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ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago

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Affliction II. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

warnings: general yan stuff, mentions of previous abusive relationships, isolation and self deprecation. word count: 3k. link to the previous part.

There aren’t many places left where you feel comfortable enough to be yourself.

Not an identity that was painstakingly crafted for the sake of self preservation, but your genuine self. Here in the midst of Giorno’s grandiose flower gardens, you’re given the scant opportunity. Whether it be paranoia, or if it holds some ground in reality, there’s a possibility that guards are watching over you from afar. Lost in the thickets of nature, even if you’re being fenced in against your will, is preferable to the suffocating walls of the mansion. There isn’t a lot you’re willing to praise Giorno about, but his taste in flora is breathtaking. Palettes of complementing colors mesh together in a wide array of nature, stepping into it like entering a new world.

This particular section is your favorite. Azaleas are in full bloom around you, the sweet scent wafting to your nose. Stone garden benches, slightly aged by weather and covered in moss, make for a nice spot to collect yourself. This time of day, a sizable tree provides shade from the oppressive Neapolitan sun. Taking in a deep breath, you consider what to do for the reminder of the day. There isn’t much in the ways of entertainment, not in the sense you’d grown used to. No using the internet, or interacting with anyone that isn’t Giorno, aside from rare exceptions when you need food. Some of your hobbies are provided for, but the inspiration to partake in them when in captivity is dwindling at best, nonexistent at worst.

You’ve had plenty of time to mope around the long, seemingly abandoned halls that make up your prison. After nights of incessant tears and sighing, you’ve made up your mind to make the most of the dreadful situation. Biding your time for a possibility of escape is all that can be done. Walking around the gardens almost felt like a form of reconnaissance at first, scoping the foreign territory in hopes of locating a weakness. Frustrating hour after hour would pass, no convenient cracks in the wall or fencing making itself known. Of course he wouldn’t make it that easy, not after all the apparent effort that went into kidnapping you.

The sun is beginning to set in the sky, the lengthier days of summer beginning a downwards trend as September soon approaches. You frown at the sight of clouds bathed in rays of golden light, knowing what unique horrors night time brings with it. During the day you get to be on your lonesome, making as much space between you and Giorno as possible. While there are some fortunate nights where he’s too engrossed with work matters to seek you out, Lady Luck hasn’t been on your side lately. He’s been woefully insistent on spending dinner with you, wanting to form a bond that you hold no interest in. You’d sooner seek out the company of a snail than Giorno Giovanna.

When the crickets begin their anthems, the moon hanging high overhead, your freedom is restricted even more. The heavy weight of this realization pushes against your chest, a fresh wave of chills running through you. Anxiety is a finicky creature, making itself known at the worst times. Having a choke hold on you at its own leisure, preventing you from making any meaningful progress. It’s been somewhere around a few months now, you believe, since the encounter that changed your life for the worst.

Shaking your low hanging head at the thought, you occupy yourself with the parchment sitting on your lap. It’s coarse against your skin, a much needed anchor to keep yourself from drifting away from this world. That’s right, you’ve come here for a reason. You’ve had this blank piece of paper, that has beckoned you to fill it for some time now. The problem being, the lack of proper equipment to use on it. Some pieces of charcoal that you found earlier after lunch sprang hope anew, the tool familiar in the best of ways. Holding with it fond memories, a desirable distraction from your bleak outlook on life.

The guards that take care in shadowing you didn’t protest when you took it, so you assume it must be allowed. Bringing the dark instrument down to the parchment, you begin a rough sketch of an azalea plant in front of you. As you make the various shapes that define the flower, time almost seems to speed up around you. Before you register it, the sun has almost finished its descent into the sky, your hands fully covered in residue from handling the charcoal. Too absorbed in perfecting your work, you fail to notice approaching footsteps from behind.

“--[First].”

A surprised gasp leaves your lips at the unexpected greeting, your head whipping around to identify the source of the intrusive noise. Panic bubbles within at the sight of Giorno, who is taking a keen interest in what you are working on. From how at ease he looks, it’s difficult to gauge his thoughts. His visage never offers insight to his mind, always schooled and taciturn. He must be awaiting a response from you, but your mind is a state of panic. This activity isn’t something that’ll get you in trouble, is it? Subconsciously, you move the canvas to the side, your fingers wrapping around the edges uncomfortably.

You need to say something, but the words die in your mouth before coming to life. Pushing through your storm of dread, you offer a response. “I�� I’m sorry, if I wasn’t supposed to.”

Turquoise eyes regard you in kind, taking a seat next to you on the bench. He’s generous enough to leave a respectable gap, but is still too close for comfort. From how his lips are turned into a soft smile, you want nothing more than to believe you won’t be chastised for this innocent indulgence. Spending time in Giorno’s presence is akin to navigating through a minefield, never certain what step may end up being your last. All of the promises he offers feel unfounded, the sickly sweet assurances of never harming a hair on your head. Why should you believe him? He’s given you no reason to take his word as concrete, and you can’t see that ever changing.

You remember the scent of blood. The nauseating sound of bones crunching, how flesh sounds when thrown against a wall. How when approaching death, the eyes grew bloodshot, lips trembling as they took on a haunting shade of blue. It’s the stuff of nightmares, watching a life snuffed out right before you. Matteo, someone who had been your companion, was gone before you could even process it. The strain on your relationship with him is unforgettable, but having to see his body tossed aside by a ghostly force? Witnessing how limp his limbs were, the same arms that once sought refuge in long ago?

You’ll never forget the devil Giorno is, no matter how much he paints himself as a saint.

“I had no idea you were interested in art,” he chooses to ignore your previous comment, wanting to redirect onto more positive things. “You have a real talent for it. Had I known, I would’ve prepared a wider array of art supplies for you.”

The compliment has the opposite effect as intended on your person. Instead of filling you with validation at the wholehearted praise, the words ooze down your skin like droplets of corrosive venom. A sudden disconnect between your creation is torn, and you can no longer stomach to look at it. How an object of beauty can turn into a reminder of your captor in a few measly seconds is a peculiar thing. When he leaves for work the next morning, you consider the possibility of destroying it all together. A last ditch effort to rid yourself of this revolting feeling that creeps down your spine.

“Please, don’t trouble yourself.”

There are multiple ways of interpreting your words, ranging from a dismissal of Giorno’s presence to humility. He spins it in his favor, as he’s showcased his brilliance in doing so. Your lack of straightforward animosity towards him serves to backfire every time.

“It’d be no trouble. Truth be told, I’m lacking an in-depth knowledge of the arts. What kind of equipment would suit you best?” Giorno inquires with a tilt of his head, his eyes leaving the impression that he can see the full dimensions of your soul. Ignoring him isn’t going to be of benefit, so you provide the bare minimum to satisfy his quest.

“It’s… more of a personal preference, what an artist chooses to use.”

He’s not letting you off the hook just yet. “What do you prefer to use?”

“The basics. Pencils, watercolors, the like. Nothing too fancy.”

Giorno looks fascinated at anything you offer him. Even if you only speak when spoken to, it’s a good place to start. Your muscles tense as he leans closer, to get a better look at the drawing of flowers. His eyes scan every stroke, seeing how it all culminates into a grander picture. You move your legs over, internally pleading that he’ll leave you alone soon. Speaking for him with any amount of time, no matter how small, is exhausting.

“Azaleas, correct?”

At this guess, you nod in confirmation.

“Please, should you ever need a reference for flowers, let me know. I’d be more than happy to provide it for you.”

The chance to refuse this offer is fleeting, curiosity taking over at how he reaches for a rock on the ground. Taking it into his hand, he puts it in full view. You blink at the uncanny series of events, wondering why Giorno is putting a simple rock on display. Any semblance of understanding is stolen from you, as the colors twist into a different assortment. The spherical shape shifts into a stem, the bud on top growing light pink petals. He watches with amusement at how you look at it closer, mouth agape.

“W-what?” It’s a weak whisper, betraying the full extent of your awe. How did he pull this off? It isn’t like a cheesy magic trick, where the rock would slide somewhere, only to be replaced by a flower. No, you witnessed the full life cycle of the flower. He chuckles lowly at your childlike wonder, preparing a palpable explanation.

“It’s an ability of mine,” he elaborates, placing the newly former azalea on your lap. “I can make any living thing.”

Is this a dream? To test the theory, you rub your eyes, uncaring of the smudges likely left against your skin. When your eyelids flutter open once more, you’re still in reality. Wanting to inspect the flower closer, you lift it up, close to your eyes. Studying every aspect of it, from how soft the petals are to the firmness of the stem. While not a professional botanist by any means, there’s no denying that this is a real flower.

“Any living thing…”

The words dance on your tongue, parroting his words back to him to make sense of it all. “Does that include animals?”

“Naturally. Is there anything you’d like to see, [First]?” He tempts you with promises of spectacle, fully aware of how bewitching Gold Experience’s ability is. Numerous ideas flood through your mind, possibilities infinite. Thoughts ranging from your own favorite animals, to cute creatures that might improve your mood. While creating bouquets of any flower might be an intriguing prospect, you’re more drawn to seeing animals. The only animals you’ve had contact with in the longest time are occasional frogs that congregate near the running foundations at night. Everything else is reduced to sounds, from owls to cicadas.

It’s when you see Giorno’s knowing smile that something deep inside you stirs.

He’s basking in the lightheartedness you’re exuding. This… this ultimately doesn’t change a thing. Giorno is a terrible man, who has taken so much from you. The hedges surrounding you both suddenly feel suffocating, a merciless reminder of who it is you’re dealing with. Beauty pales in comparison to real freedom. Every day has been the same as the last, an infinite loop of going through the motions, destined to never make progress. All of this has been thrusted onto you by Giorno Giovanna, a man in relentless pursuit of your heart.

None of this is right. Being near him is enough to too much to take.

You hold your tongue, eyebrows furrowing at Giorno bringing out all this conversation from you. It’s humiliating how all your efforts to deny him the desires of his flesh never work as intended, this one of the many times he’s bested you. Now that you’ve spotted his game, you clamp shut like a clam, intent on hiding the pearl of yourself from him. You’re intentional in looking away, the luxury of him maintaining eye contact with you a memory of the past. Sensing the barriers you’re putting up against him, Giorno stands, dusting off his expensive pants. He offers you a nod of acknowledgement, pivoting on his heel and calling out to you over his shoulder.

“I’ll leave you to it then.”

Too absorbed in your self deprecating thoughts and misery, you offer up no response. Footsteps crunching against the vegetation on the ground fade away, your heart pounding violently against your chest. Something wet caresses your face, teardrops falling and smudging your art. Your sniffling grows in volume, becoming a full set of sobs. Hands shaking by your side, you hang your head low, biting your lower lip to the point of drawing blood.

Feeling like a man possessed, you wildly rip away at the canvas that taunts you so. The sound of paper ripping pales in comparison to the natural ambiance of the summer night, and you pay it no mind. All you want is an outlet for this surge of emotion. Any guilt over littering the ground with remnants of your work dissipates when you remember how servants will scurry like insects to clean up after you. For extra measure, you pick up the former rock, glowering at it. Breaking the stem with your hands, you throw it as far as you can manage, not able to stand the sight of all it stands for. None of this even begins to remedy the abhorrence that clogs your heart for Giorno, but it’s a start.

Exhaustion seeps into every pore of your being, and you retire to your room.

- - -

He notices a lot of things about you when you’re asleep.

There’s clear serenity on your countenance, far away from the world of unfortunate reality. Giorno catches every rise and fall of your chest, how delicate your breaths are, the way your long eyelashes flutter against the soft cheeks of your face. When you’re lifted from the depths of deep sleep with a dream, frustration overtakes you, eyelids twitching. He’s inquisitive on the nature of your dreams, that must take the form of nightmares. What is it that haunts you? There’s a twinge in his heart at the possibility of it being him.

The first time you reached out to him in your sleep, he thought it a trick of the lights. A fine delicacy he doesn’t deserve to gratify himself with, as a reminder of his own sins. You’re too good to him when you’re like this, arms subconsciously reaching out for something to grasp on. A few times, you found a pillow, content with it in your arms. In moments like this one, your hands touch the bare flesh of Giorno’s chest, drawing yourself against him. He stays perfectly still, recognizing the humiliation you’d face should you wake. No, this is just fine with him, enough to satisfy a dormant hunger.

He can’t help himself, ghosting his fingertips up and down your bare arms. Goosebumps dot your skin from the motions. It’s a selfish wish, that you’d always be like this around him. Giorno would be a fool to think of himself as anything but self-serving after all he’s taken from you. Your future, freedom, your life. What is possibly an attempt to justify some of the extreme measures arises, Giorno incapable of hiding the scowl of your former situation. Such a kindhearted person, diluted by scum of society, churns his stomach in repulsion. The original plan didn’t include offing your former partner, but righteous fury overtook him. It isn’t often Giorno’s composure can crack, but seeing you belittled was all it took.

All the damage inflicted on you left gaping wounds, too great for Giorno to heal.

He witnessed how radiant you’re capable of being, how your face glowed the first time you met. It’s a fond memory now, a way to placate him. Anything less than honoring the memory of you treating his wounds is a disservice to your person, Giorno incapable of offering nothing but high praises for you. This highlight of humanity, a pinnacle of what people are like at their best, is what motivates his goals further. To see Italy become a better version of itself, eradicating the nefarious plots that fester in the shadows.

You rub your head against his chest, murmuring incoherent words in your sleep. His heart leaps at the endearing sight, wishing he could stay like this with you for eternity. In the midst of his musings, his own Stand materializes into existence, unblinking eyes considering every curve and dip of your body. Gold Experience Requiem wishes you were capable of acknowledging it, having to be content with observing you from afar. It’s a double edged sword. There’s an opportunity to wrap phantom-like appendages around your waist, you only believe it to be a gust of wind. Touch starved as Giorno is, he’s willing to accept any scraps of your touch he has access to.

Tiny pieces are better than nothing.

Tomorrow will bring troubles of its own, yet he can’t find it in himself to complain. Your scrutiny is wholly deserved, and all that he can offer in meager attempts to reconcile is effort. To be better for your sake, and his own.

