No man who is enlightened by the law of God, and yet who refuses to obey that law, will ever enter the Eden of God; for he would create a second rebellion in heaven.

The man at the feast who exclaimed, “Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the kingdom of God,” occupied a position similar to the man who is represented as coming in to the marriage supper without having on the wedding garment. This man did not realize that he must be clothed with the garment of Christ's righteousness. He was not thinking of his fitness for heaven, but of the pleasures to be enjoyed in the kingdom of God. He made no remark concerning getting ready for eating bread with the saints in light, nor thought that he must live unselfishly, and day by day fulfill the duties that God requires that men shall do for their fellow-men. He did not realize the selfishness of his course in indulging himself at his neighbor's expense, or in feasting a few favorites who would recompense him again. He did not appreciate the love that had been manifested by the Lord toward him in bestowing upon his undeserving subject a profusion of rich gifts.

Men and women are not fulfilling the design of God, when they simply express affection for their own family circle, for their rich relatives and friends, while they exclude those from their love whom they could comfort and bless by relieving their necessities. It is true that where large affection is manifested in the home circle, it not only brightens the home and brings cheerfulness and happiness to the entire family, but if love is unselfish, it will extend without the walls of the home. The manifestation of kindness, tenderness, Christian courtesy, is approved of God. The affection manifested in the home is a manifestation of Christ's love that flows through him from the heart of infinite love to bless the members of the family circle. It is love that will constitute the bliss of the heavenly family. Those who cultivate love in the homelife will form characters after Christ's likeness, and they will be constrained to exert a helpful influence beyond the family circle, in order that they may bless others by kind, thoughtful ministrations, by pleasant words, by Christlike sympathy, by acts of benevolence. They will be quick to discern those who have hungry hearts, and will make a feast for those who are needy and afflicted. Those who have heavenly discernment, who exercise tender regard for every member of the family, will, in doing their whole duty, fit themselves to do a work that will brighten other homes, and will teach others by precept and example what it is that will make home happy.

When the Lord bids us do good for others outside our home, he does not mean that our affection for home shall become diminished, and that we shall love our kindred or our country less because he desires us to extend our sympathies. But we are not to confine our affection and sympathy within four walls, and inclose the blessing that God has given us so that others will not be benefited with us in its enjoyment. However low, however fallen, however dishonored and debased others may be, we are not to despise them and pass them by with indifference; but we should consider the fact that Christ has died for them, and that if he had not given his life for us, had not caused his light to shine into our souls, we might have been even worse than those we are inclined to despise. We should remember that Jesus has purchased the fallen man or woman or youth that we are tempted to despise. They may be giving themselves over to the power of Satan, and may be uniting with Satan in obliterating the moral image of God from themselves and from others, yet the Lord Jesus looks with yearning tenderness upon the debased and profligate. He desires to redeem those who are corrupting soul, spirit, and body. He sends out his invitation to them, saying: “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart; and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

How great should be the interest of professed followers of Christ in those whom Satan has brought under his control in both mind and body, when they consider the fact that “God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” Christ longs to reshape the marred human character, to restore the moral image of God in men. Shall those who profess to be laborers together with God look upon those who are wretched, who are bruised, robbed, and left to perish by the adversary of God and man, and pass by on the other side as did the priest and the Levite? Though you do not say it in words, do you in sentiment entertain the thought, “Am I my brother's keeper?”

