#Akathist

[apilgrimpassingby]

So, a while back I got really into Alaskan saints and so decided to write an Akathist to St. Peter the Aleut; if you don't know who he was, you'll learn from reading this Akathist. Tagging @idylls-of-the-divine-romance (my go-to guy for reviewing theological poetry) and @sapphosremains (because Anglo-Catholics are some of the few non-Orthodox who won't find this at least a little objectionable).

Kontakion 1: The gospel hath gone out unto the ends of the earth and disciples hath been made of every nation, o Lord; even in the ice-bound darkness of the North Thy church hath been established. For this we cry, with angels and all nations: alleluia!

Oikos 1: And in all places and at all times, o Christ God, Thou art wondrous in Thy saints. Hence we praise Saint Peter the Aleut, Protomartyr of America!

Rejoice, glory of the Arctic ice!

Rejoice, fame of Kodiak Island!

Rejoice, thou who burnest brighter than the Northern Lights!

Rejoice, thou who outshinest the sun upon snow!

Rejoice, for the New World is ennobled by thy blood!

Rejoice, for thy triumph is a blessing to America!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 2: Thou wast reared amidst pagan darkness, o holy Peter, the depth of which was not known in the Old World at that time, on a snow-bound lonely island. But when the call of the Shepherd was first heard on Kodiak Island, thou didst reply with the cry of: alleluia!

Oikos 2: The monks of Russia didst administer the light of Christ to a people burdened by avaricious colonists and the religion of demons alike; it opened thine eyes, o righteous one.

Rejoice, first-fruit of Alaska!

Rejoice, sheep of an island where sheep were not known!

Rejoice, for the light of Christ pierceth all darkness!

Rejoice, for by Its light we are enlightened!

Rejoice, pagan adopted as a son of God!

Rejoie, heathen who by grace partook of the glory of the Lord!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 3: When thou wert offered baptism, thou most eagerly accepted. The priest immersed thee in saving water in the name of the blessed Trinity, and upon thee was bestowed the name Peter, mystically linking thee to the glorious Apostle. A soul entered the Kingdom of God, and all the powers of Heaven exclaimed: alleluia!

Oikos 3: The mystery of baptism bestowed upon thee a new name and new life; henceforth, thou wouldst no more be named Cungagnaq, but Peter.

Rejoice, successor to the blessed Apostle!

Rejoice, thou who betrayed not Christ at any time!

Rejoice, son of snow reborn in the water!

Rejoice, child of ice regenerated in the font!

Rejoice, firstborn of a Christian nation!

Rejoice, guide of thy people to the Word!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 4: Not long after thou wast received into the Church, Spanish raiders abducted thee, carrying thee and nineteen others away to California. In spite of thy youth, the terror of the event and the great distance thou wast taken, thou feared not, but sang: alleluia!

Oikos 4: Though thou wast carried from the frozen shores of Alaska to the burning heat of California, the gold of thy soul was neither melted nor diluted, o longsuffering victor.

Rejoice, prize who sought the prize of life eternal!

Rejoice, captive of God and not of men!

Rejoice, thou who wast free in Christ while in chains!

Rejoice, thou who wore thy bonds as a string of pearls!

Rejoice, gold refined in the fire of the sun!

Rejoice, silver purified in the southern crucible!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 5: Thou wast confined to a gloomy dungeon with the other abducted Aleut, thy captors deigning to convert thee to the Church of Rome. But thou didst believe in the Father and in Christ, and so thine heart was not troubled and thou didst exclaim with the others in unison: alleluia!

Oikos 5: Although imprisoned in a foreign land by wicked men with evil designs, thou didst rejoice in the Lord who made thy feet like the deer’s.

Rejoice, servant of the lord who freeth captives!

Rejoice, freedman of Christ!

Rejoice, rampart of Orthodoxy!

Rejoice, one stalwart in the faith of the Apostles!

Rejoice, northern light in the Roman darkness!

Rejoice, torch of faith in foreign lands!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 6: Some monks of the Pope approached thee and thy fellow captives, availing to convert thee to the Roman church. But thou and thy fellow prisoners refused to renounce Holy Orthodoxy, in spite of their threats and abuse, singing: alleluia!

Oikos 6: Though unlearned and far from any learning, thou didst discourse with the educated in defence of the faith, rebuking their many accusations.

Rejoice, thou who succumbed not to falsehood!

Rejoice, thou who spoke the truth with boldness!

Rejoice, one stalwart in Orthodoxy!

Rejoice, opponent of the heterodox!

Rejoice, crown-bearer from a nation without kings!

Rejoice, soldier for Christ from a people without soldiers!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 7: The Franciscans began to threaten torture, their diabolical determination to break thy faith undeterred by thy steadfastness. But thou wast also undeterred, o Peter, refusing to renounce thine Orthodoxy, appealing instead to Christ and the Mother of God and crying: alleluia!

Oikos 7: Even as they presented the implements of thy torment, thou wast not swayed, instead being comforted by the Lord and readying thyself for thy cross.

Rejoice, confessor like the confessors of old!

Rejoice, hero walking the road of heroes!

Rejoice, ice not melted by the heat of terror!

Rejoice, cedar not bent by the persecutor’s rancour!

Rejoice, rock resistant to the hammer and axe!

Rejoice, jade uncut yet sparkling!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 8: The hard-hearted Franciscans then began to torture thee, cutting off a toe from each hand. When finished, they asked thee to convert, but thou remained faithful. After removing a finger from each hand, they asked thee again, but thou simply sang: alleluia!

Oikos 8: Burning with impotent rage, the monks then cut off thy hands and thy feet alike, but no mortal or bodiless tyrant could prise thee from the Lord.

Rejoice, for thy blood hath brought thee a crown!

Rejoice, for thy sufferings are recompensed in Heaven!

Rejoice, diamond cut to glittering brilliance!

Rejoice, gold refined in a fire of agony!

Rejoice, victor over thine and thy companion’s enemies!

Rejoice, athlete who hath run the holy race!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 9: The Franciscans were unable to subject thee to any further tortures, for the loss of blood proved fatal, and thou didst exit the earth and ascend to Christ with thy faith incorrupt. As a new saint entered the Father’s mansions, the chorus of apostles and prophets exclaimed: alleluia!

Oikos 9: The futile anger of the monks continued as thou rose to the bosom of the Lord, but all sorrows of the flesh were behind thee forever as thy soul reaped its reward.

Rejoice, conqueror of the world and the flesh!

Rejoice, triumphant hero of Alaska!

Rejoice, prisoner rewarded with undying freedom!

Rejoice, tortured one compensated with incorruptibility!

Rejoice, prince dressed in blood!

Rejoice, saint adorned with wounds!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 10: The wicked monks had planned to torture others, endeavouring to capture souls as they had laboured to capture thine, but they received orders to return the prisoners to their native land; the captives set free sang with one voice: alleluia!

Oikos 10: Thy body remained behind, o Peter; they returned it not, in a last gesture of spite towards the one swayed by none of their tortures.

Rejoice, for though thy body is captive thy soul is free!

Rejoice, for thy fellow captives hath been freed from torment!

Rejoice, for thou didst never waver from Christ!

Rejoice, for thou wert always allied with His Church!

Rejoice, unshakeable pillar of the Truth!

Rejoice, impenetrable wall of the Faith!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 11: The ship of thy fellows at last returned to Kodiak, whence all dismounted in the sight of Saint Herman, equal to the Apostles and evangelist of Alaska. Not finding thee, he enquired as to the cause of thine absence; thy story was related by a friend and witness, at which he cried: alleluia!

Oikos 11: Upon hearing of the many sufferings and the death in faith thou hadst suffered, he made the sign of the cross and exclaimed “holy new martyr Peter, pray to God for us!”

Rejoice, thou who standest at the gate of Paradise!

Rejoice, thou who hast passed through the doors of Heaven!

Rejoice, advocate for our souls before the Father!

Rejoice, intercessor before the Holy Trinity!

Rejoice, first-born saint of the Alutiiq!

Rejoice, glory of the tribes of Alaska!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

Kontakion 12: In this present age the light of Orthodoxy shineth brightly in Kodiak; there a Christian nation hath been established. All of them, and the rest of the Orthodox people, looketh to thee as a shining example in the past and an intercessor in the future, singing in perfect unity: alleluia!

Oikos 12: Thou, o Peter, attained sainthood by thy sufferings and trials, and by faith; thou didst synergise with the mind of Christ, attaining union with the energies of God.

Rejoice, bearer of a crown shining with the Northern Lights!

Rejoice, one dressed in robes of shimmering snows!

Rejoice, hero stronger than the ocean storms!

Rejoice, martyr mightier than the winter wind!

Rejoice, for mortal sufferings hath won thee immortal glory!