#giorno #Giorno Giovanna #giovanna giorno #yandere giorno #giorno x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #Jojo Part 5 #JJBA #jjba part 5 #yandere jojo's bizzare adventure #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere jojo x reader #my stuff #commissions

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scarletarosa · 4 years ago

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The Passage into the Afterlife

Throughout history, the thought of what happens to someone after death has long fascinated and terrified the human race. One may be surprised to discover that every story holds some truth to it. The following documentation has been long researched by myself through both astral traveling and through communicating with Minos, one of the three Judges of the Underworld. This is not intended to force beliefs, but to prepare those who are open on this subject for what lies ahead.

The Ka and Ba

Before getting into what occurs after death, one must understand the difference between the Ka (spirit) and Ba (higher self/soul). This is a concept that can be read about further in Ancient Egyptian belief. Basically, the Ba is the higher self who is immortal and dwells in the realms of spirit. When the Ba chooses to incarnate onto a planet, they choose an “unborn spirit” to embody. These two entities then come together in the womb, and then the Ba closes their eyes, awaiting the time when their human will mature and seek higher knowledge (if they ever do).

If the Ba is fortunate, their human will begin seeking true knowledge of the spirit realms and of higher selves, causing the Ba to awaken and begin guiding the human they dwell within. So we as we are right now, are all Ka; our Ba (higher selves) dwell within us. Most humans have a higher self who is also human, but some have higher selves who might be angelic, demonic, draconic, elven, fae, etc.

The Moment of Death

When we die, we separate from this body and emerge on the spirit plane of Earth. This is temporary, for Earth is the transitioning place before we move on. During this period, there are several things that can happen: if we chose to be cremated, we immediately disconnect from our bodies, but if buried, we remain stuck next to our body for a period of time, depending on how long it takes for the connection to be lost. In a case where one commits suicide, the afterlife is not pleasant, and the Judges seek to punish the human for abandoning their purpose and will delete them from existence. For the humans who died a horrific death, they typically refuse to move on, causing them to become wraiths (hauntings). This action causes the Ka to be permanently separated from their Ba, eventually causing the Ka to go insane and then become a poltergeist.

Voyage to the Underworld

In most cases, the Ka emerges from their body and spends around three days (at least) wandering places on Earth that are familiar to them, as they will be restricted from going anywhere else. Most of the time, people do not realize that they have died. After these days, a psychopomp will arrive to collect the Ka and bring them to the Underworld. The Underworlds in every religion (not including Hell) are all the same place, but include many different kingdoms across the vast land. Once arriving in the Underworld, the Ka will wait to be seen at the Gaunt Palace, where they will confess their corrupt actions to the three Judges in front of a large council, then the council will discuss what fate they should have. The Judge, Minos, will have the final say. Once this is done, the three Judges will direct the Ka to be sent to a specific kingdom of the Underworld depending on what the persons’ beliefs were while alive. So while some may be approached by Hades, others might instead face Anubis and Osiris, or Hel, or Ereshkigal, etc. People who were Monotheists, however, will just arrive in a place similar to the gloom of the traditional Greek Underworld (Hades).

Once the Ka meets with their specific Underworld god, the deity will then give that spirit trials to undergo within their designated level of the Underworld (there are three main levels, but seven in total). The first layer is for people who were good-natured and healed from most of their traumas. The second is for more unmoral people or just those with negative attachments who underwent only some healing while alive, and the third is for people who have very strong attachments due to suffering and didn’t get the chance to heal. The first layer will seek to teach lessons in lesser tormenting ways in order to get the spirits there to understand the things they did wrong and to not do them again, as well as to sever their remaining attachments. The third layer, however, is full of tortures that will force the people strongly attached to their suffering to realize the illusion of their ways and that they can go free if they fight for it. There trials are meant for Rebirth, not always punishment.

The longer it takes for the Ka to fully understand their wrong-doings and their sufferings, the longer they will have to remain in the Underworld. If the spirit is exceptionally evil, however, the Judges will call upon the goddess Ammit. Ammit will then open her enormous jaws and devour the corrupt spirit, sending them to the realm of Hell, where one of the three High Kings (Lucifer, Satan, Leviathan) will decide what is done with them. Once in Hell, the spirit is usually tormented for eternity. So basically, the Underworld is meant to bring about a Rebirth; Hell is meant to punish.

The Shadow Self

While alive, we all experience traumas and negative circumstances. All of the emotions that arose from these things began to develop into an entity called “The Shadow”, which represents the darker half of us. Each person’s Shadow is different, depending on their negative experiences and how they reacted to them. I will get into the different types of Shadows in an additional post, but for now, it is good to analyze your own behaviours that are toxic, since these arise from the Shadow Self. Giving into negative behaviours empowers the Shadow.

When we die, the death of our brain causes the Shadow Self to become more than just a psychological counterpart, and they are now more free. They take on a terrifying form and seek to tear us apart. We all end up facing our Shadows while in the Underworld, and if we are not prepared, they will attack us repeatedly and cause our stay there to be greatly prolonged. In order to prevent this, we need to do shadow work in this life so we can understand our negative traits through in-depth analyzations . Look at your greatest burdens, how you view yourself and others, your self-destructive habits, your negative feelings- all of these come from the Shadow. We must understand this part of ourselves in order to understand how to mend them and eventually, overpower our Shadow Self. We will have to do this in the Underworld, otherwise, one will need to be able to hold it off long enough until the Judgment is over, which is when the Shadow will be destroyed.

Elysium

After a Ka successfully makes it through the trials of the Underworld, they are brought to Elysium, which is a realm of Paradise where we rest and wait for our Ba to come retrieve us. Most spirits will remain together in Elysium for a year, but if the spirit achieved Awakening (realization of their higher self’s identity) while still alive, they will be able to leave sooner. When the higher self arrives, they will approach the Ka and absorb them into themself, and then will return home. Thus, the Ba and Ka are united and the lifetime is completed.

If the higher self is a human, the Ba will have to reincarnate after a decade of being back in the spirit world, starting the process again with another unborn spirit (Ka) until they achieve Illumination. A human higher self will no longer need to reincarnate once Illumination is achieved by one of their embodiments. Other higher selves, such as those that are Higher beings than humans (demonic, angelic, draconic, etc.), will not have to reincarnate all the time; instead choosing to do so in order to help the world progress through their human.

Conclusion

Overall, it is extremely important to realize that our task in life is to achieve Awakening, which is done through seeking the identity of our higher self (Ba), bonding with our higher self through meditation and communication, and to seek true knowledge on the spirit world. We also must make certain to overcome our Shadows by keeping our actions and thoughts in check; thus allowing us to become the best we can be. If we manage to overcome our attachments, negative thinking, and toxic behaviours, we will have less trials to suffer through. All of these things will allow for a smooth transition through Death and to become one with our Ba.

The Underworld (in-depth description)

#the afterlife #death #spirit realms #ka #ba #higher selves #spirituality #the underworld

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fishmongeringstudies · 3 years ago

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scene fifteen: in moments of deep and debilitating anxiety remember that someone out there is thinking about how to fit a horse-shaped figurine up their ass and that they will probably succeed

in the history of sexuality: volume one michel foucault puts forth the idea that we as a society have gotten bad at dying due to a lack of practice. in the place of death, he posits, we obsess with life. every tedious stage of it, spotlit and burnt into our retinas so that even when we lie awake in bed with our eyes shut, visions of the future stalk through the darkness like specters. we are categorically unable to predict what lies ahead on the yellow brick road and obligated to try. as a result, we have become shrewd, planning creatures.

we have lost our touch with death. we are out of touch with it. we do not die enough, even though everyone you speak to will likely agree that each of us only dies once.

in a half-hearted bid to help its students cope with the fact that the world had been consumed overnight by a pandemic which was steadily eating away at the sanity and sanctity of life as we knew it and everything was fucking terrible, my college came up with a plan wherein instead of four classes in the fall, we would only have to take three. in exchange january would be given up to a four-week speedrun of one more class, so as to complete the holy rectangle. consumed with hubris and distracted by the legend of zelda: breath of the wild, the game which had eaten up the last five months of my life and promised to follow up with the rest of it, i decided to take a philosophy course on personal identity. on the first day of class i logged onto zoom, my personal sleep paralysis demon, at eleven on a monday night to my professor asking us completely seriously: what makes you you?

my toes, i guess? i have ten of them. i mean most people have ten toes, but mine are pretty weird looking. are we done here?

we were not done here. we proceeded to investigate every aspect of the twenty-first century conception of the self, from the lumpy flesh bag which contained our affectionately soft and squishy parts to the memory, the continuous narrative that held all our dimmest and brightest moments together. we doubted each one, flirted with it; then we cast it away. was the self the brain? no. was the self the body? no. was the self the memory, the shreds of past glories, was the self actually a collection of selves? is the you who plucked that goldfish out of the pond at age seven because you thought lungs meant you were invincible the same you who wrung their hands nervously together as they stood in front of the cashier this morning, waiting for the person behind the counter to ring up your groceries?

there was a counter for everything, you see. i know this because i presented a quarter of them. it's fun to shoot things down, less fun to be shot at; having been gunned out of the sky several times in my life i make it a point to keep my eyes trained on the horizon when i am out and about these days. so yes. people are not really. really what? they simply aren't. we have been living in a farce of reality, telling ourselves we matter when we have never been able to articulate with certainty the exact nature of that 'we' to begin with. or should i say me?

one night in late january while lying in bed after a three hour breath of the wild korok hunt, drifting peacefully into the ether, a thought flashed across my mind: WHERE DO PEOPLE GO WHEN THEY FALL ASLEEP.

i bolted upright in bed, heart hammering like there was a hammer in my chest and a little man holding the hammer and that motherfucker was swinging like he had hell to pay.

it turns out my extensive history of making jokes about immortality isn't just a reflection of my overinflated ego. it's a reflection of this:

michel foucault was sometimes criticized for his armchair philosophy style of tackling what were, at heart, deeply empirical human issues. even if the epistemic foundations were sound, there was often a clear disconnect between the ideas he espoused and the communities which they were to be applied to. this is a criticism every philosopher deals with at some point in their life. this is a critique of philosophy as a whole. stop smoking your damn bong and get back out here, skinny academia man. there's a whole world to see.

in season three episode eighteen of the penumbra podcast by sophie takagi kaner and kevin vibert a character named buddy aurinko stops in the middle of a debilitating fit of coughs, and admits in a wet, cracking voice that she does not want to die. 'i don't want to die,' she says to herself, standing in her office and overlooking a heist of astronomical proportions. her heart is made of steel; it pumps gasoline through a body more metal than flesh. she is half human in the most literal sense, with a clockwork soul and a gunmetal smile. in spite of the alarming state of decay the radiation exposure has left her body in, she wants to live. she fights for it. she leaves the heist to her crewmates and escapes to a room that will protect her from shock waves that would otherwise stop her mechanical heart. kicking her heels off and running and stumbling down the hallway, she makes it to safety just in time to hear the explosion go off.

life is a firework show in the sense that we are surrounded by highly-flammable and explosive objects which look nice from afar and are a threat to our safety up close. this analogy made sense when i started typing it but it seems i've come up short. life is a firework show. i like things that eat darkness. i am a firefly. i make fire take flight.

i think michel foucault was right, in some ways. we are living in abundance. i do not mean a physical abundance, a pile of tailored suits at the foot of the bed; i mean an abundance of life. the distribution is disastrously uneven. but the average is high. we emerge into a life which assumes we will stay for a long, long time, which fluffs the pillows and plans the high school graduations and sets aside money in a bank account for our first car, our second apartment, our third lover. we emerge into celebration. happy birthday. cue candles. cue applause.

but on a purely individual level, is it really that bad to be gorilla-glued to life? should we expect the other shoe to drop at thirty instead? what about the mid-life crisis? what about the cat on the windowsill? as death grows to terrify us, so does life. they are two sides of a coin which, when flipped, always lands heads-up. but i propose a counter-argument. i propose joy. joy in standing in the supermarket and running your hands across rows of blushing apples. joy in starting an argument you know you will win. joy in waking up to the shrill screech of your alarm only to discover that today's morning classes have been canceled due to the snow piled up outside your window. we have progressed too far down the yellow brick path to be caught up in false dichotomies. you can love something you fear. you can soak yourself in it, drench yourself in it, tip it down your throat like champagne. flip a coin and it lands both sides up. flip two coins. flip the table and sit on its belly for a while.

are we done here? never. not in a thousand years.

06.04.21

#the author would like to add at this point that foucault's point re: life is that the state deployed biopower to control it #and this was not very great #think family growth policies or the obsession with the birth rate and population growth. not very great indeed #however the author did not start this blog to talk about the state as they do this enough in their stupid papers #so they will talk about the individual instead. because it's summer. and summer is about the self (yahoo answers said so)

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sanoiro · 4 years ago

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Lucifer Meta - Celestial Powers

Celestial Powers have occupied a lot of our time in this fandom. What do they mean and how they are controlled? Perhaps the answer is in this self-actualisation all angels seem to possess.

Back in S2 Lucifer told Linda that all angels were born with their gifts and when she asked him if that was it, he seemed baffled from that question.

What we know so far is that

Lucifer draws out desires

Michael draws out fears

Amenadiel can slow down or even stop time

Remiel can sense the creation of new Celestials

Uriel could see patterns of action and results

And then we have Azrael. Azrael is the Angel of Death but what is really known about her gift? Very little. She can transfer souls? But how does she know where to go and when? Does she senses death? Finality so why did she need a sword that could enforce that finality to everyone?

By looking back a theory was formed one that may be supported by some lines throughout the seasons.

Celestial powers are not gifts. They are defence/coping mechanisms, coping mechanisms, customised for every Angel as if when they were created Mum and Dad gave them what they needed to feel safe, to be safe. So in a way a gift but did they made the same mistake Lilith did? Instead of making them untouchable each and every one barricaded behind their insecurities.

Let me explain this.

Amenadiel in S5 told Chloe that humans saw their desires reflected on Lucifer. That is why they were drawn by him. Lucifer hid behind -let’s call it- a celestial mirror that kept everyone out but made him likeable. If Michael was correct then Lucifer biggest fear was to be unworthy.

That is supported by Lucifer’s own words in the end of 3x11. Lucifer waited for aeons his Father’s forgiveness and after a lot of time he got disappointed so his vacation started. I do wonder sometimes if that case in 3x11 started by Michael. Was Aiden (the fighter) confronted by Gil (the boxing coach) out of fear and that led to the murder? Was it a celestial influencing murder? It’s probable.