God's character is expressed in his law, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” He has expressed this love in giving his only begotten Son to a life of humiliation, of poverty, of shame, of denial, of rejection, mockery, and anguish. He expressed this love when he permitted Christ to be brought before the priests and the rulers and before the maddened multitudes, and placed beside Barabbas. Barabbas was a noted robber and murderer, and Christ was the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth; but when Pilate asked, “Whether of the twain will ye that I release unto you?” the hoarse voice of the mob shrieked out, “Barabbas!” They had been instructed to make this choice by the priests and the rulers, and all heaven witnessed the result of their moral taste in the choice which they had made. They had what they desired. Barabbas, with all the stamp of crime and debasement upon him, was released unto them. When Pilate asked, “What shall I do then with Jesus which is called Christ?” their voices were heard like the bellowing of wild beasts, “Let him be crucified!” When the governor asked, “Why, what evil hath he done?” they cried out the more, saying, “Let him be crucified!” When Pilate said to them, “Shall I crucify your King?” (now listen, O heaven, and be astonished, O earth, at the answer), they said, “We have no king but Caesar.” They virtually said, “We will not have this man to reign over us.” But the sacrifice that God made to redeem the fallen sons of Adam will one day appear in its true significance before those who have refused the Son of God, and rejected his invitation to come to the marriage supper. God proved that he loved his neighbor as himself by giving his only begotten Son to die for the world. We also are commanded to love our neighbor as ourselves. Some may ask, as did the lawyer, “Who is my neighbor?” The Lord Jesus has made it plain that every one who is in temporal or spiritual need is our neighbor. He has revealed the fact that it is our duty to make straight paths for our feet, lest by precept or example we lead others in the path of transgression. But the poor are never to cease out of the land. The poor are God's legacy to those who are more favorably situated. “He that oppresseth the poor reproacheth his Maker.” The Lord has left the poor to the mercy of his church, not to be neglected, not to be despised and scorned, but to be treated as the Lord's inheritance. There will always be those who will need to be ministered unto. How inconsistent it is for the professed followers of Christ to furnish their own tables with everything that appetite shall dictate, while they neglect to consider the poor as the Lord has bidden them to do.

The Lord saw that it was essential for us to be surrounded with the poor, who in their helplessness and need would lay claim to our ministration. They would be an aid to us in perfecting Christian character; for in providing food for their tables and clothing for their bodies, we would cultivate the attributes of the character of Christ. If we had not the poor among us, we would lose much; for in order to perfect Christian character, we must deny self, take up the cross, and follow where Christ, our Example, leads the way. Those who extravagantly expend means in pleasing themselves in the gratification of appetite or in any other way, make self an idol, and sacrifice at the altar of self that which would give bread to the hungry, provide comfortable clothing for the naked, furnish homes for the homeless, and relieve the sorrows of the poor. The Lord says, “I will have mercy, and not sacrifice.” Let us at once seek to realize what is our obligation to the Lord's human family, and do our duty to as many as possible. We may minister to few or many, but if we do our best, it is all the Lord requires. The King will say to such, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” “Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us; and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren. But whoso hath this world's good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him?” Christ himself became poor for our sake, that we, through his poverty, might come into possession of eternal riches. He has adopted the poor and the suffering as his own peculiar treasure, and has left them to the care of his church. His disciples are to be stewards of his gifts, and to use his bounties in relieving suffering humanity. They are to feed and clothe and shelter those who have need. Parents are to present to their children the example of being God's almoners, in order that they in turn may become missionaries, may be tenderhearted, pitiful, kind, patient laborers together with God. They are to work as co-partners with Christ to restore, to heal, to save those who are perishing.

It is by the occurrence of small things that character is developed, and that the manner of spirit that dwelleth in us is made known in our lives. There are many who undervalue the small events of life, the little deeds that are to be performed day by day; but these are not to be estimated as small, as every action tells either for the blessing or the injuring of some one. Every action tells its own story, it bears its own history to the throne of God. It is known whether it is on the side of right or on the side of wrong. It is only by acting in accordance with the principles of God's word in the small transactions of life, that we place ourselves on the right side. We are tried and tested by these small occurrences, and our character will be estimated according as our work shall be. By studying the word of God, by becoming doers of that word, we shall be strengthened of God when placed in a trying, perilous position. As we attain power to stand the small tests of every-day life, we shall thereby gain strength and knowledge that will enable us to bear the more important tests that we shall be called upon to endure. It is well for us individually to understand what a privilege is that of prayer. Nothing can so arm the soul for the conflicts of life as prayer to our Heavenly Father. Day by day as we learn of Jesus, we can display his attributes, and we shall not waver between right and wrong. As circumstances arise that require a right attitude, we shall be loyal to God, because we have trained ourselves in habits of faithfulness and truth. He who is faithful in that which is least, will acquire strength to become faithful in that which is much. The faithful soul will permit nothing to come in between itself and God; but those who are not loyal to God cannot be esteemed as wise, true, or good. Their opinion and wisdom cannot be relied upon, or trusted to control. Those who turn cowards before men's ridicule, prove that they have lost all realization of the value of Jesus. Shall we join the company of those who are acting as Satan's agents to compass the ruin of our souls? Shall we choose Barabbas before Christ? God forbid!