Rejoice, for thy trials were an adornment to the New World!

Rejoice, Saint Peter, Protomartyr of America!

[orthodoxadventure]

Orthodox Prayers against Addiction: Akathist to the Icon of the Theotokos - Inexhaustible Cup

Kontakion I

A wonderful and marvelous healing has been given to us by your Holy Icon, O Sovereign Lady Theotokos. By its appearance we have been delivered from spiritual and physical ills, and from sorrowful circumstances. So we bring you our thankful praise, O All-Merciful Protectress. O Sovereign Lady, whom we call the Inexhaustible Cup, bend down your ear and mercifully hear our lamentation and tears that we bring to you, and give your healing to those who suffer from drunkenness, so that we may cry out to you with faith:

Rejoice, O Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Ikos I

Angelic powers and multitudes of saints continually glorify you, the Theotokos, Queen of all, the intercessor for us sinful Christians wallowing in lawlessness and remaining in sins. It is for our consolation and salvation that you, in your mercy, gave us your miraculous Icon, so that looking upon it, as the one and only star among a multitude of stars on a starlit night, we may prostrate ourselves, shouting from the very depths of our heart:

Rejoice, dwelling place of the unapproachable God! Rejoice, our constant wonder! Rejoice, you make our sorrow wipe away our sins! Rejoice, you make our grief heal our ills! Rejoice, through your miraculous Icon, you bring us your heavenly mercy! Rejoice, O joy of our grieving heart! Rejoice, our wonderful reconciliation with God! Rejoice, O Theotokos, the Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Kontakion II

On seeing the deep sorrow and grief of people possessed by the destructive vice of drunkenness, and also their true repentance, you have willed, O Most Holy Lady, to show your mercy to the blessed city of Serpoukhov, by the appearance of your miraculous Icon, The Inexhaustible Cup, so that all who fall down before it with faith and a contrite heart will receive healing from this grievous illness, and thus may cry to God from the depths of their heart: Alleluia!

Ikos II

Having understood the meaning of the threefold apparition of Saint Varlaam and his order to go to the city of Serpoukhov, the man possessed by the illness of alcoholism did so, and there in a monastery he found your Holy Icon called The Inexhaustible Cup. On seeing such mercy bestowed on us sinners, we cry out to you with veneration:

Rejoice, through pious people you show to us sinners the glory of your marvelous work! Rejoice, sagacious guide, showing us the way of salvation! Rejoice, O Good Teacher, by your goodness you attract us to yourself! Rejoice, by bestowing on us your great blessings, you teach us gratefulness! Rejoice, by making us know hope beyond doubt, you give us gladness of heart! Rejoice, you destroy our destructive passions! Rejoice, you help us in our good intentions! Rejoice, O Theotokos, the Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Kontakion III

The power of the Almighty and the grace of the Sovereign Mother of God strengthened a man suffering from alcoholism, when in obedience to an order of the Theotokos, given to him by Saint Varlaam, he set out for the city of Serpoukhov, despite his paralyzed legs. On his arrival, he found the Icon of the Most Pure Theotokos, and was healed from illness of the soul and that of the body. Therefore from the very depth of his heart, he gratefully exclaimed to God: Alleluia!

Ikos III

You are an inexhaustible fountain, a cup of heavenly gifts that ever remains full. And the people of the city of Serpoukhov, as well as all Orthodox from every city and village who come to your most wonderful Icon, The Inexhaustible Cup, are healed. And so, with grateful lips, they cry out to you:

Rejoice, O vessel of holy water that dissolves our sorrow! Rejoice, O cup by which we receive the joy of our salvation! Rejoice, you attend to our spiritual and physical ills! Rejoice, your prayers tame our passions! Rejoice, you give to each according to his needs! Rejoice, you give generously to all! Rejoice, you have opened for us the treasury of mercy! Rejoice, you show mercy to the fallen one! Rejoice, O Sovereign Lady, the Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Kontakion IV

People laden with passions and addictions, doubting of ever finding deliverance, come with repentance to your inexpressible mercy. And on having been healed, from the very depths of their hearts, they cry to our Saviour born of you: Alleluia!

Ikos IV

On seeing the sorrow and tears of parents, wives, and children whose family member is possessed by the passion of addiction, the Lord gave us your Icon, O Theotokos, and all who come to it receive consolation and spiritual joy. And so we cry out to you with tears of gratitude:

Rejoice, O lamb, you gave birth to the Lamb of God! Rejoice, you are the ladle that draws up joy from the source of immortality! Rejoice, you are the alleviation of the grief of sorrowing mothers! Rejoice, you are the hope of the hopeless! Rejoice, you gracefully protect those who come to you! Rejoice, you are the delight and joy of those in grief! Rejoice, your helping hand is there for those who seek it! Rejoice, O Theotokos, the Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Kontakion V

O Most Gracious Lady, you have shown us your Holy Icon to be the star that leads to God, so that looking upon it and praying to you, we may say: O Theotokos, give healing to those who are suffering from drunkenness and any other illness of mind and body, and teach us all to praise God, singing: Alleluia!

Ikos V

O Theotokos, on seeing the marvels and wonders granted to those who humbly venerate you, wonders pouring from your Icon that miraculously appeared in Serpoukhov, and also from those that were but copies of it, we cry out to you:

Rejoice, you are a speedy protectress of all who come to you! Rejoice, you hear our prayers! Rejoice, you have blessed the city of Serpoukhov! Rejoice, you have shown the glory of your miracles in the region of Moscow! Rejoice, inexhaustible treasure for all who are in need of healing! Rejoice, O almighty help to those who strive for sobriety! Rejoice, O almighty help to those who fight against the world, flesh, Satan and addictions! Rejoice, you defend those who lead a good life in this world! Rejoice, O Sovereign Lady, the Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Kontakion VI

O Theotokos, we proclaim your wonders that pour forth from your Icon, The Inexhaustible Cup, and with tears we pray to you: Save us all from the passion of drunkenness and from other addictions and sins, and teach us, O Pure One, to abstain from all impurity, and to sing to God: Alleluia!

Ikos VI

In the light of the Divine Glory, you look at your Son, the eternal God and Lord Jesus Christ, standing in the chalice as shown on your Icon mysteriously called The Inexhaustible Cup, and you give from it deliverance from drunkenness to us who come to you and bring to you this unceasing praise:

Rejoice, for the angelic powers and the human race rejoice because of you! Rejoice, for your glory surpasses both human and heavenly praise! Rejoice, you have revealed to us the mystery of the Divine Eucharist by showing the image of your Son in the chalice! Rejoice, you show us the Lamb born of you who is always eaten but never consumed! Rejoice, O cup of life and immortality that leads us to the gates of eternal life! Rejoice, you fill our thirsty souls with the water from the fountain of immortality! Rejoice, you do not withhold your blessing even from the most rejected and despised! Rejoice, by your compassion you pull us away from the pit of perdition! Rejoice, O Theotokos, the Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Kontakion VII

A man wanted to thank you, O Theotokos, for healing from alcoholism, so he adorned your miraculous Icon that is in Serpoukhov, singing to God from the depths of his heart: Alleluia!

Ikos VII

We see a new miracle from your Holy Icon, O Theotokos. A servant of God, Stephen, a victim of the disease of alcoholism, was imploring your maternal intercession, and he has been granted a cure. So, in gratitude, he adorned your Icon with rich gifts, and falling before it, he called to you with tears:

Rejoice, lifegiving fountain of healing! Rejoice, heavenly cup of divine gifts! Rejoice, river that carries healing! Rejoice, the sea into which sink all our passions! Rejoice, with your tender and maternal hands, you raise up those who fall under the weight of drunkenness. Rejoice, you do not turn down gifts of gratitude! Rejoice, joy of pious people! Rejoice, you grant us those of our petitions that are good for us! Rejoice, O Sovereign Lady, the Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Kontakion VIII

It must be strange and incredible to unbelievers to hear that your Icon, The Inexhaustible Cup, procures miracles. But to us who believe in your words proclaimed about your first Icon, "The grace of the One who is born of me and my own blessings will always be with this Icon," this present Icon also exudes your mercy. And so, reverently, we venerate it, crying to God: Alleluia!

Ikos VIII

People suffering from alcoholism and addictions do put all their hope in you, O Sovereign Lady. Bend down to our ills and our passions. For who but you, O Theotokos, shall rise us out of the pit of perdition and of physical and spiritual misery? And thus, having bent our knees, we cry out to you:

Rejoice, you do not reject the prayers of those who are sinful! Rejoice, you give your help to those who ask for it! Rejoice, you show the depth of your compassion for the sinner! Rejoice, you give courage to those who have lost all hope! Rejoice you extend your helping hand to those who suffer from drunkenness! Rejoice, by your gift of grace you console those who suffer patiently! Rejoice, you nurse our physical and emotional ills! Rejoice, you teach us to despise the empty pleasures of this life! Rejoice, O Sovereign Lady, the Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Kontakion IX

All the angels are amazed at your mercy, O Lord, for You have given to sinful mankind a strong Protectress and Helper. She looks down at our weakness and heals those suffering from the bitter disease of drunkenness and teaches the faithful to sing: Alleluia!