Let’s not forget that Lucifer fought back when he was called Evil by Amenadiel that’s what urged his decision to throw the towel on ruling Hell and start his vacation. But back to the Celestial powers.

Now let’s leave Lucifer for a bit and move to Michael. Michael as very well Lucifer and Amenadiel said essentially reflected fears back to others, in an attempt to conceal his own fears of inadequacy. It is interesting how similar Lucifer and Michael are cognitively.

Amenadiel’s powers were brought forward at his talk with Remiel in 4x07.

“My powers, they kept me at a distance, kept me disconnected from humanity. And I think that's why they're gone now. Because I don't want that anymore.”

When Amenadiel had to confront his son’s humanity all his fears and insecurities came back thus his powers returned not in a loss of control but in order to protect him. They acted like an armour.

Here I would like to say that whether Charlie or not is a Celestial is an interesting question. He is half so it is plausible to get sick or even grow old, it is normal to have human attributes but also he remains a Celestial as Remiel recognised him as one before his birth.

Now add to that the fact that Michael may have manipulated the ‘evidence’. We have seen that some Celestial powers work on other Celestials like with fear and desire or even tracking down a Celestial as we saw with Remiel. So I wouldn’t be surprised if as Charlie comes from Amenadiel’s genetic code he can be controlled by him in that way. Or because Amenadiel was feeling threatened by his son’s humanity his powers lashed out to Charlie thus immobilising him.

As Lucifer noted in 508:

“You stopped time to prevent all these from happening.”

And here is the sweet spot. I do believe to an extent subconsciously that’s what was happening with Charlie. Amenadiel made sure to extend the effect of his power to Charlie, to stop time and protect his child.

It didn’t mean that Charlie was necessarily too human or not a Celestial but that the desire to protect the one that Amenadiel loved meant to stop time. And as you may have guessed something similar happened to Lucifer and Chloe in 507.

When it comes to Lucifer and Chloe we know that he is vulnerable around her and that she cannot be affected by his mojo.

Let’s start with his mojo.

If we assume that his mojo is a defence/coping mechanism, surrendering to her emotionally and carnally in 506 led to an effect similar to what happened with Charlie.

There is no reason why Lucifer would not have been able to trust Chloe in 1x01 in order for his mojo to not work. So we should assume something is there but what we are interested here is how Lucifer’s mojo passed to Chloe.

What Charlie is for Amenadiel, it’s Chloe for Lucifer. The person that they love most and are ready to do anything for them, even change, they can expand their powers and that’s what I believe happened with Chloe.

Aside from what she may be aside from mere Miracle, and thus can be receptive to the mojo transfer (like a magnet that needs the right metals in order for a pull to exist), I believe that Lucifer passed to Chloe his mojo as a way to protect her.

His power shield was given to the person he cared most and wanted safe. It is only natural for us to give everything to make sure our loved ones will be safe. The expression if I could give you my heart, moon etc imagine it being possible for Lucifer when he gives her a part of him unconsciously.

But when does he get it back?

As some fans have noted on Twitter and on Tumblr did the injection triggered him on being invulnerable again around Chloe?

I believe that yes. Lucifer has spent all his being on protecting her, she knows she can take care of herself but for the first time, he was near on losing her because he couldn’t act.

Let’s assume that the gun had not been tampered with or anything else. Let’s assume that while Dan was unconscious between his flights with Michael, Michael did not get the opportunity to somehow make the shooting realistic for everyone.

At this point, I want to say that speculation is still lit within me. Otherwise, Dan’s actions don’t make any sense.

It would make sense for Lucifer to miraculously regain his invulnerability and fro Michael to play easily with Chloe’s fears in the caves. He even seemed to know that Chloe would be rescued. Was he the one who manipulated Dad into finally coming to Earth? That will be known in P2 I guess but if all the above is not somewhat true then Michael’s plan has no value whilst he seems to always know exactly where the next pawn will land.

My opinion? Michael takes after Dad…. Go figure… Which I’ll explore in the Second Act as I believe it is related on how Lucifer transfers his mojo and loses his invulnerability.

As you remember Lucifer’s mojo returns in 507 as Lucifer draws out the guard’s desire to be a dancer in order to get a lead on Chloe. So Lucifer’s mojo returns when he needs to protect Chloe again and she cannot do it herself.

If we now assume that Lucifer’s vulnerability has nothing to do with Michael then it’s similar to his mojo coming and going and yes connected to the shock of not being able to protect Chloe.

Chloe in 505 tells him that according to Amenadiel’s theory Lucifer is vulnerable around her because he chooses to, and as we have said before in other meta, he trusts her. That discussion between them took place in 1x04 and after that, we know the rest.

In a recent interview with Ildy Modrovich and Joe Henderson they confirmed (at 2:43) that Lucifer is vulnerable around Chloe because he chooses to be.

Ildy said: ‘He wasn’t evolved mentally so his body laid the stepping stones for him’

Additionally that:

‘ He decides to make himself vulnerable and because his brain is kind of behind, his body does it for him. That’s why angels self-actualize and have the powers they have, be they good or bad. They are trying to tell them something that they need to learn.’

That’s a realisation he has after Chloe tells him Amenadiel’s theory in 505 so we can assume that cognitively can now albeit again unconsciously stop that from happening. Therefore he regains his invulnerability when there is an imminent danger around Chloe like her ex cradling a gun and pointing it at him.

Finally what we also need to explore is why Chloe loses suddenly the mojo in 507. She asks the desires of two suspects and then in their third one is gone.

Between those two events three things happen.

Lucifer’s fears and annoyance over Chloe surpassing him after talking to Mario intensify.

He is willing to use intimacy as a means to get back his mojo

Goes to couple therapy with Chloe but here is the thing that’s the one thing that I believe turned the tables.

While at couples therapy some revelations do happen but mainly for Chloe.

As Linda said they do not know everything about celestial powers so nothing is ridiculous not even power transference through sex, an emotional surrender or as Linda says it having sex with someone you care about requires surrendering control, giving up power.

Lucifer with the parallel of Chloe losing her power through the loss of her gun and part of her identity decides to of course get a gun and use the Diablo Lt. Detective badge prop he stole from set in 503.

Fast forward we go to Los Angeles Theatre where they question the barytone and there Lucifer has a gun and a badge. He reclaims power in the form of what gives power & a part of her identity to Chloe. He feels secure and also feels like he can protect himself and Chloe.

If the theory of the powers being a defence/coping mechanism then by getting a placebo in the form of a gun it means that Chloe no longer needs his mojo as she is safe with him while he has control of a deadly weapon but also that effect is so strong that he does not manifest - not retrieves - manifests his mojo again.

That of course is lost when while having the gun on him he gets immobilised, he can no longer protect himself nor Chloe and thus the barricades are all back up. Both his mojo which he uses to find/protect Chloe but also his invulnerability around her again in order to keep both of them safe.

I would like now to close this meta with the idea that Chloe also had a role in this as I do believe that losing the mojo involved her understanding of Lucifer’s powerlessness and therefore she once again surrendered emotional control to him and thus allowed the mojo to leave her, so Lucifer is not the only one who controls that give and take but on a degree, no matter how small, Chloe does as well.

#lucifer season 5 #lucifer spoilers #lucifer speculation #lucifer meta

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vivdunye · 4 years ago

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present day, present time

and you don't seem to understand

fabled adages of science

so i was watching the snyder cut of justice league the other morning, i couldn't really begin to tell you why other than i needed 4 hours of background noise . but i tuned in at one point when the fictional super Israeli, wonder woman, narrated a scene explaining an alien technology "that was so advanced that it almost seemed like sorcery", and wouldn't yknow, that's a real concept actually, i recognized it immediately as clark's third law:

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

it's perhaps the most well known and oft quoted of the three, but i always felt like arthur c. clark's first 2 laws don't ever get quite enough love . i've been thinking heavily about the first law lately:

When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong.

i've been thinking about it in relation to this one quote from wernher von braun that i always liked:

Nature does not know extinction; all it knows is transformation. Everything science has taught me, and continues to teach me, strengthens my belief in the continuity of our spiritual existence after death.

many people are afraid of death; of ceasing the awareness of life, because they don't know what will happen to themselves after, where do they go if anywhere? it's much more nebulous in the secular sense if you haven't a construct for the afterlife already . i've been thinking about death more and more often lately to a worrying degree . however, scientific thought for all its clinical detachment from all things spiritual has strangely enough always felt like the perfect module for contemplating the metaphysical . so i decided to do some research .

i want to recall right now thomas edison's first intended use for the phonograph . edison had originally envisioned the phonograph primarily as a means of preserving the voices of loved ones after death . he later went on to try and develop a "ghost box" or "spiritphone" . this device would allow humans to communicate directly with the dead . he was unsuccessful .

if hauntology has taught us anything, we technically do have ghost boxes now, but maybe not in the way edison intended or even predicted . we carry them everywhere and can check them anytime, channeling messages through them constantly . we actively become digital ghosts, online we are both present and absent . the present implodes with the past, we've over-documented everything so now we can experience an instant nostalgia . today's future becomes archaic, we live in the archive to try and remember what the future once was .

'haunted' and 'futuristic' become one and the same .

by this token i'm reminded also by transhumanism . as the technological singularity fast approaches, as progress charges forward at a constantly increasing speed, current estimates posit the 2040s as the point in which technological improvements will occur at a constantly self-replicating rate . in the time between now and then, transhumanism and the eventual merging of human consciousness with machinery are theorized outcomes of technological progress . one day we might be able to leave the shackles of our human bodies and transcend our physical forms as a joined digital consciousness .

and in relation to this i also think now of clark's second law

The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.

through the wired

this is the stage on which the anime Serial Experiments Lain is set . a story, that while constructed on the patchwork of fiction, is nevertheless symbolic of certain phenomena based in reality .

also i apologize if it wasn't apparent that this post was going to be about Lain . im lainposting boys

the first few episodes exist to misdirect the viewer right from the beginning . and only by returning to these episodes having thought through the rest of the show, does their purpose become clear . the first episode, aptly titled "Layer 01: Weird" , is meant to show us exactly one thing, that lain is fucking weird . we can't tell what she's thinking, we can't tell what she's doing, and that's exactly how everyone around her feels . lain is totally and completely disconnected, she doesn't keep up with current events at school, she doesn't communicate with her family, near as we can tell she has no actual interests besides her stuffed animals and totally phasing out of reality. the inciting incident of the series happens when someone tries to make a connection with lain, and that person happens to be dead...

or at least there body is dead, their consciousness seems to have escaped into the wired . lain's decision to pursue this connection is what lead's her to ask her father for a new navi (the series' name for a personal computer) and that's all that really happens in this episode . coming back to it from later episodes we know that lain is probably thinking a lot throughout this episode . the decision to not entreat us to any of her thoughts is intentional, it is to make us feel distant from her as viewers, the same way that the world around her is distant . as lain forms connections throughout the series, so too, will we form a connection with her .

we do not know how much time has passed since then and the second episode, but whatever has happened lain has already developed a significant presence in the wired . this episode is tricky in its presentation as it doesn't make us privy to which things lain is lying about and which things she's honest about . in it we have lain talking to someone on her navi, she types sporadically in an encrypted language, and someone who looks just like her appears late one night in a night club downtown . while lain won't admit it to her classmates it's apparent at the end of the episode that it was her at the club all along . the key to understanding her actions throughout the episode is to realize she is trying to keep her existence in the wired and her existence in reality as separate entities . the realization she has by the end of the episode, which she uses to terrify a gunmen into suicide is that there is no escape from the wired, no matter where you are you are always connected .

made in the late-90s, Lain was quite ahead of its time . it predicted not only how in the early 2000s the internet would be regarded as a separate world where anonymity and personas reigned—it also predicted how the internet would eventually and inevitably overlap with the real world, once people in the real world realized that the internet is the real world . people have a tendency to see one part of themselves as their "true selves", whereas the parts they show to others are personas, they think of these things as separate when in reality a person is an amalgamation of all of their personas . lain tries to change her personas by dressing and acting differently from when she's in the wired-mode and in normal-mode, but she doesn't realize how people have been doing this way before the wired existed . her classmates are all 15 but they all pass for adults when they've dolled up and hit the club . if the characters in the show seem a bit young for their attitudes then you may not have met enough tech-savvy teenagers before . the purpose of this episode is to ultimately to prove to lain that the so-called real world and the wired are merely two layers of one reality, which couldn't be more true of the world today .

let there be light300pMTK. .

in mythology, psyche was the mortal princess who fell in love with and, eventually, married the god cupid; in religion and classical philosophy, psyche came to mean the human soul, and in the modern, literate world, it retains that meaning as the human spirit; in freudian analysis, psyche refers to the totality of the human mind: the id, ego and superego .

every meaning of psyche is distinctly human: a human princess who achieves godhood, the soul or mind of an individual . if previous episodes introduced the blurring of the real world with the wired, then episode three; "Layer 03: Psyche" is the episode that starts to blur human identity online and offline . one doesn’t even have to venture into the wired to ask what is human .

by this point we know that lain is definitely up to something . at this stage it's hard to tell what, but all we get are little glimpses into her actions . she still seems to be hiding a lot from the world around her and from the viewer in turn . ironically, lain's blank-faced silence and response to the questions of those around her it's own incrimination . when a police officer tells her to speak up (regarding the gunman's suicide) even if she had nothing to do with it, he doesn't realize she's being silent precisely because she does have something to do with it . but her deer-in-the-headlights persona gets her out of it .

the lain of the wired and the lain of reality are slowly starting to mesh into one whole . it remains difficult to interpret the physical existence of "other lain" so to speak, and the show refuses to outright show her playing that character . at the least, we do get to see lain access the wired in all its chaotic glory and she does begin to take an active interest in expanding her knowledge as she learns about and installs the "Psyche drive", a computer circuit that lain procures in hopes of it enhancing her computer's processing power . on the smaller scale, when lain applies the psyche processor to her navi, she is installing a spirit or soul, an animating element, to her machine . notably, the psyche does not replace the main processor; psyche augments the main processor, interpreting the data that flows through it . the soul is not simply the brain, it is an elevated consciousness or meta-self. by this point in the series lines become blurred and the lains begin to merge (hehe) . all of this is set against the backdrop of lain trying to decide if she should remain in the physical world or fully integrate in the wired . she hears one voice telling her that death feels amazing, and god exists in the wired, that there is nothing left for lain in this world . however, lain begins to establish a connection with her classmate alice, saying her name out loud and commiting it to memory for the first time, alice asks why her friends are not more shaken up after watching someone shoot himself in the head the previous day . it's almost as though lain is clinging to alice as an excuse to stay in the physical world out of fear for changing over . this all sets the seeds for what eventually grows throughout the series .

i want to recall the final meaning of the word “psyche". that the word also meant “butterfly,” which is how the greeks imagined the soul to appear . no doubt the symbolism of a creature that begins as one thing and transforms into another is not lost on us here .

every event serves to emphasize the existence of one's own personal reality, and as individuals from all others, we desire a place to belong . however that too is an egotistical concept . in order for there to be a mutual understanding, it is necessary to recognize here and now, like the brain synapses, we are all—in a logical yet chaotic manner—connected .

each is seperate—yet they are one . by connecting, humanity gains first awareness of its function as a seed . and by connecting a human no longer remains a mere endpoint, a "terminus", but becomes a junction to another point, having won the right to continue itself . in a sense, the ability to connect is the ability to continue . this not only applies to the connection of axial coordinates but temporal coordinates as well . therefore, at the time when a conscious, intentional connection is made, surely the dead will rise from there intended place, appearing at the time coordinate of the connection's origin .

in that moment, the realization will dawn that the time in which we inhabit our physical bodies is but the starting point of the connection, and the very meaning of possessing a physical body might be questioned .

we recognize we are connected .

serialize thyself .