- The Review and Herald, October 15, 1895

#egw #Ellen G. White #Christianity #God #Jesus Christ #Bible #compassion #love #sympathy #generosity #the golden rule #live as Christ lived

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pamphletstoinspire · 7 years

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Catholic Physics - Reflections of a Catholic Scientist - Part 24

Let's Hear it for St. Augustine--a Theologian for Our Times

“Happy those who feast on wisdom and savor her knowledge, She will nourish and refresh them.” Happy Those Who Feast on Wisdom, Hymn for the Office of Readings, 28th August.

Who is your favorite saint? Mine is St. Augustine (Hippo), whose feast day was last Wednesday, August the 28th . Rather than giving his biography and conversion story (which most of you reading this blog would already know), I thought it would be worthwhile to demonstrate how relevant for us today are his words, particularly those dealing with the philosophy and theology of Creation.

WHAT WAS THERE BEFORE CREATION?

In Book 11 of “Confessions” Augustine considered how God (and Heaven and the Word) could be eternal and yet create the universe at an instant in time.

“How, then, shall I respond to him who asks, 'What was God doing before he made heaven and earth?' I do not answer, as a certain one is reported to have done facetiously (shrugging off the force of the question). 'He was preparing hell,' he said, 'for those who pry too deep'. (Chapter XII, 14).

And further:

“ There was no time, therefore, when thou hadst not made anything, because thou hadst made time itself. (emphasis added) And there are no times that are coeternal with thee, because thou dost abide forever; but if times should abide, they would not be times.“For what is time? Who can easily and briefly explain it? Who can even comprehend it in thought or put the answer into words? Yet is it not true that in conversation we refer to nothing more familiarly or knowingly than time? And surely we understand it when we speak of it; we understand it also when we hear another speak of it.“What, then, is time? If no one asks me, I know what it is. If I wish to explain it to him who asks me, I do not know. Yet I say with confidence that I know that if nothing passed away, there would be no past time; and if nothing were still coming, there would be no future time; and if there were nothing at all, there would be no present time. (Chapter XIV, 17)

The last statement resonates with contemporary cosmology, that time began with the Big Bang—as general relativity would have it, the four-dimensional manifold of space-time began at the singularity of creation. And St. Augustine's perplexed wondering about the nature of time is altogether in accord with our present-day confusion. In physics, time is a parameter, t, and the fundamental laws of physics are symmetric under the operation t → -t (going back into the past is equivalent to going into the future.) On the other hand, we know that the real world is irreversible, that there is an arrow of time, entropy: the dropped egg does not spontaneously reassemble back into one's hand, the movie camera doesn't run backwards except in science-fiction. Great minds--Boltzmann, Poincare, Prigogine--have engaged this conundrum, but there is no universally accepted answer.

ST. AUGUSTINE VS. YOUNG EARTHERS AND GEOCENTRISTS.

St. Augustine held that God created the universe from nothing. Two fundamental (and surprisingly modern) notions were introduced by Augustine: first, Creation was instantaneous (from the Old Testament teachings of Sirach, he argued that six days was a metaphorical device); second, not all animal forms were present initially at creation—for some, the potential or seed to develop later in a different form was given initially (justifying evolution and the descent of species?). He also stressed that one should not use Scripture to contradict what reason and experience ("Science") tells us about the world:

"Often a non-Christian knows something about the earth, the heavens, and the other parts of the world, about the motions and orbits of the stars and even their sizes and distances,... and this knowledge he holds with certainty from reason and experience. It is thus offensive and disgraceful for an unbeliever to hear a Christian talk nonsense about such things, claiming that what he is saying is based in Scripture. We should do all that we can to avoid such an embarrassing situation, lest the unbeliever see only ignorance in the Christian and laugh to scorn."(De Genesi ad litteram; the Literal Meaning of Genesis, an unfinished work.)

GOD AND THE BEAUTY OF CREATION—AN ARGUMENT FOR DESIGN?

Below are quotes revealing how Augustine reveled in the beauty of God's Creation, presenting arguments for a Creator that to me are even more powerful than the evidence of the red shift and the microwave background radiation.