Ikos IX

The most exalted human mind cannot praise enough the appearance of your glorious Icon, O Sovereign Lady, nor can we sinners bring from our sinful lips a glorification worthy of our Protectress. On having seen innumerable miracles coming from your Icon, we rejoice in our heart and spirit and proclaim:

Rejoice, from your holy face miracles pour forth! Rejoice, you speedily deliver us from grief and sorrow! Rejoice, you put to shame those who deny you! Rejoice, you protect from every evil those who come to you! Rejoice, by your gentle radiance you disperse the darkness of our passions and our sins! Rejoice, you fill our hearts with love for your Son and for yourself! Rejoice, you show us the path of repentance! Rejoice, you are our mediator before the righteous judge! Rejoice, O Theotokos, the Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Kontakion X

Wishing to save all those who suffer from the diseases of alcoholism and other addictions, you have given us your wonderful Icon, O Theotokos, so that all who suffer may come to your miraculous image and, having been healed, may tenderly cry out to God: Alleluia!

Ikos X

You are the wall and the shield, O Lady Theotokos, for those who suffer from drunkenness and also for all those who come to you fervently and who piously venerate your Holy Icon; for the Lord gave it to us to help us and to heal us from this destructive addiction and, thus, He inspires us to sing to you:

Rejoice, you alleviate our sufferings and give hope to those who despair! Rejoice, you are the healing of our ills! Rejoice, with your purity you wipe away our corruption! Rejoice, by your holiness you illumine our darkness! Rejoice, by your cloak of compassion you clothe our mortal body! Rejoice, by your strength you fortify our prayers! Rejoice, you strengthen us in our weakness! Rejoice, you disperse the dark clouds of passions that surround us! Rejoice, O Sovereign Lady, the Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Kontakion XI

O Pure One, do not despise our humble singing that we bring to you from fullness of love and zeal, and do not turn away your face from those who suffer from drunkenness and despair, but do help us so that we also may be cleansed from every impurity and may rightly and justly sing to God: Alleluia!

Ikos XI

O Most Holy Lady, on your Icon, you are seen like a burning candle in rays of grace, surrounded by the assembly of saints and holy martyrs; and as you indicate to us the path of righteousness, we call to you and say:

Rejoice, by the intercession of Saint Domnica you save us from this world of trouble! Rejoice, by her pleading you help us to overcome passions of the flesh! Rejoice, by the prayers of the holy martyr Varlaam you fill our hearts with pious thoughts! Rejoice, by his pleading you illumine our conscience! Rejoice, by the prayers of the holy martyr Paraskeva you deliver those who suffer from drunkenness! Rejoice, by her intercession you call us to repentance and watchfulness! Rejoice, together with the holy martyr Antipas you mellow the bitter heart! Rejoice, with him you save those who call on your name! Rejoice, O Sovereign Lady, the Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Kontakion XII

The grace that shines through your Icon, The Inexhaustible Cup, calls to it all those who suffer, all the unfortunate, widows and orphans, and especially those who are ill with the disease of alcoholism; and no one goes away empty handed from your inexhaustible cup, O merciful one, but all are filled with divine gifts, so that having received healing and help they may sing to you: Alleluia!

Ikos XII

Praising your wondrous work and great mercy that you show to those who suffer from addictions, we beg you, O Compassionate One: save, have mercy on us, show us the right path, and do not reject us who seek your protection and call out to you:

Rejoice, you sustain us on the way to soberness! Rejoice, by the dew of your mercy you deliver us from the passion of alcohol! Rejoice, by your mercy you heal us from addictions! Rejoice, you are a speedy help to those who suffer from all kinds of dependence! Rejoice, you support those who are even-tempered! Rejoice, you humble the prideful! Rejoice, you exalt the humble and wish salvation to all! Rejoice, O Holy Theotokos, the Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Kontakion XIII 3 times

O All-Merciful Mother of our Lord and God Jesus Christ, hear our prayer and deliver us from all ills, physical and emotional, and especially your servant/s (name/s) who suffer from this disease, so that he/she/they may not perish, but might be saved and thus would sing to God: Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

Ikos I

Angelic powers and multitudes of saints continually glorify you, the Theotokos, Queen of all, the intercessor for us sinful Christians wallowing in lawlessness and remaining in sins. It is for our consolation and salvation that you, in your mercy, gave us your miraculous Icon, so that looking upon it, as the one and only star among a multitude of stars on a starlit night, we may prostrate ourselves, shouting from the very depths of our heart:

Rejoice, dwelling place of the unapproachable God! Rejoice, our constant wonder! Rejoice, you make our sorrow wipe away our sins! Rejoice, you make our grief heal our ills! Rejoice, through your miraculous Icon, you bring us your heavenly mercy! Rejoice, O joy of our grieving heart! Rejoice, our wonderful reconciliation with God! Rejoice, O Theotokos, the Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Kontakion I

A wonderful and marvelous healing has been given to us by your Holy Icon, O Sovereign Lady Theotokos. By its appearance we have been delivered from spiritual and physical ills, and from sorrowful circumstances. So we bring you our thankful praise, O All-Merciful Protectress. O Sovereign Lady, whom we call the Inexhaustible Cup, bend down your ear and mercifully hear our lamentation and tears that we bring to you, and give your healing to those who suffer from drunkenness, so that we may cry out to you with faith:

Rejoice, O Inexhaustible Cup that quenches our spiritual thirst!

Prayer I

O our merciful and holy Lady Theotokos, hope and refuge of the orphan, defense of the stranger, help of those in need, and protection of those who are bitter: you see our misfortune, you see our sorrow. From all sides, we are assailed by temptations, and there is no one to protect us. You yourself help us, for we are weak. Feed us, for we are strangers. Show us the way, for we are lost. Heal us, for we hurt. Save us, for there is no hope for us. We have no other recourse, neither protection nor consolation, but you, O Mother of all who suffer and are burdened. Look down upon us sinners who are harsh and bitter, and protect us by your holy omophor, that we may be delivered from all evil that assails us, and especially from drunkenness, so that we may always glorify your all-holy name. Amen.

Prayer II

O all-merciful sovereign Lady, we come to your protection. Do not despise our petitions, but kindly hear us—wives, children, husbands, parents, and all those who suffer from heavy affliction of addictions of all sorts—and restore those who, because of it, fall away from our holy Mother the Church and its salvation. O merciful Theotokos, touch their heart and speedily restore them from their fallen state, and lead them to salutary repentance. Implore your Son, Christ our God, to forgive us our trespasses and not to turn away His mercies from His people, but that He would strengthen us in sobriety and chastity. Accept, O all-holy Theotokos, the petitions of mothers shedding tears about their children, wives sobbing for their husbands, children, orphans, beggars, and all those who were forsaken, and all of us who venerate your Icon, and let your prayers carry our petitions to the throne of the Almighty. Cover us and keep us from all snares of the enemy and the traps of the evil one, and at the dreadful hour of our death, help us to pass the ordeal without stumbling. By your prayers, save us from eternal condemnation so that God's mercy may cover us for the ages to come. Amen.

Troparion in Tone IV

Today we faithful come to the divine and miraculous Icon of the Most Holy Theotokos, who fills the faithful from the Inexhaustible Cup of her mercy and shows them great miracles; and we who have seen them and heard of them rejoice in our heart and cry out, with deep feeling and devotion, O all-merciful sovereign Lady, heal our ills and our passions by praying to your Son, Christ our God, that he may save our souls!

[dramoor]

"Thou canst restore to its former beauty a soul lost and without hope. With Thee, there is nothing that cannot be redeemed. Thou art love; Thou art Creator and Redeemer."

~From Kontakion 10, Glory to God for All Things

Untitled (Expulsion) by Fred Tomaselli (2000)

[goblinontour]

Habitual Sleeplessness

cried out to him with my mouth, his praise was on my tongue

warnings: male reader, fellatio & fornication

word count: 5k

His groping never feels right, not quite. His fingers hesitate, a stutter in touch — too tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his grasp, or too loose, like he’s getting penalised by denying the full pressure of his own want. He is undecided. He is afraid. He is at war with himself, and yet his hands have already decided and betrayed him, and you don’t know what there even was to decide, not when he shoves your pants down, grips bare skin — the one on your thighs — hoists you up into his lap even as the two of you stand upright against a wall, like he doesn’t need to think, like he doesn’t need to consider what he’s about to do.  