#tecnobabel #text

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calamity-bean · 5 years ago

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so... i finally saw Midsommar

Those who recall how much I did NOT enjoy Hereditary (even though I wanted to, I swear!) will be gratified / vindicated / indifferent to learn that I enjoyed Midsommar much, MUCH more, and like it better and better the more I digest it. Folk horror in general is much more up my alley in terms of themes and tropes and tone, I suppose, and I love / sympathize with / want to communally wail in empathy with Dani a lot. I’ve seen a lot of talk about the intense emotional catharsis of her character arc and how it is arguably a freeing, liberating experience for her and yet simultaneously subsumes her into the very cultish, very boundary-erasing community of Hårga, a community in which individual lives and experiences are very much secondary to the community as a whole. And I find all of that fascinating. But one thing I haven’t really seen touched on is how this same sort of loss of identity is expressed through the particular way this film handles not death itself — we don’t even see half the deaths — but the remains of the dead.

Something I think about a lot when it comes to horror in general is the idea of the human body as meat: not the flesh of a person but the meat of an animal, which is, after all, what we all are, and what we will all become, in the end. And many of us don’t like to think about that! We don’t like to think about dying, and we don’t like to think about what will happen to our bodies after we die, and we don’t like to think of ourselves as meat because meat is fallible, meat is ephemeral, meat is food — something that will inevitably be devoured and digested and broken down. Many (though not all) of us have tried to forestall this process, of course... Speaking particularly from my own modern Western/American perspective (a cultural perspective similar to what the outsiders in Midsommar bring with them to Hårga), we commonly treat our cadavers with cosmetics and preservatives to prolong the illusion of life; we handle our loved one’s remains (however they are disposed of) with reverence and respect, we fear and avoid corpses in general, and we regard mistreating a corpse as an insult and an act of violence irrespective of the corpse’s actual sentience or ability to feel pain. Even if we believe that the soul persists in some afterlife and/or that the body is but a shell, our actions tend to reflect a strongly held feeling that human remains are still, in some way, people rather than just objects.

And where Midsommar derives much of its horror, I think, is from its very stark denial of that mind-set. Not every horror film really engages with this idea of bodies as meat, in my opinion, not even the ones with corpses strewn over every frame... I’m struggling to articulate my point here and didn’t really mean to go on like this in the first place, but I think one doesn’t necessarily engage with this concept simply by reducing a character to blood and guts. In fact, I think the relative lack of blood in Midsommar contributes to this theme by virtue of not visually obscuring what happens to the characters’ flesh, particularly when it comes to the many lingering close-ups on the sacrifices of the attestupa. The presentation of their ruined faces is starkly clear, unartificial, unadorned, and unsentimental. The face, the part of the human body most associated with identity and personhood, reduced to a very clearly visible tangle of meat and bone. Other faces are flayed and passed around as masks; other bodies are used to feed the chickens, or buried in the garden in much the same way grain and meat were buried so that the May Queen could bless the crops and livestock. And in general, the way the camera presents these corpses to the audience is extremely... matter of fact. No jump scares, no spooky lighting or gushing blood. Just plain shots in plain daylight. Most of the time, the camera handles the corpses as casually and comfortably as the Hårga themselves do when they lug them about and prop them up as though there’s nothing disturbing about touching a bloated or mangled corpse. Why would there be? These are farm people, after all, accustomed to butchering livestock. The bodies they hoist from those wheelbarrows are just more meat.

And if that seems to fly in the fact of the fact that these corpses are part of a very holy ritual — and therefore would surely be imbued with a certain holiness themselves — I would argue that the Hårga regard those corpses as no more holy than the slab of livestock meat they buried with the grain. (And no less holy, either.) I would argue that their ancestral tree is far more holy and more of a person to them than the actual bodies that are burned to be scattered upon it. I would argue that the erasure of individual identity and the transformation of Human Person into Organic Object is, in fact, essential in a society and a ritual centered around ideas of growth and rebirth and harvest and being intimately connected to each other and to nature and regarding death, very unflinchingly, as the natural conclusion of one cycle and the beginning of another. Before the elders jump from the precipice, they are honored, they are regarded as individuals, they are loved. Before the volunteers are consumed by the fire, we see them embrace the members of their community in farewell. The people of Hårga truly care for each other, I really believe, and do not take lightly the sacrifice of their lives. They simply are not very sentimental about their flesh.

So the horror of this film, then — or part of the horror, at least — comes from this disconnect between Hårga’s very blase and matter-of-fact view of bodies as organic objects that grow, breed, reproduce, age, die, and then become food for other things (be they trees or chickens or flames), versus the outsiders’ view of bodies as intrinsic extensions of personhood (and thus horrific to violate or disrespect or kill). The audience (or at least most people I know) tend to be aligned with the outsiders’ perspective on this. The camera tends to be aligned with Hårga’s. And Dani, who starts out haunted by the corpse of her sister and all the grief and horror it represents, ultimately becomes complicit in the making of corpses via becoming something of a metaphorical corpse herself: her old life destroyed, her new life just on the cusp of beginning, her sense of self having been chewed up and devoured and digested into something new.

#local blogger has never been succinct in her life #anyway i think about this concept All The Time #and the various ways it's expressed in the horror genre & the grotesque genre & irl & etc etc etc #and how it underpins so much of what ppl tend to find frightening or uncomfortable or uncanny... good stuff good stuff #midsommar #my meta #op

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travllingbunny · 5 years ago

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The 100 6x13 The Blood of Sanctum

This was a rather underwhelming finale to what was probably my favorite season of The 100. That doesn’t mean it was really bad or that it ruined the season for me; no, it was just something that felt more like a midseason finale than an epic conclusion. This may be because the writers were already sure that they were getting season 7 – and may have already planned it as the last, which made season 6 something like the first part of one big, 29 episodes season, aka “Book Two”.

Out of all the storylines, only SheidMadi got resolved – as did the two-season story of Madi as the Commander, which is not history, together, apparently, with the Flame. I admit that I really did not expect the show to finally do away with this long-standing plot device. On the other hand, not only is Sheidheda still a villain who is going to cause trouble in season 7, but the main plot with the Primes and bodysnatching has not been fully concluded – because Russell Lightbourne is still alive, several of the mind drives are still in function, and there are still a lot of “devout” Prime-worshippers in Sanctum. Out of all the storylines, that was the one I expected to be fully over.

The best parts of the episode – the strongest emotional moments – all involved Clarke. Even though Clarke suffering and losing people she loves has been done to death, the show can always count on Eliza Taylor to deliver those big emotional moments. The only problem with her scenes is that they were somewhat predictable – especially since the promo department saw fit to spoil the emotional climax in promo videos and pictures. Still, the scenes where Clarke is tempted to give in to the desire to believe that her mother is still alive, but then stays strong and smart and floats Simone in her mother’s body alongside most of the other Primes; and the climax with her confronting Madi, are really good. Sure, it’s the “Power of Love” trope, but the show knows how to do that trope well, and I liked it. It fit with the show’s themes, including the old “Love is a weakness” theme. Sheidheda was the one to repeat that mantra, but it was something we first heard from Lexa (who eventually changed her mind about it), later learned was actually a part of her Flamekeeper Titus’ teaching, and eventually learned (in season 5) that it was also a part of Gaia’s teaching to Octavia, as something that Flamekeepers generally teach Commanders. Here, Sheidheda said that Lexa told him Clarke was strong (he would have first known about Clarke through Lexa, years before Madi took the Flame), but, according to Sheidheda, Lexa was weak because of her love for Clarke, and Clarke now proved she was weak because of her love for Madi… But then Clarke proved that Love is strength by risking her life and using her love for Madi and Madi’s love for her to bring her daughter back, when she seemed fully possessed by Sheidheda.

This season was full of parallels to season 2 – which was for the long time my favorite – as a redoing, in a better way, of what happened; and the reunion scene between Clarke and Bellamy was a beautiful one with parallels and contrasts to their goodbye scene in the season 2 finale. The song and the softness and tenderness of the scene were similar to the Bellarke season 2 goodbye, and the dialogue recalled both that scene, and Clarke’s conversation with her mother, when she said “I tried to be the good guy” and got the reply “Maybe there are no good guys”. But that mindset was very damaging, to Clarke, to Abby and to everyone. And here, Clarke says she tried to do better (which irked me somewhat, because she has to know she did do the right thing – it would be absurd to think that killing Primes in self-defense is somehow wrong, or that she was in any way responsible for the mayhem Russell caused, because he’s the worst) and Bellamy assures her she did, they did. What makes more sense is that Clarke is wondering if doing better was worth it, since she lost her mother. It is the opposite of the season 2 finale, when she saved everyone she loved, but lost a part of her soul and all of her moral certainty in the process. (Even though, in the circumstances in that season finale, when the choice was between killing all the Mountain Men or letting them win and horribly murder Clarke and Bellamy and everyone they loved – Abby, Octavia, all their friends – the former was the right choice, and anyone who disagrees has to explain how lying down and saying “yes, kill us all, you superior Mount Weather people” was a better choice.) But this time, Clarke accepted Bellamy’s comforting words and hug, and is staying with her people instead of isolating herself.

But the relationship issues with Bellamy and Clarke and Echo, respectively, were put on hold– which was obviously a deliberate decision by the writers to not resolve them before the last season, and the way it has been made to work is by making the last few episodes so full of action that characters didn’t have the time to sit and talk about their feelings and relationships (especially Bellamy and Echo, who haven’t had an on-screen one-on-one scene since 6x04, and weren’t even in the position to have one since 6x08). Many of the character arcs feel like they just reached the halfway point.

The weakest part of the episode was the battle for Sanctum. Aside from some funny moments involving Murphy and a confirmation that Octavia has changed and that she and Bellamy have repaired their relationship, most of it was just action - and I’m someone who gets bored with action scenes if they don’t involve meaningful character moments and/or real stakes, which was missing. The show also missed the chance to portray the changing society of Sanctum, and the revolution/civil war that started in 6x12, in an interesting way. Instead, we just got beaten over the head with how brainwashed the “devout” Sanctumites are, which took quite a bit of screentime. It was hard to care when none of these people were characters we had met before, and were hard to relate to. What happened to the rebels who shouted “Death to Primes”? Did they just lose the battle off-screen and got captured? What happened to Delilah’s parents – the only Sanctum residents we had already gotten to know that are still alive? The show has done much more to humanize Russell freaking Lightbourne and the Primes, which is not a bad thing in itself, than it ever did to humanize the ordinary residents of Sanctum, who remain a nebulous crowd with few individual characteristics (ironically, similar to how the Primes treat them), which just serves as the motivation for our heroes to spare/help so they would do better.

Seeing Jordan brainwashed does help somewhat understand that the people of Sanctum are not stupid and sympathize with them: if he can be so brainwashed after a few days, what chance did the Sanctumites have? They had that happen to them for years. Jordan’s new mindset after literally drinking the Kool Aid is scary and promises big problems for season 7. Remember when they said Priya was overseeing his recovery? The Primes are always proving even more evil than you thought. She and the “adjustor” seem to have somehow managed to make him transfer his feelings for Delilah to Priya – to the point that he carries a mind drive (probably Priya’s), and to make him believe in their BS mantra that their world was happy and peaceful before Earth people came (which cannot be further from the truth), when he was the first to call the Primes murderers when he discovered the truth about them in 6x05.

The mystery of the Anomaly, of course, has been established as the main plot of season 7 (no surprise there), and while I expected a Diyoza to come out of the Anomaly (I expected a younger Charmaine, but at least one person on Twitter guessed it would be her daughter Hope), the final twist with Octavia disappearing into the Anomaly did come as a surprise. But that part of the episode felt somewhat disconnected from the rest.

Other thoughts:

Indra’s story about Sheidheda’s rule of fear was a little weird – because I don’t really see how exactly his actions were that different than those that were expected from any Commander. Apparently, he butchered everyone who refused to submit to his rule. But isn’t that what Commanders generally do? We learned back in season 2 that Grounders have a strictly hierarchical society and are expected to obey their leaders. When Lincoln showed disobedience and went against an order of his Commander (going back to help Octavia in Mount Weather against Lexa’s orders), Lexa issued a kill order on him. Blood must have blood, Love is weakness – these are mantras taught to Commanders (or at least the recent ones) by their Flamekeepers. Sheidheda’s actions may have been more extreme in scale and harshness, but at the core, he was following the exact same rules he was taught. Giving anyone, especially a child, absolute power, doesn’t tend to end well.

One of the few characters who got a rounded character arc in season 6 is Gaia, who ended up choosing saving Madi over saving the Flame. Yes, it was also about destroying Sheidheda, but it was a big thing for her to decide to destroy the thing to whose worship she had dedicated her life, for the common good, to protect people and to save the life of a real, living child. But she will have an identity crisis next season and will have to decide what her life is now.