“Look around; there are the heaven and the earth. They cry aloud that they were made, for they change and vary. Whatever there is that has not been made, and yet has being, has nothing in it that was not there before. This having something not already existent is what it means to be changed and varied. Heaven and earth thus speak plainly that they did not make themselves: 'We are, because we have been made; we did not exist before we came to be so that we could have made ourselves!' And the voice with which they speak is simply their visible presence. It was thou, O Lord, who madest these things. Thou art beautiful; thus they are beautiful. Thou art good, thus they are good. Thou art; thus they are. But they are not as beautiful, nor as good, nor as truly real as thou their Creator art. (emphasis added). Compared with thee, they are neither beautiful nor good, nor do they even exist. These things we know, thanks be to thee. Yet our knowledge is ignorance when it is compared with thy knowledge. (Confessions, Book 11, Chapter IV.)

“Now may our God be our hope. He Who made all things is better than all things. He Who made all beautiful things is more beautiful than all of them. He Who made all mighty things is more mighty than all of them. He Who made all great things is greater than all of them. Learn to love the Creator in His Creatures and the maker in what He has made.” (Commentary on Psalm 39, 9)

HOW TO LIVE AS A CHRISTIAN.

Although the thrust of this blog has been on St. Augustine's insights into a Creating God, he also had much to say on prayer, grace, God's goodness in sending us his only begotten Son, Christ, salvation, and generally, how to live as a Christian. Many of these words of wisdom are collected in “Augustine Day by Day”, a small leather-bound book that I read every evening at bedtime (compiled by John E. Rotelle, OSA and published by Catholic Book Publishing Co, New York). I'll quote just two of these.

“Do you wish to receive? Then give! Do you wish to be forgiven? Then forgive! This is just a brief summary, Hear Christ say in another place 'Forgive and you shall be forgiven'. Forgive, give. And you shall be given what you desire—eternal life.” (Sermon 64-5; May 1st).

“Bad times! Troublesome times! This is what people are saying. Let our lives be good and the times will be good. For we make our own times. Such as we are, such are the times. What can we do? Maybe we cannot convert masses of people to a good life. But let the few who do hear live well. Let the few who live well endure the many who live badly.” (Sermon 30-8; July 4th).

St. Augustine died as the Vandals were sacking Hippo, at the fall of the Roman Empire. Will we be able to be as strong as he when the barbarians of the 21st century are trying to destroy Western civilization?

Ed. Note:

I am sorry that I cannot properly display all the various pictures or tables on the post. They will, however, be displayed on the pamphlet containing this post, and a link will be provided for your convenience.

From a series of articles written by: Bob Kurland - a Catholic Scientist

#catholic physics

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faslaidir · 7 years

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"I don't deserve to be loved" for Adele/Cullen if it's not too much trouble because i love torture apparently

She could feel the hard stone of the chapel floor driving into her knees; tiny edges and cracks pressing against soft skin that had once been calloused. “Saint’s knees”, her mother had called them, referring to the way the skin on her legs had hardened and was a permanently blotchy red, the result of kneeling too long and too often. They had expected her to be a Chantry sister then. What did they think of her now, she wondered. What did they think of their mage daughter, the Herald of Andraste, dread Inquisitor, who spent so much time facing demons far away from home that she had lost her saint’s knees.

A thousand thoughts swirled in her mind, voices not her own accusing her of sins that only she knew of. If you had reached the Fallow Mire sooner, that scout would still have his leg. If you had If you had not been so weak, Donovan might still be alive. If you had not been so emotional, then those Red Templars would never have had the chance to attack those townspeople.

“Maker,” she murmured in the deafening silence of the real world, “my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear...”

Liar.

She drew a deep breath and tried again. “...I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me. In the long hours of the night, when hope has abandoned me...”

When hope has abandoned me, I shall pray words that have lost their meaning to a Maker who has lost his hearing.

Adele’s clasped hands dropped to dangle by the ground. She looked up at the granite statue of Andraste, perfect bride of the Maker, with arms raised to the Heavens and eyes cast down the ground, and she scowled.

Something scraped against stone behind her, and she turned with a start, relaxing when she saw only Cullen, who was wincing.

“Ah. Sorry,” He whispered sheepishly, hands turned outward in a gesture of penitence. “I...did not mean to disturb you.”

Adele shook her head. “No, it’s alright. Come.” She beckoned him closer and he obeyed, glancing from her to the statue of Andraste that had recently been the object of Adele’s scorn. He stood by her side in silence, one hand wrapped about the hilt of his sword, the other resting behind his back, the pose of a ship’s captain facing the winds. Adele watched him for a time, envious of the way that he could lose himself in meditation, of his indefatigable faith. Idly, she wondered if his knees bore the same callouses hers once had.