There is no space for deliberation in the way his knuckles press into your skin, in the way his breath hitches just once when your pelvis meets his. He’s been silent, undressing you without a word — no preamble, no coaxing, no soft nothings to ease the transition between thought and action. Just the frantic sound of a zipper, the tug of fabric, your back hitting the plaster with a soft thud and his eyes not daring to meet yours.  

His quiet nature is not confidence, that you both know. It’s the theatre of barely being held together. He treats your body like a locked diary he shouldn’t be reading, but he keeps turning the pages anyway, faster with every second, pretending not to understand what he’s seeing. You wonder what he thinks he’s doing, gripping your thighs like that — holding you up and open, breath heavy and ragged as though you’re punishing him by existing. There’s tension in that jaw of his. And he still won’t meet your eyes. 

The silence that lays over the room feels like a thin sheet over a body in mourning. Maybe he thinks there’s a way out of this if he just doesn’t speak.  

Though hands tell a truth his mouth won’t dare give shape to. He is burning alive in his own coldness, peeling apart from the inside, wanting you and hating himself for it. 

He knows he’ll keep touching. Keep pressing. Keep holding. Full of guilt, half-swallowed prayers, and regrets not yet named. 

“I shouldn’t want you.” he admits as his lips are already brushing yours. A weak confession, too late, much too unconvincing.  

But still, his hands work you loose. Still, he pulls — at you, now that there’s no clothes to pull — desperate to uncover some answer inside the folds of you. Your hands are buried in his hair, your back arching off the wall to meet him in a way that should answer every question he’s too afraid to ask. 

You lick the words off his lips, steal them before they have a chance to make an impact. “Then stop.”  

You know he won’t. His hands flex against you like he wants to crush the thought out of existence. He’ll soon want to bruise his own doubt into your skin. You both know the truth deep down — he will always fold, always give in, always be pulled under. You let him. You pull him in deeper, always.  

He exhorts and you pray at his feet an akathist. You offer yourself up to him with an open mouth, with a worship that would have saints turning away in shame. He was your saint, but not a holy one — not the kind that lived in light, but the kind that stayed in shadow, the kind that took and took and took. You worship him anyway, he’s yours.  

Two souls hiding from the light of day. Loving in the box of pity and wishing for mercy to be in your hands.  

He opens his mouth to say something else, but you don’t let him. You swallow his words with a kiss.

He was precise, always had been, like those other men carving into marble, he carved his way through you. Into you. You were too — precision met precision, a dance where neither of you missed a step. He’s a rocker, you’re his punk, both of you sharp-edged and full of fire, both of you with rough hands and open mouths. The pair of you smelled of musk, of incense, of sweat, of sweet love spilling out like a slow, sticky nectar. Something ancient, and likely unclean, that made the air thick and impossible to breathe without taking each other in.  

You were biting into each other like poetry, to the core, digging your teeth in and tasting the raw pulp of it, wordlessly saying goodbye to everything that was for this, for what will be, for what is. No past, no future — nothing but the hot press of now, the fever of it, the ache that makes a home in the marrow of your bones as they move around him.   

He puts a hand in your hair, and his fingers tighten just enough this time, not in a way that hurts, not yet, but in a way that tells you exactly what you are about to become before him. His eyes are locked on yours as you drop to your knees. 

Precise, precise. 

You were but an extra in this story, and he was the artist, always the headliner, always the one people came to see, while you counted the change thrown at him, never at you. A supporting role in the great spectacle of him. 

And you don’t mind. For now, you are the moment. You are the act. You are the thing he claims he shouldn’t want, yet takes anyway.  

Isn’t that the most honest he’s ever been?

He doesn’t take off his belt — just unbuckles it, the metal clinking in the quiet, the weight of it heavy between you. He doesn’t bother with the zipper, doesn’t bother with pretense, and only shoves his hand inside, pulls you closer with the other, keeping you pressed against the heat of him. You can smell him through the fabric, salt and skin and something darker, and you can feel your throat loosen, already your body knows what to do, trained into obedience, into something mindless, instinctual. 

That’s what he’s made of you.

“Do you want it?” The question comes. It’s soft, all soft underneath the disguise of sharp edges. 

The light from the window casts him in a strange kind of gold, something celestial — this halo around his head — and you wonder, not for the first time, if he is doing this on purpose. If he chose this spot for the way it makes him look untouchable, like an altar you should be crawling toward instead of kneeling before.  

“I want it.” The whisper barely comes out, breath and sound almost lost under the slow, hushed slide of his hand moving over himself, still hidden from view, still behind fabric, teasing you without teasing you. You should be looking down, but his hand forces you to look up, keeps your gaze locked with his. No escape, no chance to break away. Just him, just his mouth, just the way he breathes out through his nose like he already knows what you’re going to say next.  

“I want you.”  

“You want me?” He repeats it, tilts his head like he’s examining you, weighing something in his mind you can’t even begin to decipher. His thumb strokes over your cheek, deceptively tender. “How bad?”

It’s stitched into the fabric of your very being. You pull yourself into his lap, or more precisely, your face does, pressing against him as if that alone could keep him still, as if that alone could satisfy the ache crawling under your skin. It’s not quite veneration, not quite surrender either, but something in between, just as ruinous. 

Your mouth presses to him, lips brushing against the heat trapped beneath the fabric, parting just slightly, enough to breathe him in, feel the shape of him through the layers still in your way, letting him settle against your cheek as if in supplication. You don’t move fast. No, you make a meal out of it, dragging your lips across the covered length of him, your tongue digging into the weave of his jeans, teasing yourself with what’s underneath.

Still, he says nothing. Still, he waits, watches, lets you take your time ruining him.  

You rock against him, slow, teasing, pressing your mouth to the shapes, dragging your lips down, down, down, stretching the torment, letting the taste of lint bloom over your tongue where he should be instead. His cock twitches against his own palm, straining against the tightness, and you can hear the way chest expands with every inhale, fire in his hand where it hovers, just above your head, caught between pulling you closer and pushing you away.

Slow. Slow. You could drag this out forever if he let you.

His hands twitch, fingers flexing and unfurling, knuckles tight. Not from fear. Not fear. Never fear. Just the unbearable, teeth-gritting act of holding back.

Restraint.

You know restraint. You know how it trembles before it snaps. He’s always on the edge, always so…always so fucking composed. And oh, you want to break him, to unmake him. 

You push him past it. That’s what you do.

So you lick at the fabric, mouthing at the outline like you could taste him through it. He’s already hard, there, and you relish in how it pulses against your cheek as his fingers tremble against your skull. You drag your tongue over the ridge of him, feel the fabric grow damp where you linger, watch as the darkened patches cling obscenely to the skin beneath. 

Oh, how it clings. 

It sticks, it molds, and you can see the shape of him in excruciating detail. You watch it all unfold. You can’t stop looking, can’t stop aching for the taste of skin instead of cloth, heat instead of barriers. Your teeth press lightly, a teasing little bite that has him sucking in a sharp breath through his nose, hands shaking now, pulling at the air because they have nothing else to hold onto that could be enough.

You mouth over him again, tasting everything but what you want, and you know it’s driving him mad. His fingers curl into themselves, nails biting into his palms where they want to be buried in your hair instead.

God, how you long to taste him properly.  

But he’s waiting, waiting, waiting — letting you play your little game, letting you tease, like you don’t know exactly how much he’s suffering. And then…

“Enough.”

His voice cuts through the thick silence, frayed and quiet, but firm. One of those rare moments where he sounds truly desperate. Good. You want him desperate. You want him mad.

It is suffocating.

A fistful of your hair tangles between his fingers as he pulls you back. You follow with wide, hungry eyes as he — finally, finally — he shoves his pants and underwear down, pushes the fabric low enough to let himself spring free. He’s bare, he’s red, and aching, impossibly hard, and…perfect. A pearl of wetness glistens at the tip, throbbing in front of you. Ready. And you? You are already gone — your lips part, your breath catches, your fingers twitch in your lap. 

You are so ready.

“Be good. Promise?”

You nod. Nod so fast, so eager, so absolutely fucking mindless, desperate for him, that if you could see yourself, really see, you might be ashamed. If you were him, you would laugh at yourself right about now, at the pathetic little motion of your head, at how utterly devoted you look, practically panting for it. You’d tease him had the roles been reversed, mock his desperation. But you aren’t him. You’re on your knees. And you are starving.

You lean in, mouth parting, tongue already reaching, and suddenly…

Before you can taste him, before you can wet your lips and take what you’ve been aching for, two fingers shove inside instead, pushing into your mouth. They press down heavy on your tongue, filling the space you left open for him and forcing you open further. 