The hug between Clarke and Raven was nice but…semi-satisfactory to see: they have made up, and Raven has done better in the last few episodes, and made amends to Clarke, in a way, by saving Madi, just as Clarke did better by caring about the common good and saving everyone, again (something she had lost in season 5) rather than just people close to her.

But Raven really needs a good storyline again and a better characterization. In season 6, she was a side character who was there just to support other people’s stories. Even Gaia’s: in order for the decision whether to kill the Flame to belong to Gaia, the show had Raven ask Gaia what to do with the Flame – which was quite mind-boggling. Since when does Raven care about the Grounder religion, to the point of giving the decision to a Flamekeeper? Especially when a child’s life and everyone’s being is at stake?

Speaking about sacrificing one character’s characterization to give a cool moment/uplift another, I didn’t enjoy the way that it seemed like Octavia is now the most morally developed and Bellamy just followed her lead when she decided to help Gabriel save the people of Sanctum. As if Bellamy didn’t always care about saving people who weren’t necessarily “his people” – e.g. saving the slaves in 4x02, his insistence in season 2 that they spare the children and innocent people in Mount Weather, trying to stop Finn from killing a Grounder prisoner in season 2, trying not to get Children of Gabriel unnecessarily killed in 6x03 – when they were seen as enemies…

Layla, one of the very few non-Prime new characters we got to know, got murdered by a devout nutcase, and her death scene was spoiled in a promo… But I wasn’t even sure she was injured when I saw the promo, because the scene must be the least unconvincing killing scene ever. That little surface scratch with a knife looked like it can’t do more than just leave a little mark on her neck, for a while.

Emori and Murphy were fun to watch in their glamorous new clothes and makeup and with their ‘god” personas.

Even though he made the choice to help his friends, Murphy still wants immortality. And he is not concerned with the well-being of people he doesn’t know, which is in character for him. We’ll see if any of that comes into play in early season 7.

Does it count as Bury Your Gays when a show reveals an already dead character as gay (or possibly bisexual)? I remember that this was brought up when Lost did it with a dead recurring character in a flashback. Here it was a character we saw for just a few seconds in 6x02, who didn’t get any characterization, and has been dead for 12 episodes, and super-definitely-dead for 8 (one of the Primes, Daniel Lee).

Are Bellamy and Echo still together? Who knows. Are they still kind of technically an item just because they haven’t had any time or chance to interact in private, which would be necessary for a breakup? If they are together, why are they acting more platonic than Bellamy and Clarke? It would have been easy for the show to confirm they were still a couple: it would be obvious if they had kissed during their reunion – as Miller and Jackson did in this episode, or if they kissed at some other point (as Murphy and Emori do all the time) or had other gestures of intimacy other than the reunion bro-hug in 6x12, with Bellamy patting Echo on the back the same way he did his sister a couple of episodes back. At this point, Becho is the Schroedinger’s Ship.

Rating: 6.5/10

#the 100 #the 100 season 6 #the 100 6x13 #the blood of sanctum #clarke griffin #bellamy blake #bellarke #octavia blake #madi griffin #sheidheda #raven reyes #gaia kom trikru #john murphy #emori #abby griffin #the primes

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queenofcats17 · 5 years ago

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Two Sides, Same Coin

I recently discovered this game and I wanted to write something for it.

I based the original Hel’s appearance off this concept art.

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She had returned to the throne room. The room where her body lay, slumped in its massive throne. It felt so strange to think of it as her body. She felt disconnected from the gigantic corpse, as though she was looking at a stranger. But that was her. Or...No. That body was Hel. The original Hel. She may have been made with Hel’s genetic material, but she was not truly Loki’s daughter. She had no memories of who he had been before. She had no memories of him at all, save the horrors he had inflicted upon her.

Hel was the only identity she had, though. She had woken up with no memories, no idea who in the world she was. She still had no memories of being her. Of being Hel. But Hel was all she had. And so she would cling to that identity. She sat down on the stone in front of the throne, running her fingers over the scythe. It was still sharp, even after all this time. It did not cut her, though. She had a feeling it was unable to harm her.

“Do you hate him?” A voice came from beside her. She turned quickly, her heart in her throat. A ghost sat beside her, hands folded in her lap. She had not seen her reflection, not in all her brief existence. She had no idea what she looked like. But staring at the ghost beside her, she felt as though she were looking in a mirror.

The ghost was more substantial than the other shades the new Hel had beheld in her domain and much more distinct. Half her hair was white and half was black. The right side of her body was black, the division marked by white runes that shifted and pulsed. Her right eye glowed with an unearthly light, piercing into one’s very soul with its gaze. Black antlers crept out from under the snow-white hair on her right side. She was dressed similarly to the new Hel, with the addition of a thick fur cape and some added armor and ornamentation that made her look more like the sovereign she was.

“Do I hate who?” The new Hel asked.

“Our father,” the ghost replied. “Loki.”

“Of course,” the new Hel answered without a second thought, stumbling to her feet. “I despise him! He’s done horrible things! He doomed the world! He-” Her breath caught in her throat and her left hand went to her right arm. The arm their father had ripped off during her first battle with him.

“That is true,” the ghost conceded. Her gaze swept around the hall. The new Hel knew that this shade was the old Hel. The true ruler of Helheim. Loki’s true daughter. The ghost stood tall, holding herself with purpose and intent. Even in her weary state, she still exuded an aura of regality and confidence. She was the sort who gave orders, not took them.

The new Hel allowed herself a small smile at the thought of Henrik Andersson trying to order around this Hel. She imagined her predecessor would not have been nearly as willing to follow his directions without question.

“Do you hate him?” The new Hel asked. “It was his fault you were killed, wasn’t it?”

It had been Loki’s actions that had led to the death of Baldur, which in turn had led to the death of Loki’s children at the hands of the vengeful gods. The new Hel would assume the old would be furious with her father. The ghost hardly seemed the sort who would suffer fools lightly. But the ghost was silent, casting her gaze around the hall once more.

“Foolish though it may be, I cannot find it in myself to hate him,” the ghost admitted, getting to her feet as well to look the new Hel in the eye.

“You weren’t angry?”

“I did not say that.” A hint of testiness entered the ghost’s voice as irritation passed across her features. “I was angry. Furious, in fact. He never considered the consequences of his actions. Never thought about whether what he did would affect others around him!” Briefly, her voice rose, years of frustration spilling over. The new Hel took an instinctive step back, fear lancing through her at the building anger.

“He was so distraught to lose me, but did he not consider that murdering Baldur would cause Odin to retaliate?” The ghost’s voice boomed throughout the hall, the flames on the torches flaring as her anger rose. The foundations shook with her voice. Even as a shade, she was every inch the goddess she was meant to be. The new Hel couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. She lacked the presence of her predecessor. Was she truly worthy to rule this place?

“And to think he was lauded as a strategic genius!” Tears were welling up in the ghost’s eyes as she continued to scream. “Him! That short-sighted fool who couldn’t see beyond his own machinations! What good did any of it do?! What did it bring any of us save for pain and suffering?!”

Then, all at once, the fire left the ghost. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed heavily. The fearsome goddess was gone, leaving a weary young woman in her place. One hand went up to finger the antlers in her hair.

“I’m sorry,” the ghost whispered. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

“It’s alright,” the new Hel assured her. “I don’t mind.” It made her feel better to know the old Hel was angry as well. It made her feel as though she was less of an imposter.

“But, to answer your earlier question, no.” The ghost cleared her throat, attempting to regain some manner of control. “No, I do not hate him. I cannot hate him.”

The new Hel frowned slightly. After all she’d heard, all the anger the ghost had expressed, she still didn’t hate Loki. The new Hel couldn’t understand why. Why did the ghost still harbor love for the man who had gotten her killed?

“How can you still love him?” She asked, no, demanded. “After all he’s done, how can you still love him?”

“He was not always like that, you know.” The ghost smiled, a resigned expression. “Once, he was kind. Or, as kind as he could be. I am not so delusional as to say he was a good man. None of the gods were truly good people. But he did not set out to destroy the worlds in the beginning.”

“Does that matter?” The new Hel’s voice came out a bit too sharp, perhaps. She held no love for Loki. He had made her life a nightmare from the moment she had awakened on that slab.

“No. I suppose it does not.” The ghost’s smile fell. “I simply wanted you to know.” She remained standing there, surveying the kingdom that had once been hers.

“Was he...a good father?” The new Hel asked tentatively, her curiosity getting the better of her. Despite herself, she found herself curious about the person Loki had been before all this. Before the death of Baldur. Before the mask.

“He tried to be,” the ghost said. “He failed at times, but he tried. He wanted us to be happy.” She rested a hand on her fur mantle, a wistful smile crossing her features. “Since I could not leave this place, he did his best to bring the outside world to me. He would often visit to tell me how Jormungandr or Fenrir were doing.”

“Who are they?” The new Hel asked.

“Our brothers,” the ghost replied mournfully, her smile falling once more. “You encountered a recreation of Fenrir in that facility. The wolf with the two faces.”

The new Hel’s lips twisted at the conflicting emotions the memory of that wolf brought up. It had stalked her, struck fear into her heart. And yet...it had saved her. Time and time again it had come to her aid and kept her from danger. It had stood up against Loki and lost its life for its bravery.

“In his original form, he was quite eloquent,” the ghost continued. “He lacked the silver tongue of our father, but his words held weight. When he spoke, people listened. They had no other choice in the matter.” She smiled sadly again. “I do think he resented me a bit when we were young, though.”

“Resented you?” The new Hel frowned. “Why?”

“I was Father’s favorite. Blatantly. He made no attempt to hide it.” The ghost laughed weakly. “When we were very young, I believe Fenrir hated me for taking all of Father’s attention.”

“But he didn’t hate you forever, did he?” The new Hel asked. “Or he wouldn’t have saved me.” One didn’t sacrifice themselves for someone they hated. Not the way Fenrir had for her.

“His feelings toward me warmed when he realized I was one of the few sensible people in our family,” the ghost laughed again, stronger this time. “I questioned Father’s decisions. I held him accountable. But...” She trailed off, looking back at her own skeleton, slumped in the throne. “That didn’t stop him. It never did.”

The new Hel wasn’t sure whether to apologize or not. So she stayed silent, waiting to see what else her predecessor would say.

“I could see through your eyes sometimes,” the ghost said, not looking back at the new Hel. “I must admit, it pained me to see the father I so adored transform into a monster I scarcely recognized.” Her face twisted, whether with pain or regret the new Hel knew not. “To think that he would kill Fenrir...His own son.”

The new Hel lowered her gaze. The memory of the wolf’s death was so much sadder now that she knew of his identity. He had been her brother. Loki’s son. And yet Loki had killed him without a second thought. She was too weary to question how the ghost had seen through her eyes.

“I suppose the father I knew died a long time ago,” the ghost murmured. She ran a finger over the blade of the scythe. The new Hel would have expected the ghost’s incorporeal flesh to pass right through the scythe. But it did not.

“My apologies.” The ghost looked back at the new Hel. Her face was devoid of all expression except for weariness. “I believe I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” the new Hel answered. She was glad to have gotten some insight into the person she was made from. And a new feeling for Loki was rising in her chest.

Pity.

Pity for the man who had been driven so mad with grief by the loss of his daughter that he had destroyed himself and the world to get her back. It certainly didn’t excuse what he’d done, but part of her understood now.

The ghost smiled at her successor, then walked into her. Hel gasped at the bone-deep cold that suddenly enveloped her. But as soon as it had come, it was gone. In its place, she felt a power she had not before. An awareness of Helheim and the creatures in it. And, in her heart, warmth and...completion.

It appeared she was worthy to rule after all.

#apsulov: end of gods #fanfiction #hel

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lenniethefarmer · 5 years ago

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#007

It’s number 7. Why am I not surprised, Universe.

Honestly, people, I’ve got so much I want to say and so much I have felt with my own fragile human body and within my ever-so-hardworking brain, I don’t think a whole lifetime of words and sentences would be able to contain it in a sensible structured piece of writing. That’s why I’m gonna spend the rest of whatever time I have remaining on this Earth trying to explain it all. And I know that by the time I get close to or at least begin the process of making sense of it in others’ and my own head/s, it will all come back to me and flood me completely in a whole new way.

A neverending cycle.

A circle with no beginning, middle, or end.

It’s just incredible. The way everything is. It’s beautiful and rare and very, very unlikely and I honestly don’t think I could ever think up a suitable adjective for what it really is.

I’ll try and explain it all for anyone who’s here to read and mostly for myself who’s going through the process of attainment constantly and has been for a while.

I remember my first conscious memory. It’s weird. It was very... strange, and new and curious to exist. Of course, I was only two, and at this age I didn’t have the mental capabilities to question or even realize my own consciousness. So I just went with it.

They say I started talking early and I never had a “baby language” phase. Apparently I started talking and made full sensible sentences straight away.

I taught myself to read at the age of 4, I was simply way too curious about the infinite amount of knowledge available readily to anyone fortunate enough to be able to read and the possibility was overwhelmingly exciting.

I remember being 6 or 7 and thinking how everything I see is there just for me, how I made it all happen, how there’s no one else experiencing it exactly like I do and questioning why is it all there.

At 9 I got one of my first realized messages. Make of this what you want.

At 10 I could understand things with detail without anyone ever saying them to me. By stating things, people were simply confirming things my intuition and perception had already realized.

I remember being 12 and realizing I had no choice of life, rather I was brought here to this random set of people to be my family and this God-forgotten land to be my first home without ever even having the opportunity to provide my consent. I realized I could have easily been born in Africa and could have already starved to death. I’m still unsure if this particular image in my head was a memory.

I was 15 when I realized and was fully aware about the fact that this time of being conscious and alive as the particular human being I am will eventually come to an end. I remember feeling all the lives that had been lived in this particular room I was in. I remember feeling death watching from every corner.

Then came depression. Or how I think of it now, my initial failure to accept and process my own divinity.

Okay. So...

I remember being in school and they taught us that there’s matter, and atoms, and energy, and whatever else. I was skeptical and developed my own set of beliefs - there was only matter and energy. I also remember praying, I remember a few weird coincidences and I remember the absolute luck that has been following me all my life. And people would always tell me I’m an old soul, that I was too intelligent and sensitive for my own good and that I would suffer in life because of my innate superiority. If anything, these undue opinions only made me question everything more and forced my disconnection with myself even further.