“Do you think Andraste ever got tired?” She asked.

He glanced down at her in surprise. “Hmm? I...well, yes, I suppose, she was human, after all.”

“No, I mean...do you think she ever got tired of singing the Chant? Of waiting for the Maker to do something? Of trying to change the world and getting frustrated by all the stupid idiots who live in it?”

Cullen paused a moment, then carefully moved downwards until he was kneeling on the chapel floor next to her. “We’re not really discussing Andraste, are we?” He asked softly.

The scowl bled through her features again, and she looked away from him, unable to stand his look of concern. “Did you know that being a religious figurehead, a heretic, a politician, and a freelance Rift closer are all very high-pressure positions with little reward?”

“I suppose they are.”

“How do you think she did it?” Adele pressed, looking up at the statue with a strange light in her eyes. “How do you think she stayed faithful to the Maker while she was tied to that stake, while the heat of the flames kept creeping up closer and closer to her skin and he did nothing? How do you think she felt in those last few moments where he didn’t reach down to save her and she was forced to wonder if maybe she had been wrong and all the people that had died and all the lives she had forever changed was all for nothing?” She turned back to Cullen, who was watching her with concern. “Do you think she ever wondered if she was just a fool?”

Cullen bent his head uncomfortably, blinking a few times, as though he were considering his words with care. When at last he spoke, it was with a measured, slow tone. “Part of me wishes to say that Andraste never once faltered or doubted, and that is why the Maker loved her as he did. But--” one of his hands began to rise towards Adele’s cheek, but hesitated, and remained hanging there in the gap between them-- “another part of me says that Andraste was human.” His hand moved forward at last, and his rough fingers stroked the edge of Adele’s cheek and smoothed her brown hair back behind her ear.

“Humans doubt,” he finished, his warm eyes filled with sympathy and love.

Adele’s eyes felt cold and wet in comparison.

“People keep dying,” she whispered. “I keep killing people and sending them to die. Andraste had the Chant, the assurance of the Maker’s love, so her faith wasn’t so blind but me...” She angrily wiped away the treacherous tears that dripped out of her eyes with the heel of her hand. Cullen’s hand moved to the back of her shoulder and pressed against it in a firm, comforting gesture.

Adele shook her head. “But me...I’m just stumbling about and hoping it all turns out and it’s killing people, it’s killing my family. Andraste changed the world and the Maker loved her for it, but I..I don’t deserve to be loved.”

There. It was out. The words had rushed out of her mouth as easily as the tears had fallen from her eyes, filling the silence of the chapel like sins in a confessional. She squeezed her eyes shut, screwing up her face in a grimace, and just tried not to sob.

There was his hand again, his comforting touch, cupping about her cheek, one of his fingers tracing the edge of her face down to her chin, and her resolve cracked as she heaved out a sob.

And then his other arm was on her back, and he was pulling her in close to him, pressing her tightly against the firm surface of his body. She could feel the tips of his fingers press into the place between her shoulders, as though he were struggling to hold onto her as tightly as he could, trying to press her closer and closer to him. Her cheek was nestled against his neck, and she felt him open and close his mouth a few times as if searching for words to no avail.

Pathetic, said the voices in her head. Look what you’ve made him do.

A softer, realer voice interrupted them.

“I have faced armies with you as my shield, and though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing can break me except your absence.”

Into his shoulder, Adele mumbled, “When I have lost all else, when my eyes fail me...”

“And the taste of blood fills my mouth, then in the pounding of my heart, I hear the glory of creation.”

They went on like this, reciting the verses back and forth, drowning out the voices in her head and the hammering in her heart, until Adele finished “For there is no darkness in the Maker’s light, and nothing that he has wrought shall be lost.”

Cullen’s fingers worked their way beneath her chin and lifted her head to meet his gaze. Softly, he said, “I am not alone. Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see...” His voice caught, and he leaned forward until his forehead was pressed against hers. His words were tremulous as he continued, “yet I see the light is here.”

It was enough. The doubt still lingered and the fears still pressed, but in the stillness of the chapel, kneeling together on the stone floor with their heads pressed close together, it was enough.

#I TRIED OKAY #Cullen/Inquisitor #Adele Trevelyan #Carrie writes #fanfic #*prays that the readmore works because this one is long*#solsticetrevelyan

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