Willing lips wrap around the intrusion, letting your breath come ragged through your nose. You whimper, sucking instinctively, swallowing, eyes flickering up, waiting, always waiting for what comes next.

“Practice, okay?” 

The words don’t match the way his fingers push deeper, how they nudge against the back of your throat with the kind trust that says he knows exactly how much you can take. You flick your tongue up, drag it along the calloused ridges of his skin, trying to pull another reaction out of him.  

Pressure. Too much. It’s so much. It’s so much that it’s not enough.

He pushes.  

He doesn’t wait for your body to adjust, doesn’t ease you into it. No, he pushes. Deeper, all at once, rough and unrelenting, until your throat clenches, deeper so your body rejects it. He wants to hear you gag — those harsh and sudden sounds you could make — and you gag so hard it rips out from you, too raw to be anything but real. Your throat contracts, instinct rebelling against instinct, and heat pricks in your eyes, hot and embarrassing, but you keep yourself open, keep yourself pliant. 

He likes you this way, and God, you like him liking you this way. He scrapes against the soft heat of your mouth, his fingers unrelenting, not quite cruel, but far from kind. 

But he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t ease up. Doesn’t coo soft words of comfort like he sometimes does. That’s why it’s only sometimes. 

It spills over, running tracks down your flushed cheeks, and still, you don’t pull away. You take it, all of it, because you know what he wants, because you know what this means.

His nails bite at the corners of your mouth, scratching the soft flesh of your inner cheeks as he withdraws, dragging over your tongue, your teeth, your lips, slow and messy — a sharp little reminder left behind in the raw sting of where he’s been.  

Red-eyed and ruined, that’s how you blink up at him as spit-slick fingers glisten between you. 

His other hand catches a stray tear rolling down your face — you don’t even realise you’re crying, not until his thumb is under your eye, sliding. He collects the bead, pressing it into your lip, smearing salt into spit. 

Then, low, dark, a whisper made of iron, “Next time you tell me what to do, remember who owns your mouth.”

And you shudder, shudder, not from cold, but from him. His voice, his hands, his presence wrapped around you like a vice. A shiver rolls down your spine, something electric and unbearable rattling down to your bones. 

Tears run cold. Your skin runs too hot to feel them. Your body is burning, but your cheeks are wet, and somehow, your brain can’t tell the difference.

“Can I?” you choke on nothing, on air thick with his absence, your throat already anticipating the shape of him. “I’ll be good.”

“Yeah?” he cooes, soft, low, harsh in its gentleness. The kind of cruelty only he could manage, that soft-petting sadism of someone who knows how much you want to obey.

“Please?”

No need to answer. Verbalise it. The closing of his eyes, exhaling like he is about to fall asleep in your hands, and the bringing of a palm to your cheek with a feather-light slap are enough. Not forceful, either. Just enough to say: Go ahead. Take me. Permission handed over like a knife.

You take. God, how you take.

How long have you waited? How many nights alone, heat between your legs a pale imitation of what his hips, his voice, his weight would feel like? How many imaginary versions of this moment and all past ones have you played in your head? None of them were this good. None of them accounted for the shiver in his thighs or the way his lashes flutter like he’s seeing stars behind them.

He fits. Perfectly. Like you were made for this. For him.

And he tries to be stoic. To keep his posture straight, like his knees aren’t faltering under the quickening of your rhythm, like your mouth isn’t dragging the soul right out of him inch by inch. But you feel it. The tremors. He can’t fool you. And the fact that he tries? That makes you grin around him. Makes you dig deeper.

A drowning man holding on to a lifeline with your name embroidered in gold thread.

“Hey.” he breathes out, unsteady. “Hey.” He tries again, a little more urgent this time. 

You look up at him with hollowed cheeks, lips stretched, chin wet, like an offering placed on the altar of his undoing.

“Slow down.” he rasps, but it’s too late. 

You’re already past the point of no return. Your eyes burn, wide and locked on his, daring him. Daring him to have you. Daring him to finish.

You take him deeper instead.

“Fuck-”

His voice is rough, and still you take him deeper. Because fuck you means thank you in a language only the two of you speak. Because slow down is a challenge, not a request. Because he said can I? once, too, in a whisper you pretended not to hear, and this is your answer — yes, yes, yes, again and again with your mouth.

He traces your jaw with the tip of his finger — you think he would have done it with his tongue had it not been so far away — then wraps his hand around your throat, just to see what you’ll do. 

No, not to hurt. 

To watch how your breath changes, how your eyes flicker like the flame of a candle disturbed. To feel the way your pulse flutters beneath the pad of his thumb, as if your heart is trying to reach him from the inside out.

“Tell me to stop.” he murmurs, though his voice barely passes for human now. It sounds fractured. His breath is questionable. It’s like something breaking in real time. 

You drag his hand higher, your knuckles brushing his wrist, guiding him with a strange movement. Tighter. Don’t you dare, that meant. Don’t ruin this by giving me the option to leave.

The feeling of his fingers around your throat is the only promise he’ll make. The kind that buries you under desire. You’re not begging, not exactly, but the way you grind against him speaks volumes. You push into him. You would never tell him to stop, never. Not when it feels like your very bones are in sync with every move he makes.

He tells you to sit still, which you already are — perfectly still, like prey just before the pounce. You perhaps already know what he’ll do next. You’ve seen it in his stance before. Braced wide, muscles taut, jaw clenched as though chewing on the thought of it before it happens. His control is on a knife’s edge — a single breath too deep might send it all collapsing — but his feet are too solidly set on the ground for this to stay civilised, as it has been, if you could call this civilised at all…

And that thought, it…it makes you feel dizzy.

You would have smirked — some wicked, knowing little thing — had it not been for the way he fills you, the risk of teeth scraping against the most delicate of matters, the throat sealed around him like it was built to hold the shape of him, breaths running out, and dignity being abandoned entirely.

So, you tie your wrists, invisibly, to his, and keep your hands around your own neck, pushing his harder into your throat, until it almost hurts — almost desperate for it to hurt. The pressure, the delicious squeeze that turns your vision to static and makes the blood rush in your ears. You want him to push harder, deeper, to see if it’ll break you this time. It feels like it might.

He slaps your face once more — just to remind you.

Then he drives his cock inside your mouth with a patience so slow it borders on torment, every inch, a carefully measured violation. His fingers tangle in your hair, not for aesthetics. He forgets how to breathe. His hand clenches around your throat as he picks up the pace, each thrust more demanding than the last. It’s methodical, or rather…precise. 

You can’t look away from the way he watches you, his eyes lost in the firestorm of it all.

He holds your head steady and thrusts.

He begs for forgiveness. 

Yours, maybe…but what does he need forgiveness for? You don’t have anything to forgive him for. He’s done no wrong, at least not in your eyes. In your mind, this is exactly how it’s meant to be — how it should always be. And all the others, the ones that might be watching from above, from the corners of the room, from the places that matter the least — well, you’re in too deep for them to matter at all. All that exists is the two of you, lost in this mess of need, hunger, and desire. 

God has long since shut the door.

You keep taking. 

You take as if it’s your right. As if you’ve waited centuries for this moment and you will not be denied it now. Swallowing him down as if he’s the only thing that’s ever tasted real. 

Your body moves with his, a perfect rhythm of control and abandon, both of you gasping, breaking, losing pieces of yourselves with every moment. There’s no shame left, not when you’re this far gone. You hear his name, your own voice betraying the madness he’s left in you.

And when he finally whimpers, “Please.” like it’s the first word to ever come out of his mouth, you pull off enough to spit all around him — the filth, the worship — slickness coating him, and whisper with cracked lips, “Give it to me. Come in my mouth.”

His hands are rough, his thrusts ruthless, but somehow — impossibly so — you make him gentler with every second. You make him softer than he ever meant to be, softer than he’s ever let himself be. This, this is what stokes your desire and fills you until you feel stretched thin with it, until you could burst, the way you break him without saying a word. You make him see you, see how you hold him in your mouth, how you’ve always wanted this — wanted him. To feel him unravel in your hands, to have him so completely that nothing will ever come between the two of you.

You wonder if you could stay here forever. You wonder if this would ever be enough.

“I’m gonna-”

Break me open, you wish to tell him, but you don’t. You couldn’t. You’re full of him, and still wanting.

You don’t want him to put you back together. Not ever.

Your only dying wish is for him to let you stay wrecked, stay aching, stay his. To see what you see. To finally make him understand how fucking beautiful he is like this — undone, desperate, a trembling thing in your hands. To know this is what the two of you were built for: not peace, but this slow, holy destruction.

If only he could see how perfect you are, how only the two of you can be. 