I now know that all there is is energy. And nothing else. Some would argue there’s dark energy, or dark matter... but that’s bullshit. On a foundational and essential level, it’s all energy.

Fast forward a few years of struggling with toxic people (you attract what you are), drug usage and general self-induced human suffering, I had come at a point of my life where it all combusted in a moment that had been waiting for me my whole life.

Here is where it gets inexplainable - I’ll try my best. You’d have to experience it for yourself. If you have, you know how it feels like.

To Awaken.

The chronic physical pain I had been feeling for 2 years melted away. I did cartwheel after cartwheel in front of my friends’ eyes which had seen how much I’d struggled to even walk sometimes.

The self-induced heaviness of existence was lifted. I was a child again. And I had looked beyond the veil I had so comfortably hid myself under, giving up the option to ever crawl back behind it again.

Every single choice I had made had brought me to this moment. The moment that shook my brain up, fried the meat inside my skull to the point where I was no longer myself... and at the same time I was... I was the pure, unstained, divine, intelligent, realized, knowledgeable, beautiful and godlike consciousness that I was when I was still inexperienced and unhurt by life’s jokes.

Now listen. I felt the energy within and around myself as a physical sentient. Every single thought I had in my head and did not manifest by saying it out loud got itself manifested in another’s lips. The pattern of everything was there, in the trees around, the clouds above, my friend’s eyes and on my fingertips.

That moment had been building itself up for years, long before I was conceived in my mother’s body. Everything I had ever done had brought me to this moment where there was no fear... well, no emotion at all. Only reassurance that yes, this is what you are and this is what this is, and this is how it is, and it’s beautiful and, no, you are not yourself, you are simply the universe being aware of itself.

I realize that to the common person I might be sounding insane and crazy, a little preachy and very mentally ill. And perhaps I’m not saying anything that the reader of this post doesn’t already know for themselves, perhaps this is something they had realized in their own time and in their own way. I just have to type it out, and I’m doing so in a desperate try to contain my current mind state somewhere where it would be easier for my future self to reference to my progress some time down the line.

And it’s not about being right or wrong - there is no such thing. It’s simply about being what you are. About trustfalling in the universe’s caring hands. You are stardust.

Since that moment, I’ve accepted myself for what I am, I’ve allowed my intuition to develop and bounce back to what it was initially, even tried to grow it. I’ve done and experienced some pretty freaky and otherworldly things, things I don’t feel comfortable sharing on the internet on a place where my identity can be easily tracked down. Let’s just say that everything is subjective, there is nothing and everything is everything.

Stating anything makes it true. It brings it to existence. So I’ve really debated with myself if I should put these thoughts in writing. But I will because I’d like to read them back one day and see how I’ve changed. I don’t know anything, because there isn’t anything to know.

I can breathe. And I can feel the warmth of life flow within me with kindness.

I am the Universe.

#me #thoughts #sending love #awakening #englightenment #the path #infp

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pamphletstoinspire · 6 years ago

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Gnosticism Still a Challenge to Christianity

Gnostic philosophy, like a noxious weed, thrives in the barren soil of our post-Christian culture. It also emits a foul odor akin to the smoke of Satan, filtering through the doors of the Church and influencing our anthropology, as well as severely compromising the integrity of our worship of Christ in the Eucharist.

Catholicism is incarnational. Reverence and respect for the body is central to our worship and our way of life. Unfortunately, Western culture has in many ways devolved into a form of Gnosticism: an anti-incarnational, dualist ideology of the separation of body and soul. Gnosticism is a false spiritualism that values the soul or the mind as the true self. It denigrates the body as an object, a lesser creation, an encumbrance for the soul, or it treats the body as raw matter to be manipulated by the will.

In the Catholic understanding, human beings are not souls who “have” bodies as objects; rather, we are subjects with a body-soul unity. Thinking we “have” bodies can lead us to live in our heads, disconnected from our bodies.

Gender identity is the most obvious example of the influence of Gnostic concepts on our culture. Some people actually believe they can have a gender identity in their minds which is the opposite of the gender of their bodies! Such people are clearly suffering and in need of compassion, but the absurdity of gender ideology is an indication of the degree to which we human beings are capable of dissociating from the reality of our bodies.

Technology can reflect and reinforce these harmful Gnostic ideas by perpetuating a tendency for us to over-identify with our minds. The Internet allows for more instant communication over vast distances, with the unintended consequence of removing us from our immediate environment. A stroll down any city block will confirm this observation. People will be so absorbed in their smart phones that they find themselves completely alienated from their surroundings and from other people. Hours spent on mass media can deeply affect the psyche, creating a habit of living in a purely mental and virtual world, separated from the reality of the body.

In the Eucharist, our communion with Christ is vitiated by this habit of living in our minds, detached and dissociated from our bodies and the present moment. If we are not present to ourselves in our own bodies, how can we be present to the Body of Christ in the Eucharist? Christ is truly present but we are not. It is like someone who is so busy and distracted that he shakes hands with someone without looking him in the eye. It is an empty gesture of friendship. Patiently and unfailingly, Jesus stands at the door of the heart and knocks, but there is no answer, because no one is home. The person is so distracted and dissociated he receives the sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ as a piece of bread, rather than as a living Person.

In the Catechism, on the section pertaining to the struggle for prayer, we read, “the habitual difficulty in prayer is distraction.” Such lack of attention in prayer is a common, normal aspect of the human experience. However, when distraction deepens to the point of dissociation, we are on the verge of an experience of disembodiment, which severely limits our capacity for prayer and communion with God and others.

I believe we need to bring to light our unconscious collaboration with Gnostic ideas; in our pride and fear, we often prefer to live in our minds rather than in our bodies. Our minds can provide us with the illusion of power and control. Our weak and limited bodies remind us of a reality that many of us find unpleasant and distasteful, to say the least — that we are contingent mortal beings entirely dependent on Another for our very existence at every moment.

But it is only in and through our poor, weak, mortal bodies that we truly worship and enter into communion with Christ in his Body and Blood. Christ took on a human nature so we could have communion with his Divinity through our humanity. And Christ as God embraced his human nature more than we do! He was not ashamed of his human poverty and weakness. Yet so often — far too often — we are ashamed of our humanity, and we desperately want to escape the limits and sufferings of our human condition. But then we have no real embodied communion with Christ.

Jesus is our model for embodied worship. In his Incarnation, when he came into the world in the womb of Mary, he said to the Father, “A body you have prepared for me… Behold, I have come to do your will, O God.”

Christ was not only pleased to become little and helpless as a child, he also consented to suffer incomprehensible pain in his human body in his Passion. He could have chosen to dissociate from his body through ecstasy, a grace given to some of the martyrs who were miraculously spared the full brunt of their sufferings. But Christ refused to drink the wine mixed with myrrh, a narcotic painkiller, because he chose to enter into the full agony of his Passion, to empty the chalice of his suffering to the last bitter dregs.

Most amazing of all is his Resurrection from the dead in a human body. He did not rise as a pure spirit, leaving his body behind. He ascended into heaven in his body. He is now seated at the right hand of the Father in his body. With that same glorified human body, he lives and reigns forever and ever, world without end.

By his Incarnation, death and Resurrection, we are healed. Through Christ’s permanent and irrevocable “association” with his body, he heals our dissociation. By his embodied existence and worship, he enables us to lovingly embrace our human nature and to worship reverently with our whole being. Through our full, active, conscious, and embodied participation at Mass, we can experience more deeply the Eucharist as the source and summit of our faith. Then we will be empowered to announce the Gospel in our secular culture. In the words of St. Paul, we will spread the “good odor” of Christ, displacing the poisoned air of Gnostic fallacies.

BY: FR. TIM MCCAULEY

From: www.pamphletstoinspire.com

#gnosticism still a challenge to christianity

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douxreviews · 6 years ago

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Star Trek III: The Search for Spock (1984) Review

Kirk: "The needs of the one outweighed the needs of the many."

Fans refer to this movie as "The search for a plot", and yes, they have a point. The Search for Spock suffers from the high crime (or possibly just a misdemeanor) of being the middle movie in a trilogy, a bridge between the outstanding Wrath of Khan and the outstanding Voyage Home.

And yet, I realized during my rewatch that this is not a bad movie. There's a lot to like about it.

It's great fun to see the characters we love pulling off a starship heist. And like The Wrath of Khan, this movie features a major upsetting death, and I'm not talking about poor David, a good character who met a pointless (or pointy) end. It was the death of Enterprise herself. I can remember the first time I saw this movie, the destruction of our beloved ship really got to me. It echoed the theme of loss and rebirth in The Wrath of Khan.

But (and you knew there was a 'but' in there) as much as I love Spock, and I love him so very very much, bringing him back from the dead after killing him off so spectacularly was just a little bit wrong. So was retconning the beautiful, symbolically pure Genesis planet into a hopelessly screwed up mess. It was sad that it was all David's fault for using 'protomatter', as if they were giving the writers a reason for killing him off, although it did work as a device to make Spock's body age somewhat believably. If they hadn't started with regenerated Spock as a child, the other option would have been Vulcan zombies, and we can't have that. And I liked that Genesis turned into a "galactic controversy" because in real life, it would absolutely happen. It was interesting and somewhat disturbing that Starfleet was being just a little bit Gestapo about the whole thing.

But (and you knew there was another one a'comin') the fact that Vulcans had mind-meldable transferrable souls had never been mentioned before. You'd think that in all the years Spock served in Star Fleet, his comrades would have known that, just in case something happened to him. You'd think that Saavik, who was right there at the funeral, would have mentioned it in passing in between bars of "Amazing Grace." Okay, it was a fun plot point having Spock, already a divided being, with a disconnected body and soul to put together. But it did sort of come out of nowhere.

It was a cool plot point that the recovery of Spock was tied to saving McCoy as well. (Imagine if Kirk had lost Spock, McCoy and David all at the same time.) Loved DeForest Kelley mimicking Leonard Nimoy, up to and including an attempt at a Spock pinch. And of course, it was lovely in the end seeing Spock repeat his own dying words to Kirk: "The ship. Out of danger?" And Kirk giving him that "Needs of the one" response.

There were other bits that I loved, too. Even in his overwhelming grief over David, Kirk kept thinking and planning, very in character. The way he finally lost it with Kruge is still satisfying, not matter how many times I've seen it. "I... have had... enough... of YOU." One of my favorite bits was Scott, Sulu and Chekov trying to figure out the Klingon controls of the Bird of Prey, too, also wonderfully in character. And the self-destruct sequence was virtually identical to the same scene in "Let That Be Your Last Battlefield."

So it's not The Empire Strikes Back. The Search for Spock got us where we needed to go. Good enough.

Casting bits:

-- Merritt Butrick (David Marcus) also appeared in an episode of Next Gen. And he died way too young.

-- It seemed a bit cheap of them to redo the Genesis presentation because they didn't want to pay Bibi Besch. Seriously. What happened to Carol Marcus? She wasn't even mentioned.

-- Christopher Lloyd did his usual good job as Kruge, a slimy Klingon who (of course) had a slimy dog.

-- Dame Judith Anderson played Vulcan matriarch T'Pau... excuse me, T'Lar. And with jarringly bright lipstick and and way too obvious eyeliner that I just couldn't see a Vulcan matriarch wearing.

-- Robin Curtis got the difficult job of replacing Kirstie Alley as Saavik, plus she had to talk about pon farr, too. I remember wondering at some point if she had remembered to bring her birth control to the Genesis planet.

-- We got a glimpse of Janice Rand (Grace Lee Whitney) at the space station.

-- And we got Sarek! And he even mentioned his lineage -- son of Skon, son of Salkar. I thought Vulcan society was matriarchal?

-- Five actors played Spock. And Leonard Nimoy directed.

Bits and pieces:

-- Star date 8210.3. We visited Earth, the Federation Science Vessel Grissom (which was destroyed), Enterprise (which was destroyed), Excelsior (which was screwed up), the Genesis planet (which was destroyed) and Vulcan. Which ... I'll shut up now.

-- Why a red alert if there were only five of them on the entire ship?

-- Why didn't Uhura get to go along and nearly die, too?

-- McCoy went to a shady bar full of freaky aliens to hire a ship. I don't know why they didn't just call the place "Mos Eisley."

-- The Excelsior with its new transwarp drive was introduced, but all we saw was it failing.

-- Why did Sulu decide on a Peter Pan cape as a fashion accessory? Only marginally worse was Chekov's shirt, which I bet came from the Little Lord Fauntleroy collection.

-- If Mount Seleya is the only place for a Vulcan's soul to go, you'd think it'd be a very busy place.

-- This movie is surprisingly quotable. So there's that.

Quotes:

Kirk: "It seems I have left the noblest part of myself back there on that newborn planet."

Kirk: "Have you always multiplied your repair estimates by a factor of four?" Scott: "Certainly, sir. How else can I keep my reputation as a miracle worker?" This is one of my favorite Star Trek quotes ever.

Kirk: "My friends, the great experiment: The Excelsior. Ready for trial runs." Sulu: "She's supposed to have transwarp drive." Scott: "Aye. And if my grandmother had wheels, she'd be a wagon."

Kirk: "If there's even a chance that Spock has an immortal soul, it's my responsibility. Just as surely as if it were my own."

Alien with huge ears: "Oh, Mutara restricted! Take permits many, money more." McCoy: "There aren't going to be any damned permits! How can you get a permit to do a damned illegal thing? Look, price you name, money I got." Alien with huge ears: "Place you name, money I name, otherwise bargain, nooooo." McCoy: "All right, dammit! It's Genesis! The name of the place we're going is Genesis!" Alien with huge ears: "Genesis?" McCoy: "Yes, Genesis! How can you be deaf with ears like that?"

Kirk: (showing the Vulcan salute) "How many fingers do I have up?" McCoy: "That's not very damn funny."

Kirk: "You're suffering from a Vulcan mind meld, doctor." McCoy: "That green-blooded son of a bitch! It's his revenge for all the arguments he lost."

Elevator voice: "Level, please." Scott: "Transporter room." Elevator voice: "Thank you." Scott: "Up your shaft."

Scott: "All systems automated and ready. A chimpanzee and two trainees could run her." Kirk: "Thank you, Mr. Scott. I'll try not to take that personally."

Scott: "The more they overthink the plumbing, the easier it is to stop up the drain."