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Not because he doesn’t mean it, but because it doesn’t need to be said. It’s written the tremors of his body, hips stutter against your mouth like he’s malfunctioning. A machine built to desire and desire only you. You, the mouth that won’t quit. The eyes that don’t look away. The hands that hold him like scripture, trembling with belief.

You close your eyes, but only to feel him more clearly. To take him in like a sacrament. The muscles in your thighs tense, your stomach flutters with something carnal and holy. He tastes like he was meant to be swallowed — like your body already knows him. Like your throat was made for him. Your hands press against his thighs now, not for leverage, but to remind him: you’re not going anywhere. 

“Oh God-”

You’ve claimed this. You’re his altar, and he’s come to pray.

And when it’s over, when his body stills and softens but the world still sways, he looks down at you, wrecked and just perfectly content. You wipe your lips with the back of your hand like you’re sealing that promise, and he watches you as if you’ve just ruined him in the best way a person can be ruined.

There is no going back.

There is no version of him now that doesn’t want to live in your mouth, in your hands, in your eyes forever.

And somewhere inside you, that thought settles like a seed in your belly: He’s mine. Even if he runs. Even if he denies it. Even if you never speak of this again. He’ll carry the ghost of your mouth with him. 

Everywhere.

He falls asleep against your shoulder after you fuck him later that night, more than just his mouth — and only after he took you for himself — to make the most of the freedom lent by the absence of the sun. You have invaded him, and now you’re in every cell of him. If he cuts himself, you will flow and pour from him. You wonder if your name would spell out in the blood. If your breath might still fog the inside of his chest. You don’t know what to make of that. 

You stare at the ceiling, bare and blank like a body ready to be written on, already thinking about next time, for a long time, before your head settles on top of his and you go down under.

You wake late in the night with a hangover — though you don’t remember any substances being involved, other than the slippery ones, the secretions and sweat, the wine of skin — lending a gauzy distance to your senses. You feel hollow and aching, like you’ve been emptied and then filled again with something not quite yours, which, well, in the grand scheme of things, you were. 

Tender and raw. 

Your fingers still smell like him, you notice, when you go to scratch at your nose. Skin oils, salt, that peculiar male sweetness that only lives between his legs.

You came so hard you bit your own shoulder in contortion, earlier, before it had even begun, the main act of the night. You were tasting him on your tongue, that part of him, the sweetest one, your reward and your ruin, and your fist worked mindlessly between your thighs, where he couldn’t see — for he was on his knees before you — and you couldn’t either, because your eyes were glued to the arch of his back. The tension in his spine. The constellations of moles and scars and freckles you’ve memorised. You ran your hand along his spine and felt his sweat break through in real time, the pulse of him under your palm, alive, alive, alive.

You’re not sorry. Still. You’d do it again. You will do it again.

You’ll moan again if he dares to move in this unconscious state. A twitch of his thigh, the adjustment of his cheek against your chest, and you’d be whimpering into the night like a dog in need of affection. But no — he’s sleeping, and you risk a small kiss on his head to release this wave of warmth that threatens to drown you. It breaks out of you before you can catch it — this terrifying, humbling tenderness. A small liberty. Your little boy.

It’s hard to sit here, so close to him — feeling him, hearing him, smelling him, smelling like him — and not kiss him everywhere. Harder still to resist the urge to wake him just to say, Look at me. Just once more.

In the morning, he reaches for you again. You let him. You always let him. You wonder — is something meaningful only because you can remember it? Or is it meaningful because, in a manner of speaking, you are leaving it, even as it happens? Leaving the moment, the feeling, the warmth. Leaving all the memories you have, leaving everything, and still choosing to return. You ask yourself that, almost every time, after a night like this.

He makes you feel it in the early hours, those strange liminal hours barely coloured by the first dim washes of light — a time when the world doesn’t yet exist, when only bodies and breathing matter. Your legs still shake from the memory of him inside you. Your fingers press between your sticky sticking-together bodies, tangled thighs, and still find him there, even though he’s long since slipped out of you. A ghost of him, lingering. Long dried traces of a love so loud it left stains.

You would phrase him in what you keep silent, every night, but you don’t know how. You try — God, how you try — but when you put pen to page, either it breaks, or bends, or bleeds. Your thoughts drown in the abyss of ink and memories and feeling. You would phrase him in thousands of phrases. You would write him in marrow. You would sew the infinite thread of words on your lips, let them come undone only for him, but instead they fray, fall, falter, lost in rivers of anguish. Perhaps that’s why he stays the artist and you the art.

Your lips tremble with it. With love. With longing for it. When you open your mouth to bring his presence back, to make him remember these tender special moments too, only strangled hiccups come out.

So you say nothing.

You whisper nothing. You sing nothing.

What good are words when all you want to do is bleed into him?

He never asks. He, too, is afraid. Maybe because he already knows. 

Since when did he want you to be his slave and he your God? And through him nothing, no one and nothing else, just you, you possess him like a sweet heresy. Blasphemy. 

It’s a heavy love. But it is yours. And you’d carry it to your grave if he asked.

And maybe even if he didn’t.

a/n: I can’t believe I used a bible verse for this. It really, really fits though :) You, you, you…

[religious-extremist]

I have a question for you.

I need to open this with a confession. About two years ago, there was a girl (17, the age I was at the time) who I was infatuated with, and made sexual advances to her that upset her; a few months later, when I thought she wasn't looking, I took a photograph of her. This upset her; I deleted the picture and apologised, but she was of course still upset. We went our separate ways to university; we'll never see each other again and that's very probably for the best.

All that's to set up the fact that I still regularly pray for her healing, because she's had a rough life - aside from that, I know she had a bad time at a Roman Catholic school, was homeless for a time and had other stuff she wasn't willing to share. Since, as I said, we'll never see each other again and so I can't see how she's doing, I've sometimes wondered if and when I should stop praying for her.

All that is to set up that, last night, I had a dream where we met and she forgave me. I don't know what to make of it; my first instinct was that it was just a dream, but I know that we Orthodox believe that God can speak to us in dreams. I'm going to talk about this with my confessor soon, but I'd be interested in your opinion, since you're an Orthodox Christian on this site that I trust.

It’s definitely something to speak to your confessor about. You shouldn’t cease praying for her because of your dream, however; in fact, I would advise you to pray for her even more. Pray an akathist for her, or a paraklesis to the Panagia on her behalf.

I once had a dream about my grandma, who passed away a long while ago, and in the dream she was in a pleasant paradisiacal place. My spiritual father told me that sometimes the enemy produces these dreams to trick us and give us a false sense of ease about the state of somebody’s soul, so we would stop praying for them. In my case, I was tempted to assume that my grandmother had entered the place of blessedness and to cease or reduce my prayers for her, which is clearly a trap laid by the deceiver.

We should strive to accept these dreams with humility and avoid counting ourselves worthy of receiving special divine illumination, so that we don’t fall into error or pride. In your situation, it would be more profitable for you to think there is a chance that she is struggling these days and needs your prayers more than ever. We might think we help others when we pray for them, but the greatest benefit in praying for another is that we, ourselves, draw nearer to God by our prayers for our neighbor, because in our love for our brother, we become like Him who loved and prayed for us to the Father.

So be zealous in praying and pray for me as well, the worthless sinner.

[traumacatholic]

I recently got engaged to the love of my life. We are both still very young, but currently there is a possibility they may have cancer. we cannot currently make an appointment with the hospital because its the weekend, and moreover if we can get an appointment it may be months away. Im terrified beyond belief. My fiancé even more so.

I truly do not know what to do. I'm someone who has been blessed in life in that I have never lost someone close to me. My fiancé pulled me out of the worst time in my life when I met them. My connection to God has never been strong despite my family being catholic. I don't even really know how to pray. We have so many plans for the future, to be married and raise a family together. To try and put a little good back into the world. To grow old together.

I am at a loss. Any prayer you can offer would mean so much to me. I would do anything for my fiancé, and though it feels wrong to come back to my faith because something horrible is happening and not for simply wanting to I only hope God can forgive me for it and protect my Love.

Of course, I will keep you both in my prayers. Never feel like you're turning to your faith for the 'wrong' reason, because this can put you off really engaging and connecting with your faith and using it as a pillar and a support network. Please reach out to a Church, even if you aren't currently attending one. And asking for prayers and for help from the Priest. Even if you did turn to faith for the 'wrong' reason, ultimately by spending time in prayer, spending time reading Scripture, spending time going to Church - whatever things you might be doing. Should hopefully lead to you sincerely connecting with your faith in a way that perhaps feels more meaningful to you. A genuine engagement with the faith. It is better to turn to God in times of desperate situations, than to never turn to Him at all. God never tires of us turning to Him for help.