Kirk: "Gentlemen, your work today has been outstanding and I intend to recommend you all for promotion. In whatever fleet we end up serving."

McCoy: "His mind is a void. It seems, Admiral, that I've got all his marbles."

Kirk: "Klingon Commander, this is Admiral James T. Kirk. I'm alive and well on the planet surface. I know that this will come as a pleasant surprise to you. But our ship was a victim of an unfortunate accident. Sorry about your crew, but as we say on Earth, c'est la vie."

Kirk: "You! Help us or die!" Maltz: "I do not deserve to live!" Kirk: "Fine. I'll kill you later."

Three out of four of Spock's marbles,

Billie Doux loves good television and spends way too much time writing about it.

#Star Trek #Star Trek III #Star Trek III: The Search for Spock #James T. Kirk #Spock #Leonard McCoy #Star Trek Reviews #Doux Reviews #Movie Reviews #something from the archive

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u-r--lovely · 6 years ago

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My Story In Seven Chapters: “Underneath The Marks”

Ch.1 Flowery Sheets

Sometimes late at night I’d pretend to fall asleep on the bottom of my mom and dad’s bed just so my dad could carry me in with his strong arms and warm heart. I remember my childhood as an old movie playing on the screen of a projector dropping in and out of my consciousness. Growing up in a large family I was often overlooked, and quiet, so if you could imagine it was easy for me to feel invisible. From a young age I’ve learned to pretend, to disconnect, to venture into a world of my own. I had imaginary friends who were fairies that followed me everywhere. I hid under books, and stuffed animals as my older brother shot up heroin and older sister got drunk in the upstairs attic.Cop cars lights were a common presence in my driveway but I didn’t mind because at least my brothers and sisters would be safe from the drugs that way. On the hard days, I remember the flowery pink sheets I kept myself in, the silhouette of my own hand comforting my soul. I remember holding my bunny tight as my mom sang me Amazing Grace as I fell asleep. I remember begging my brother Jeremy to open the bathroom door when he was shooting up Heroin one time, and the day he stole my babysitting money for drugs. Then, came the day I asked where he was and my mom freaked out because she had forgotten about him and suddenly... he was gone. Actually gone. I was twelve and didn’t know much about death (I mean what twelve year old should), but I knew that he had been sick for a really long time and that he was finally finally free and that made me happy and sad at the same time.

Ch. 2 Scratchy Beards

When my dad told me he got sick with Cancer, I sort of thought it was okay because that meant he’d be at home more. That meant he would actually make us real dinners instead of having hot pockets every night and cold burnt spaghetti. Between the ages of twelve and fifteen I filled my life with making origami, twirling, and writing songs about pretty girls, fairy dust and sunshine. I hated when my dad came to my school because he had to carry around this huge oxygen tank with plastic wires creeping out of his nose, and I pretended I didn’t know him. I still feel bad about that to this day. The most iconic thing about my dad other then him being secretly gay (which I didn’t know about until now), was his scratchy beard and large tattooed forearm. I miss his hugs most of all, maybe that’s why hugging people feels wrong at times--no one’s hugs are quite like his were. My mom and dad left for Europe to seek alternative cancer treatment the last year he was alive. This just so happened to be when my sister got sober. As she was parenting her own baby boy out of wedlock, she also was supposed to be parenting me. In a flash of an instant, me and all my siblings gathered around his hospital bed and sang Amazing Grace to his subconscious mind through the rumbling of the machines keeping him alive. Walking out of the ICU each of us said “see you later’ because we all knew it wasn’t goodbye. I guess, not really. On the Christmas morning before tenth grade, he had left us and I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces. I had told myself a few days before that if he didn’t call me beautiful one last time, then something just something was wrong with me. I knew exactly how I was going to change that.

Ch. 3 Safety Pins

I forgot to mention, that while my mom was saving my dads life in Europe I had decided to try to change my own, in the only way I knew how. I decided to stop being the good invisible quiet christian girl and become someone who was seen. At the time, I believed I just wanted to make friends, yah know..be a part of something-- but in a desperate need to distract myself from the losses I endured I had to find a way to become alive again. I self harmed for the first time at fifteen and didn’t think much of it, I thought it was cool and something other people in my friend group did. I didn’t know safety pins weren’t all that safe, I didn’t know hurting myself would become an addiction I’d struggle with for the next six years of my life. I thought that if people saw the pain on my body they could hear me asking for help. Even as I hid under long sleeves and smiles and laughter I started to feel the deeply distant darkness pull me away from myself. Even though I thought I didn’t want anyone to know about it, I felt as though I was screaming yet I wouldn’t allow any sound to come out.

Ch. 4 Porcelain Bowls

A few months after my dad died my mom ran off to Florida every weekend with her new but old boyfriend whom she had been with before my dad 30 years earlier. At the cost of losing my dad, and subsequently losing my mom, I found solace in toilet bowls and diet colas. My friends and I had sort of made a game of it, we’d talk about dieting and then talk about feeling bad for giving into the diets and then feel bad for feeling bad. What started off as a game between friends, began to become a dangerous game of Russian roulette. I remember high school as a blur of calories, cheese puffs, and washing my hands in sinks. I kissed boys that I pretended to like behind tennis courts and eventually began treatment for my eating disorder and self harm during my senior year of high school. I got better ( or so I thought), but beneath the perfect recovery girl I created, laid a deep fear of still not being seen, still not being heard.

Ch. 5 False Safety

I went to college and fell in love with a girl I didn’t pretend to love and went to therapy twice a week.This is a time in my life I like to call “False Safety” because although I felt somewhat okay, I was relying on others around me to take care of me, I never learned to do it myself. I ran around college from club to club pretending to be the recovered girl I thought I had to be, but others couldn’t see what was truly underneath. During therapy I was being seen and loved and everything felt okay... but outside of that small room I believed I was alone. I mean, I thought things were better, and they were... yet I continued to run from the pain through self harm. I craved so much attention from my girlfriend that if I did not get to be her world, I felt I couldn’t be with her at all. I was so scared of her leaving me like my mom did, I left her before she got the chance too. Back when I was ten, I waited for hours and hours for my mom to pick me up at camp and as each car passed by and it was not her my disappointment grew deeper. In my adulthood I learned to instead stop waiting for her--or anyone, I decided to run away and never be found because then I wouldn’t have to face being abandoned.

Ch.6 The Pink Room

It was a month or so after the breakup and I hid behind doorways so I wouldn’t have to see her look away from me. I hid in bathrooms during panic attacks and cried into my cereal in the back of the cafeteria. My world stopped when my therapist told me she was moving (leaving me is what I heard). I had completely attached myself to her and I felt that the one person in my life that truly saw me was leaving. Leaving. People are always leaving me I thought. I decided to fill up the hole she left with alcohol in coffee cups and pills and more cuts and more fake smiles and more “recovery” articles and speaking engagements. It wasn’t enough. None of these things were ever really enough. In the week my therapist left me, I decided to get as drunk as I could and pretend to be happy and flirt with boys I didn’t know because that would make everything better right? I didn’t know the boy with black hair was seven years older than me. October 13th October 13th October 13th. I didn’t know he’d be so mean and when the drinking game got out of hand I didn’t have the capability to say yes or no. I didn’t know walking drunkenly into that pink room, he’d hurt me the way he did. It wasn’t rape, but it was terrifying, violent, awfully painful physically and emotionally. He was a giant dog playing with a glass doll and he shattered me into a million pieces, he shattered my fake smile right off my face.

Ch. 7 Letting Love In

From October 2017 to May 2018, everything was a blur. A blur of multiple treatment programs for depression, anxiety, and the sexual assault. The Eating Disorder came back stronger and more powerful than ever and this time I was determined to run as far away as I could from that pink room and from the therapist that left me. After a week in the psych ward I thought I could get better on my own with the eating disorder, I thought that I could control my out-of-control-ness. In February 2018, I told my mom I was going to go to treatment, but would wait until Monday. Suddenly, I had a thought, an urge, a quiet voice in the back of my head telling me to go that Friday instead, which I did. I entered treatment for the millionth time and was quickly rushed to the ER for low potassium. It was late at night and no one in my family was picking up the phone. I was in an unknown ER, half asleep, half dead and I still didn’t feel sick enough. There was an IV stuck in my arm and doctors telling me my levels were life threateningly low and I still didn’t feel like I was ‘that bad’. I don’t know if I’d be alive right now, if God hadn’t told me to go that Friday. He truly saved my life. From that point on, I started listening to that quiet voice. A month or so of running from God, one suicide attempt and many family therapy sessions later I decided to go to Selah House. I finally decided to give up the demons that had become my identity. I decided to let love in again. I decided that I could only be free if I let myself be. I could only get better on God’s terms. I know now that I had to fight the ED, Depression, Self harm, PTSD, Anxiety, and Addiction with God by my side only. I know now that what went on in that pink room was not my fault, and I don’t have to be ashamed of it or put blame on myself in any way. Here at Selah is where I’ve found hope. Here, I’ve found healing. Here, I’ve found love. Love between God, others and myself. I know now that it was never actually about the food, the numbers, or the marks. I know that I have a future, a future of helping others heal in the same ways I did. A future full of laughter, crying, heartache, touch, and love. All of my life has really been what’s in between. In between moments of exhale, of tears running down my face, of dad hugs, and Real smiles. These things are all a part of my story but they are not at the core of who I really am. My life was never meant to be a sad story because I’m not that girl anymore. I am healing, I am tough skin made of scars, I am endless nights crying and glorious mornings shining like nothing bad has ever happened. I am becoming free, becoming Real and I have so much yet to learn about the spaces in between.

#recovery #edrecovery #eatingdisorderrecovery #tw #sexualassault #sexualassaulttriggerwarning #gracie #graciewrites #poems #poetry #grxcie #memoir #underneaththemarks #mystory #writing #writer #mymemoir

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alexanderessex3dstoryart · 4 years ago

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Script-Writing - Characters, Themes and Story

For today’s research, I thought I would establish my characters, story and the themes that I want to bring across for the scene for the script-writing part of my essay so that I can refer back to this and help me write my essay. Starting off, I thought about which characters would be involved in my scene as well as a fact file of how they behave and what’s their relationship to one another.

Characters

Ego (Jekyll Character)

Obsessed with the ideas of celebrities and idols in the universe as they act like gods and role-models to him

Very handy person and the best at his craft of making things but also mending things too

Has learned to adapt to the ongoing changes of the world with cyber technology

So good at his craft to the point he’s fixing the most important people in the city like the president and the top celebrities that reside in the area

Despite his extreme time he puts into the craft as well as how he’s the best at what he does, he doesn’t get any recognition for his efforts which is what allows his body to transform into the Hyde character

But despite this detail, he still is a really nice individual who doesn’t intend in hurting in anybody or saying anything cruel

Sane individual for the most part at the beginning of the story but becomes much more insane over the course of the story and what leads to the eventualfull downfall of both Ego and Impluse

Nice person at the start of the story but then turns sour and in his last moments, he recognises his faults and what leads him and Hyde to pass away from this world for good

Is obsessed over the celebrity ‘Chance’ due to being the one he’s fixed the most on and having the closet relationship too out of the all the celebs in the city despite her never acknowledging his talents or wanting to share them to the world

Has a bit of a god complex

The name Ego is a literal definition for the character as he has a huge ego about himself and his work. Whislt he may be truly the best at his craft, his idea of himself thinking the world revolves around him makes him feel like he should be under the spotlight from how hard he’s worked

Impulse (Hyde Character)

A spirit that possess Ego from the natural world that reatin’s the physical presence of him but in a giant mechanical mech

Thinks independently to Ego but is a manifestation of Ego’s hatred towards Idol culture

Is very much against the whole idea of celebs and idols from how people obsess over them so much to the point they lose their own identity

Wants people to experience life outside of the city and apprentice living

Loves living and

Hates anything that closely resembles anything famous as he finds that environment toxic

Has murderous intent but not to the point he wants to murder everything in his path as he has morals to who he needs to kill which frankly, he only ever kills one individual across my story

Whilst he has murderous intent, he’s fascinated by humanity and what it has to offer as the holograms in the city he finds special as they look at him not as a junk monster, but has someone that has compassion

Wants to be seen as human and be accepted as individual and not a freak of nature

Whilst against Jekyll for the most part, he serves as a mentor for Jekyll through the course of the story and allows him to experience life outside of the city despite being very narcissistic from Impulse murdering his role model

Literally has Ego chained up inside of Impulse’s body

The name Impulse is to represent his hatred for the city and what it stands for and how it operates. The city to him acts as a graveyard to him which is ironic from where he came from that being a junkyard in the forested areas outside of the city. The reason he sees it this way is due to how the humans want less and less of their identity to be shown in that culture with most organic parts being replaced by robotic parts to gain an edge as well as becoming obsessed with celeb culture. Both of these to him make humans want to become something else like they’re not happy with themselves and try to aspire to be their own unique self.

Chance (Sir Danvers Carew Character)

Ego’s biggest idol and the one that he obsesses over the most out of all the idols in the city

Relies on Ego to fix her equipment being her arms, head and legs as they need the most attention. This is to symbolise without these facial features and appenditures, your just a generic body that could be casted off as a slab of meat which shows lack of soul

Is killed by Impluse with a broken off road sign found in the slums and is used to stab her right in the heart and prop her up against the entrance of the slums. This symbolises the disconnect from the slum world to the flashy city as whilst it was Ego’s favourite idol, the general public care about her death for a couple of days until she’s old news and the next idol takes her place like she didn’t exist. This is why shes propped up halfway between these two worlds as the world sees her but is then casted away into the slums.

Might consider having just her body presented to the world with no arms, legs or head to further drive that symbolism across

The name Chance is inspired by how you have to be incredibly lucky to reach elitist status in the world in terms of being a celebrity which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it’s just that it adds

Once I’d covered the characters, I went back on my previous blog posts and ideas and list out my themes that I would like to convey in the scene as well as covering the whole story too.