People turn to the faith in different ways, in many different situations. We should never treat the individual turning to God as 'this is the right reason', 'this is the wrong reason'. Anything that could lead to someone genuinely increasing their faith, no matter how slim that possibility may be, should be encouraged. How many cultural Catholics still turn to St Anthony for help finding a lost item? Or a Hail Mary when they're in the hospital waiting room? As the old saying goes 'there's no atheist in the trenches'. And regardless of how 'silly' or 'insincere' or whatever else term we might use that turn to faith might be, God will use it as an opportunity for you to develop or redevelop that relationship with Him. Our entire life is a conversion process. We are always, every single day, choosing to convert to God through repentance or choosing to slip away from Him. Hoping in God, hoping in His power and His mercy and His comfort isn't a bad thing.

In terms of prayers, if you are feeling up for it. There is an Akathist to the Theotokos for healing - particularly for healing from cancer. I know you don't have a confirmed diagnosis, but please don't feel like you have to wait until then to pray this. You can pray it now. This is a long prayer. It is designed to be read all the way through. Don't worry about the names of Troparion or Kontakion, that's meant for people that are chanting the Akathist. http://www.stvladimiraami.org/sheetmusic/akathistvsetsaritsa.pdf Has the beginning prayers, as well as the full akathist. Generally, the first couple of times reading through an Akathist can make it take a long time. But I found through the Akathist that I prayed daily, that eventually it takes a lot less time because you know the prayer well enough. Don't feel like you have to read this every day. Traditionally, Akathists can be said once a day for a 40 day period. You don't have to do it for that long, just as and when it feels feasible. It does also have three prayers at the bottom. If you're ever not feeling up for praying the Akathist, feel free to pray those individually.

I have attached some much shorter prayers under the read more. Feel free to mix and match between them. I would recommend having at least one prayer, that you pray morning and night. If you can, I would also recommend reading a Psalm a day.

Dear Lord, as my loved ones and I await the results of medical tests about my affliction, let us offer you our anxieties for our good and your glory. Calm us in our worries, knowing these don’t add wisdom but rather stress to this situation. Enlighten us, though the power of your Spirit, to make wise decisions as to treatment. Help us not to turn away from You in these fragile, painful moments, but rather towards you for grace and strength. Comfort us in seeking you now as we place all our concerns in your loving hands as we say “Thy Will Be Done.”

--

Mary, health of the sick, you brought forth into our world Jesus Christ, our Divine Healer. In your caring goodness, intercede for (mention name), who is truly in need of miraculous assistance.

If it be God’s will, I ask this day that the gift of healing from all forms of cancer be granted to (name).

Comfort him/her during times of anguish, pain, confusion and despair. Ask our gracious Savior to grant him/her physical health, inner peace and patience in suffering.

May God’s healing graces grant (name) a life of happiness, health and fulfillment here on earth, and one day the joy of eternal glory in His loving embrace.

Amen.

--

Let us pray to the Lord. Lord have mercy.

O Lord Almighty, the Healer of our souls and bodies, You Who put down and raise up, Who chastise and heal also; do You now, in Your great mercy, visit our brother (sister) (Name), who is sick. Stretch forth Your hand that is full of healing and health, and get him (her) up from his (her) bed, and cure him (her) of his (her) illness. Put away from him (her) the spirit of disease and of every malady, pain and fever to which he (she) is bound; and if he (she) has sins and transgressions, grant to him (her) remission and forgiveness, in that You love mankind; yea, Lord my God, pity Your creation, through the compassions of Your Only-Begotten Son, together with Your All-Holy, Good and Life-creating Spirit, with Whom You are blessed, both now and ever, and to the ages of ages. Amen.

Let us pray to the Lord. Lord have mercy.

O Lord our God, Who by word alone did heal all diseases, Who did cure the kinswoman of Peter, You Who chastise with pity and heal according to Your goodness; Who are able to put aside every malady and infirmity, do You Yourself, the same Lord, grant aid to this Your servant (Name) and cure him (her) of every sickness of which he (she) is grieved; lift him (her) up from his (her) bed of pain and distress, and send down upon him (her) Your great mercy, and if it be Your Will, give to him (her) health and a complete recovery; for You are the Physician of our souls and bodies, and to You do we send up Glory: to Father, and to Son, and to Holy Spirit, both now and ever, and to the ages of ages. Amen.

--

O God, our help in time of need, Who are just and merciful, and Who inclines to the supplications of His people.

Look down upon ____________and have mercy on them and deliver them from the trouble that now besets them.

Deal with ____________ not according to their iniquities, but according to Your manifold mercies, for we are the works of Your hands, and You know our weaknesses.

I pray to you to grant ____________ Your divine helping grace, and endow them with patience and strength to endure their hardships with complete submission to Your Will.

Only You know our misery and sufferings, and to You, our only hope and refuge, we flee for relief and comfort, trusting in Your infinite love and compassion, that in due time, when You know best, You will deliver ____________ from this trouble, and turn their distress into comfort.

We then shall rejoice in Your mercy, and exalt and praise Your Holy Name, O Father, Son and Holy Spirit, both now and forever and to the ages of ages.  Amen

--

[Feel free to pray this one for yourself, and to edit it to be a prayer for your fiancé. From my understanding, when we are praying for someone else, we omit any references to them being a sinner. So you would edit it to 'Be merciful to him/her, O Master. Take from them the heavy burden of despair.']

O Greatly-merciful Master, Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me and cleanse me from every sadness and disturbance and cowardice. Drive away from me every spiritual choking and demonic sorrow, that I sense in my body and my soul. For You are our Joy, and the Hope of all the ends of the earth, and those far off at sea. Be merciful to me, O Master, upon my sins. Take from me the heavy burden of sin and despair. Drive far away from me every sadness and laziness. Confirm me in Your Love, and with unassailable hope and unshakable faith in You, through the intercessions of Your Spotless Mother, and all Your Saints. Amen.

--

[I would recommend this one for yourself]

O Master, Lord my God, in Whose hands is my destiny: Help me according to Thy mercy, and leave me not to perish in my transgressions, nor allow me to follow them who place desires of the flesh over those of the spirit. I am Thy creation; disdain not the work of Thy hands. Turn not away; be compassionate and humiliate me not, neither scorn me, O Lord, as I am weak. I have fled unto Thee as my Protector and God. Heal my soul, for I have sinned against Thee. Save me for Thy mercy's sake, for I have cleaved unto Thee from my youth; let me who seeks Thee not be put to shame by being rejected by Thee for mine unclean actions, unseemly thoughts, and unprofitable remembrances. Drive away from me every filthy thing and excess of evil. For Thou alone art holy, alone mighty, and alone immortal, in all things having unexcelled might, which, through Thee, is given to all that strive against the devil and the might of his armies. For unto Thee is due all glory, honor and worship: To the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen

--

[apilgrimpassingby]

Rejoice, scion of an undying shoot!

Rejoice, field of untainted fruit!

Rejoice, thou who labourest for Him Whose labour is Love!

Rejoice, thou who givest birth to the Father of our Life!

Rejoice, cornland yielding a rich crop of mercies!

Rejoice, table bearing a wealth of forgiveness!

Rejoice, thou who revivest the garden of delights!

Rejoice, thou who preparest a haven for souls!

Rejoice, acceptable incense of intercession!

Rejoice, purification of all the world!

Rejoice, favour of God to mortals!

Rejoice, access of mortals to God!

Rejoice, Unwedded Bride!

-Third oikos of the Akathist to the Theotokos

[andijaart]

+++🙏🏻God Bless🕊️+++

Hilandar Akathist Icon of the Virgin Mary

MEMORIAL DAY JANUARY 25

The icon of the Mother of God "Akathist" is located in the iconostasis of the Cathedral Church of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary of the Serbian Hilandar Monastery on Mount Athos.

💫International Orthodox Art Corporation Andcross May the blessing of the Lord be upon you!

[orthodoxydaily]

The “Reigning” Icon of the Mother of God appeared on March 2, 1917, the day of Tsar Nicholas’s abdication, in the village of Kolomskoye near Moscow.

In February 1917, an elderly woman named Eudokia saw the Mother of God in a dream telling her to go to Kolomskoye to find a large blackened icon in a church. After the vision was repeated three times, she went to Kolomskoye to search for the icon with the priest Nicholas.

In the basement of the church they found the icon and started wiping off the accumulated dust. Then they were able to see the Most Holy Theotokos wearing a crown and sitting on a throne. Immediately, Father Nicholas celebrated a service of Thanksgiving and an Akathist.

News of the icon’s discovery spread throughout Russia, and there were several miracles of healing from physical and mental infirmities. As time went by, the icon renewed itself and became brighter and brighter. Particularly striking was the blood-red robe of the Virgin.

Since the icon was revealed just as the Tsar abdicated, many people believed that the Queen of Heaven had assumed royal authority over the Russian land, and so the icon became known as the “Reigning” icon. It was discovered that the icon had come from the Ascension convent in Moscow. In 1812, before Napoleon’s invasion, this icon and others were sent to Kolomskoye’s Ascension church for safekeeping. Apparently forgotten, the icons were never returned to Moscow.

A Service and Akathist to the “Reigning” Icon were composed with the assistance of His Holiness Patriarch Tikhon (+ 1925). Many copies of the icon were venerated throughout Russia, but these were confiscated by the Soviets. The Service and Akathist to the icon were also forbidden to be served.

The original icon is said to be in the Novodevichii Museum in Moscow, and there is a copy in the Church of the Kazan Mother of God in Kolomskoye.

The “Reigning” Icon, which belongs to the Panachranta type, shows the Theotokos seated on a throne with Her Son.

march 2?march 15

[apilgrimpassingby]

I Have A Question...

For Orthodox and to a lesser extent Catholic people, or whoever else practices devotion to the Virgin Mary.

So, I (A) like the Akathist to the Theotokos and (B) have a problem with sexual fantasies/the taint of past viewing pornographic-fetishistic content. So, to combat the latter and the problems it causes with views of women, I have decided to, each day, recite the first oikos of the Akathist and, on each line, think of one of the girls from my sexual fantasies as a way of saying to myself "this is what women mean to God; porn and sexual fantasies lie to you and it's bad for everyone." But, I wondered last night:

To help you make that decision, I'll include the relevant text here:

An archangel was sent from Heaven to say to the Mother of God "rejoice!" And seeing Thee, O Lord, taking bodily form, he was amazed and with his bodiless voice he stood crying to her such things as these:

Rejoice, thou through whom joy will flash forth!

Rejoice, thou through whom the Curse will cease!

Rejoice, revival of fallen Adam!

Rejoice, redemption of the tears of Eve!

Rejoice, height hard to climb for human thoughts!

Rejoice, depth hard to contemplate even for the eyes of angels!

Rejoice, thou who art a King's throne!

Rejoice, thou who bearest Him who bears all!

Rejoice, thou who causest the Sun to appear!

Rejoice, womb of the Divine Incarnation!

Rejoice, thou through whom creation becomes new!

Rejoice, thou through whom the Creator becomes a babe!

Rejoice, unwedded bride!

Please reblog, both to get more votes and to add any comments you may have.

[orthodoxadventure]

do you know of prayers to decrease suicide ideation? And can you please pray my stomach churns i am in so much distress. (I love your blog, god bless you) <33333

May God bless you and comfort you, and thank you for the kind words! I will definitely keep you in my prayers.

One thing I would recommend is reading the Psalms, and finding one that really resonates with you and including that into your prayer routine. Or if you don't have a prayer routine already, then praying this Psalm morning and night (and whenever else you need it through the day). It doesn't explicitly have to be about depression, a lot of the Psalms talk about placing their hope in the Lord even through the distress and suffering they're experiencing - and something like this might really resonate with you and comfort you.

You can find a collection of four prayers that are related to depression, anxiety, and suffering here, which should be of some help to you: https://www.sthermansoca.org/resources/prayers-against-fear/

Then there is also:

Prayer against Depression: Prayer to the Mother of God

Prayer to the Theotokos for Healing

Prayer to the Mother of God in a Time of Distress

Akathist to St. Xenia of St. Petersburg

Prayer of Someone in Trouble

Prayer of Saint John Chrysostom

Prayer to St. John of Shanghai and San Francisco

Healing Prayer of Saint Ambrose of Milan

Guardian Angel Prayers for Protection

Prayer of St. Dimitri of Rostov

Prayer for the Self

Prayers don't have to explicitly be about depression or liberation from despair in order to be helpful. Find prayers that really resonate with you, and ones that you are willing and able to pray. Try to read even one Psalm a day as well as a prayer that you find helpful.

Speak often to God about your difficulties and struggles also. Sometimes the best prayers are the ones that we come up with, because they most accurately reflect our situation, our wants, our needs, and so on. We don't need to know the perfect things to say. But the act of praying about our issues, of articulating them and putting them into words and placing them before God can be of immense help and comfort to us. And the act of articulating problems out loud can go a long way to untangling them in our head which can help us feel even a little less overwhelmed.

God bless you!

[dramoor]

"Every flower is fragrant through the power of the Holy Spirit, in a delicate flow of aroma and tenderness of color; the beauty of the Great contained in what is small. Praise and honor to God, Who gives life, Who spreads forth the meadows like a flowering carpet, Who crowns the fields with golden ears of wheat and azure basilisks, and the soul – with the joy of contemplation.

Let us rejoice and sing to Him: Alleluia."

~Akathist Glory to God for All Things, Kontakion 3

(Photo © dramoor 2019)

[electracx]

trying to translate an akathist and just realized i have the inteligence of a 5 year old

[guiltywisdom]

Hi! I saw your other preyer advice and was curious if you knew any preyers to help with addiction? I'm trying to quit smoking again despite the things that drove me back to it still being present :/

This akathist is used for addictions (simply replace alcoholism here with any addiction)

There's also this prayer to Holy Martyr Saint Ephraim of Nea Makri: O Holy Martyr Ephraim, look with compassion upon my distress and, as thou didst deliver the young man from his cruel addiction, so also pray for me that our Lord and Saviour, for Whom thou didst witness unto death, may deliver my soul from captivity to Satan. For I am in cruel bondage and suffering because of my weakness and sinfulness. Beseech our merciful Lord that, as He didst lead the Hebrews forth from slavery in Egypt and called His people out of Babylon, as He delivered the youth from the demon, and freed the daughter of the Canaanite woman, and healed the woman taken in adultery and restored the Samaritan woman, that He may also set me free and deliver me from the demon of addiction. I confess that I have fallen into this evil through my own slothfulness and weakness, but have mercy and pray for me, O saint and martyr of God

And of course you can also simply offer prayers to the Theotokos or pray the Jesus Prayer (Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner).

May the Lord deliver you from addiction to smoking.

[jarenka]

This thing that plays in heaven

Some harp performances I collected, both classical and jazz

Jazz harpist LaVilla Tulos preforms "Swanee River"

other videos are under the cut

Pearl Chertok - Around the clock suite performed by Joel von Lerber. Harpist himself comments this piece between movements.

Dorothy Ashby ‎– Afro Harping (1968) From an album by famous jazz harpist Dorothy Ashby.

Another famous jazz harpist Alice Coltrane performs harp solo at international jazz music festival Jazz Jamboree in Warsaw, Poland in 1987.

Aram Khachaturian - Dance of Pink Girls (from Gayane ballet) performed by harp quartet from Higher School of Music of the Republic of Sakha (Yakutia)

Bernard Andres - Jazzy - Ragtime performed by Harp trio: Diana Grubišić Ćiković, Marta Ćiković and Veronika Ćiković

Deborah Henson-Conant - Baroque Flamenco performed by author

Juhi Bansal - Trail of Stars performed by Lee Yun Chai

Brandee Younger's Tiny Desk concert. Beautiful jazz music and amazing vocalist.

All this harp concert is worth listening, but I want to show you the last piece (starts from 1:35:27) because I didn't find it separately but it sounds so cool! Valeriy Kikta - Akathist to Vera Dulova for six harps and percussions

[religious-extremist]

The Miraculous Icon of the Theotokos the Inexhaustible Cup.

This icon is the helper for those struggling with addiction and alcoholism for it is truly only Christ who gives satiety to the soul.

The "Inexhaustible Cup" Icon of the Most Holy Theotokos was revealed in Russia in 1878. A retired soldier from Tula had spent his pension on alcohol, ruining his health. Though he was no longer able to walk, he continued to drink.

One night a holy Elder appeared to him in a dream and told him to go to the Serpukhov monastery of the Mother of God. "Have a Molieben served before her Icon ‘The Inexhaustible Chalice.’" Since he had no money and could not walk, the man paid no attention to the dream. Then the Elder appeared a second and third time, speaking to him with increasing severity.

Crawling on all fours, the man reached the next village and stayed in the home of an old woman. She rubbed his legs, and he began to feel better. The next day, he resumed his journey with two canes, then with one, until he arrived at the monastery.

He described his dreams to the monks, but none of them had ever heard of "The Inexhaustible Cup" Icon. Finally, one of them remembered an icon on which a chalice was depicted. On the back of the icon was an inscription, "The Inexhaustible Chaice." After the Molieben, the peasant returned home restored to health, and cured of his alcoholism.

News of the miracle spread, and many alcoholics and their families came to pray before the Icon. Many of them came back to thank the Mother of God for answering their prayers. Every Sunday in the Serpukhov-Vyotsk monastery a Molieben with an Akathist is served before the Icon for those who are addicted to alcohol.