Themes

Lack of identity - From the removal of identity from the use of cyber enhancements replacing people’s characteristics with new ones as well as obsessing over celebrity culture to the point of not having an identity yourself. Essentially, the city acts like a graveyard

Roger Ebert puts it best -

Humanity - Impulse covers this theme the best through the usage of holograms as they severe as the closest living thing to accepting who he is which emphasises the humanity of Impulse despite his murderous intent

Apprenticing Life for what it has to offer - Impluse commits actions that he believes will help grow Ego to become a better person. Whilst these methods are brutal and sadistic, it’s to further emphasise the point to abandon the city he’s all too familiar with. In addition to this, the world outside of the city is filled with life and exploration but because everyone is so attached to the city, no one dares to leave because they are so attached to it and feel terrified if they leave something they’re too familiar with

Attachment?

For the story, I looked back on the script-writing website on how to write a synopsis for a story for script-writing and this is what it breaks-down to; Beginning, Inciting incident, first turning point, call to action, point of no return, all is lost, second turning point, climax, the end. I think for the context for the script and essay, I think I’ll stick to these terms as it will help to establish the general story I want to bring across.

Story Beginning - Ego is a hard-working individual who works his way through the ranks of the engineering world becoming the best at his craft to the point he’s working with high-end celebrities, idols and important influential people.

Inciting Incident - He then ends up working with his favourite idol that he obsesses over by the name of ‘Chance’. Although despite working with her so much, she doesn’t seem to pay any real interest into him or acklodge he exists. In fact, he’s a blur to her despite fixing her at the worst points in her idol career. It doesn’t help that he’s been also promised at a chance at the spotlight by her for his hard-working efforts and dedication to his craft. This leads to him becoming depressed and feel disconnected to her as his talents aren’t recognised on stage by her or she does anything to put him in the spotlight. But at the same time, he feels a bit of hatred towards her being casted away from her.

First turning point - Saddened by this continuous guilt and this hatred brewing, he flocks outside of the city to the abandoned wasteland that lies on the outside of the city as he feels worthless and forgotten in the world. This leads him to this natural wasteland with greenery from top to bottom but because of his emotions, he doesn’t take in it’s beauty and ploughs through the deserted environment. He then ends up in an abandoned junkyard in the greenery which then his hatred begins to manifest and create the character that is known as Impluse with large bits of scrap coming from either side attaching to his body and part of the scenery as well like skulls and plants.

Call to action - Impulse begins to gain conscious of his surroundings and initially has quite the negative reaction to Ego being inside his body as Ego is hung up inside supporting him with his arms and legs are inside Impulse’s body. However rather than scold him and threaten him, he hesitates and takes in the life around him with the flourishing natural environment almost speaking to him. It’s at this stage he almost forgets who he is as he becomes in tranced of his surroundings. Puzzled and confused, Ego tries talking to him which he then snaps back to a perfectly normal expression and questions the feelings he’s feeling as he’s never felt something like that before. Ego is quick to pass it off as star-gazing as there’s nothing special to this area in his eyes. Impulse then feels angered from that comment as he wants to protect what he can’t see is beautiful. This leads to Ego influencing Impluse to see what truly is beautiful in his eyes which leads Impulse to the city.

Point of No Return - When they arrive at the city, Impulse is confused at what he’s actually looking at as all he can see are blank black and white screens with different lettering to them and emptyless buildings. Comparing this to Ego’s perception of the city, he’s in a trance like state from all of the pretty colours that shine down around the city with the moving imagery of holograms scattered across. Both characters have a back and forth to what they find so special about the city with Ego amazed by the colours and flashiness of it and Impluse very much unable to grasp the culture being presented to him. This then leads to the two characters walking into the slums of the city to which they see Chance coming out of one of the buildings as she walks into the city. Impulse ends up killing Chance to prove a point to Ego that you shouldn’t be attached to this kind of toxic behaviour as he stabs Chance through her body just outside of the streets of the city with her legs, head and arms being ripped off. Ego is unable to see this murder occur as he passes out from losing control of himself in Impulse’s body.

All is lost - Ego wakes up in his bed with metal panels, scrap and environment scattered across his living space thinking it was all a bad dream until he sees the decapitated head of Chance and her limbs arranged in front of him. Ego is in immense sadness and confusion to how this has happened as he trembles in his movements that he's his role model is all mangled up in front of him. Things don’t help as on TV where the body is, his wrench is at the crime scene getting the wrong kind of spotlight he wished for. Impluse starts speaking to his head without the need of his humgoous body telling him it was the right thing to do.

Second turning Point - This makes Ego start to fester his hatred again and begin at it’s peak level as he wishes the whole world can burn and no-one deserves to live becoming just like Impulse when they first met. However, Impulse is feeling heavily resentful despite still hating the idol culture that is shown in the city as he regrets killing human life even if it taught him a lesson. He snaps out Ego’s mindset out of his head and asks him to come back to the city. WIth Ego standing in middle of the crosswalks, he begins to understand what it’s like to live life and the happiness it has being himself.

Climax - Unfortunately, this revelation from Ego is brought short as the police have spotted him in the city which Ego allows Impulse to take over his body and take him away from the city in a chase sequence. This then brings both characters to the in between of the city and the green wasteland where it’s marky and desert looking. Both Ego and Impulse sacrifice themselves in a chemical explosion so that they can both escape this world together as they know they aren’t suited here and are better known in a different life

The End - Nothing really happens or really changes to the city as the world keeps on moving on how it’s always been. However despite the irony that everything is remaining the same, more and more life starts to grow around the city encouraging people to explore and detach themselves from the culture that’s established in the city and experience a new life out of the city.

I think from my development today on the script-writing project, I can fully understand the scene that I would like to make now knowing the whole story, character’s intentions and backgrounds as well as my general themes being established in this document. I think to help with the essay structure, I plan to look into other scripts and see how I can both write and plan my scene out.

#ScriptWrtitingBA2a

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deeptimesjournal · 4 years ago

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"Somatic Stories: From One Generation to Another"

Cells are so smart. They remember. They carry the imprint of lived experience - mine, yours, ours.

So many people think that bodies are mechanical and unfeeling. It’s only nerve endings that feel pain or pleasure, they say. But you and I know that is not true.

We know our bodies exist in a wholeness of self-experience that expresses and celebrates and armors and defends in a profoundly intelligent way. We know that wounding and resilience are deeply embodied experiences. We also know that we pass embodied knowledge on to future generations. “Cutting edge scientists” of your day called the biological dimension of intergenerational trauma transmission ‘epigenetics.’ I call it being human. I carry your stories in my bones, blood, and tissues – stories of wounding, as well as stories of great courage and strength.

You knew that the way your body was clutching to wounds – those inflicted during your own life and those passed on to you from your family and ancestors – were holding you back from showing up in the world the way you wanted to, from doing your part to tip the scales of justice in the Great Turning. You knew there was a relationship between your personal healing and collective transformation. You understood that the trauma responses patterned into your nervous system kept you in survival mode. You understood that the trauma responses patterned into collective systems (like organizations and communities you were part of) also kept those bodies in survival mode. You sought to shift those patterns into something more generative and celebratory.

You knew that bodies were hurting, and you worked so hard (maybe sometimes too hard) to heal that pain. The trauma of displacement, the trauma of sexual violence, the trauma of witnessing mass death, extinction, and suffering…you held that and so much more in your body. I remember how your back spasmed and depression swept over you when the intensity of intergenerational Jewish trauma was too intense for your body to contain. I remember how the rash on your right arch became inflamed when the toxicity of familial shame and silencing could not release itself through your skin. I remember how you got a bronchial infection when immigration policy threatened to tear a dear friendship apart.

In those times, the earth told you, “Lay down upon me. Give your pain back to me to turn into new life.”

The oceans told you, “Feel the waves wash over your heart. Soak your feet in saltwater, and treat them with tea tree and calendula. Swim.”

The wind told you, “Allow new life to be breathed into you. Trust in the newness arriving.”

The fire told you, “That statuette wants to go through the fire three times. It will transform something in you. Tend your fires with humility.”

You followed those instructions. You held faith. You persisted with patience. You danced. You sang. You offered a flute song to the night birds. You rested when you needed to. Your journey required great endurance. You mourned for the dead and praised the living. You apprenticed to both pleasure and pain and emerged with ever fresh ways of perceiving the worlds around and within you. You went forth and shared what you could with others. The world’s soul healed a little bit through your work. I am grateful for your dedication. I hope you feel proud.

Thanks to your dedication to somatic transformation and intergenerational healing, I no longer have to carry those same wounds. The rage, grief, and pain of our grandmothers and great-grandmothers and so on do not plague me the way they plagued you. I danced freely right out of the womb. I was born into a world still feeling the pulsations of earthquake and drought that even seven generations cannot undo (earth time is much longer than human time). But even so, I was born into a community of people who remember the place they came from and the teachings of their ancestors – teachings that continue to foster this Great Turning.

Ancestral healing in your time was fringe, occult, “New Age.” Genealogy research was something retired old people did. Many people of your time, especially white people, were so disconnected from their cultures and places of origin that they scoffed at such explorations and heartfelt commitments to ancestral healing. Because you and people like you did that work despite the scoffers, many of us now are free from the clutch of hungry ghosts. We still mourn the dead and remember their stories and spirits, but we do so with an embodied spaciousness and liberated reverence that the collective body of your generation simply could not. There is more joy in the world now. More caring. More compassion. We embody these qualities, instead of the fear and greed that drove so much of the conquest and industry eras.

We can feel water moving in our bodies – not only the energetic quality of water, but literally the undulating and flowing molecules that make up over 70% of our bodies. We can feel the marrow in our bones, dense and thick, moving inside the hollow of our limbs. We can discern one lung from another and support our own breath through consciously toning our organs. Knowing our bodies is not a superpower. It is a birthright.

While many people’s eyes glaze with confusion at the “abstract” concept of embodiment, you and I smile with the secret that our bodies are the most tangible things we know. Humans – particularly those who lost their cultural knowledge through trauma, displacement and assimilation – are finally remembering how to listen to the wisdom of their bodies. They are remembering that our bodies are earth body, and that our stories are connected. This remembering has been integral in the Great Turning. May this wisdom never be lost again.

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Experiential Practices

Practice Notes:

As you do these exercises, if any sensations or feelings become too intense or feel unsafe, move away from those sensations and towards something that gives you a feeling of centeredness and resilience. This could be a memory (real or imagined) of someplace that brings you peace and calm, an imagining of something that brings you joy, or a person/being with whom you feel safe or protected.

A few other tricks for finding a sense of grounding are: gently stomp feet back and forth to feel the earth under you, touch left hand to right knee and right hand to left knee in a back and forth pattern (10-20 touches on each side), hum or sing a song for 30 seconds, or count 5 things each that you can see/hear/smell/touch around you.

An Open Sentences Practice:

Begin by centering yourself in your own body. Feel some part of your body connected to the earth, directly or through the floor. Without forcing anything, take a few conscious breaths, allowing your exhale to be longer than your inhale. What sensations (e.g. warmth, coolness, tension, ease, pressure, numbness, tingling, twitching, pulsating, no sensations at all) do you notice in your body? What feelings arise with these sensations? Can you be present with these sensations and feelings, without judging them?

With a practice partner, take turns with the following open sentences. Set a timer or act as timers for each other.

When I imagine (something that you feel gratitude for), I sense/observe in my body…

When I imagine (something painful), I sense/observe in my body…

When I imagine being alive in a life-sustaining society, I sense/observe in my body…

What needs to open or shift in my being in order to embody this life-sustaining society is…

A Movement Practice:

Find something alive, for example a tree, a stone, a star in the night sky, etc. Take several conscious breaths, allowing your exhale to be longer than your inhale. Notice this living thing. How does it move, breathe, exist? What sensations (e.g. warmth, coolness, tension, ease, pressure, numbness, tingling, twitching, pulsating) does it stir in your body? What feelings arise with these sensations? Can you be present with these sensations and feelings?

As you feel ready, find the shape of this object with your own body. Allow any and all feelings and sensations to inform your shape. Close your eyes if helpful, or keep sight of this being and the space around you. Give yourself as completely as you can to this shape. Then find another object and repeat the shaping process a second time (and as many times as you’d like after that).

When you find completion in shape making, notice what you are feeling and sensing in your body. How did it feel to make those shapes? Were they familiar to you? Unfamiliar? Desirable? Uncomfortable? Are you aware now of any sensations or default shapes in your own body that you were not aware of before? What does this tell you about your embodied patterns?

Feel if there is anything from this experiment that you want to take with you and remember for later. If so, symbolically hold what you want to remember in your hands, give it an intention, and then touch somewhere on your body where you want to store that feeling, that knowing, that remembering.

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A few resources for exploring the nexus of embodiment, justice, and healing:

• Curious about how racial identity and white supremacy shape our patterns of thought, behavior, and physical comportment? My Grandmother’s Hands by Resmaa Menakem offers both theory and practice in a practical and accessible format.

• Ever found that sitting meditation is triggering, or that paying close attention to your body makes you anxious or afraid? Trauma-Sensitive Mindfulness by David Treleaven can really help to unpack why and empower you to explore mindfulness and embodiment without getting triggered.

• Curious to learn about how the body-brain holds trauma and how it can be repatterned and released? Check out The Body Keeps The Score by Bessel Van der Kolk.

• Want to learn to feel water in your cells and discern one lung from another? Check out Embodyoga with Patty Townsend: https://embodyogablog.com or her classes at https://www.yogacenteramherst.com. (She is one of the author’s teachers.)

• Want to explore the concepts of ‘collective bodies’ and the ‘trauma of whiteness?” Check out Tada Hozumi on Cultural Somatics: featured on Eric Garza’s podcast Healing Culture, #47: Healing Bodies and Healing Cultures: https://www.iheart.com/podcast/269-healing-culture-pod-30055116/episode/47-healing-bodies-and-healing-cultures-30750891/

Cara Michelle Silverberg is a somatic educator, camp director, writer, mover, and herbalist living in Nipmuc and Abenaki homelands (also called Western Massachusetts). She is enthusiastic about fostering community experiences that help people to explore and express themselves, their relationships with place, and their relationships with each other. Dedicated to trauma-informed experiential learning and wholistic leadership, Cara aims to co-create a more just, caring, courageous, and playful world. She designs and facilitates curricula for environmental/agricultural educational initiatives, land healing projects, and leadership development programs. Cara works in both Jewish and secular communities, with both youth and adults. Her favorite times of year are autumn, maple sugaring season, and the Jewish period of time called the Omer in early Spring. She was a member of the first Earth Leadership Cohort in 2014. You can check out some of her writing at

www.onthefringesofplace.com

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