#I read a book called state of sorrow and my mind definitely it connecting the two in some small way

[wallflowerglitter]

Such a sad sad sad series. Sorrow is right.

[hualianff]

T.F.T.A (I.H) III 《II》

Irodori – Hiroaki Tsutsumi “I can touch up some patches of the walls that look washed out?”

“Uh, no you don’t have to-“

“-oh! And I can vacuum the carpets in the morning before work, during the day, and at night once everyone leaves so the floor will always be spotless-“

“No, really, that’s a bit much-“

“Does anything in your office happen to need dusting?“

HX sighs. This human never stops.

First, it is the food and drinks he delivers to the employees on each floor–without being asked to. His employees are filthy slobs when it comes to dealing with their customers as it is; the extra vacuuming would admittedly be appreciated. Though, HX has no complaints when XL personally brings him fresh coffee and pastries from the bakery on the corner.

Then, it is the excessive cleaning that has somehow become one of his biggest priorities, courtesy of XL. HX supposes this is what he needed a custodian for in the first place. But he can’t help but wonder how YY found a human who is so damn eager to be worked like a slave.

“Mr. Xuan, what cleaning fluid brand do you prefer the bathroom floors to be mopped with?” Xie Lian asked, still sitting in the lone chair in front of HX’s desk, one hour after he first entered. Here he was, going through a laundry list of sterilization questions while HX was still trying to process just how ugly the human’s work uniform was.

He’ll have to do something about that.

HX was, by no means, generous or fashionable. Hell, he currently had on all black–the inner and outer robes being different shades–and cheap sandals that exposed just how pale his skin was. He sported the same skull earrings since first getting his ears pierced, and he kept his hair back in a simple, low ponytail that felt like a rope of lead at times.

They surely must make quite a pair, like the dark and mysterious goth teen meets the wrongly-dressed happy-go-lucky old man. There is no doubt HX beat XL in age by a couple of hundred years, yet, XL somehow still gave off wise-beyond-his-years energy. A man who has seen and been through plenty of life’s obstacles.

Such fragile beings, humans were.

“Um, Mr. Xuan?” XL spoke up again when HX didn’t answer his twentieth question right away. “Is it alright if I call you that? Or should I call you Black Water?”

HX’s frown deepened, sincerely considering how XL should address him. It was not like XL knew the truth behind the title Black Water, and for that reason, it felt improper for the human to speak a name he was not aware held so much power.

“Mr. Xuan is fine,” HX says curtly.

“Oh, okay. Mr. Xuan it is.”

HX exhaled with thinning patience. He placed his elbows on the desk, preparing to shoo his new employee away so he could work in peace.

“You can just call me Xie Lian. I hope to be of the best assistance to you, Mr. Xuan,” XL adds quicker than HX can respond. “By the way, about those cobwebs surrounding the hallways lights-”

Seriously, was this guy out of his mind?

From XL’s perspective, he believes he hit the jackpot with this job. Not only is it incredibly low-stress compared to his previous hustles, but XL often finds himself to be most useful in keeping Black Water company. Yes, XL is aware HX strives to be as antisocial and non-confrontational as possible. And yes, a boss-employee relationship probably shouldn’t cross a certain line into the best friend zone.

But whenever HX happens to be nearby, and XL bounds over with a dozen updates on his work and random stories that he can’t help sharing, HX begrudgingly stays and listens.

“See? Doesn’t dusting make everything nicer to look at?“ XL questions with a sunny smile, gesturing to the bookshelves on one side of HX’s office. He was a quarter of the way through with this task when his boss walked in.

HX merely grunts, then plops down in a chair different from the one guests typically sit in. It appears to be a new addition to the room. In XL’s eyes, more furniture means more growth in self-care for one’s personal space. In this case, HX’s working environment.

Naturally, XL approves with a satisfied nod. He also can’t stop the next words from tumbling out of his mouth.

“By the way, I noticed your tastes in literature differ across many subjects: Folklore, politics, ocean science…”

HX raises an eyebrow at this comment.

“What about it?” he asks, a little blunt, a little curious.

XL continues dusting in between the shelves. He faces away from HX and is glad his boss can’t discern his nervous expression. XL knows he has his nosy moments, knows that he often unintentionally crosses others’ boundaries in order to connect, which irks people all the time.

Maybe this is one of those moments.

Still, XL wants to try.

“Do you want to tell me about them? I’m quite the avid reader myself, and some of these titles look positively compelling,” XL says, skimming a hand down the exquisite spine of one of the books. He turns his head just enough to sneakily eye HX’s reaction, who hasn’t changed his seating positions the last forty minutes.

HX’s arms remain crossed over his chest, staring straight ahead at the wall of bookshelves XL insisted on dusting and tidying. His obsidian eyes noticeably sharpen, jaw slightly relaxing.

HX doesn’t say anything for a long minute. One minute bleeds into two, and then three.

XL sighs, a bit disappointed. He doesn’t want to push HX’s limits, nor initiate conversation he is in no place to discuss. Quietly, XL turns his attention back to work.

But as XL squats down to straighten out some books on the lower shelf, the image of black robes gliding along the floor catches his eye.

HX walks to one of the middle bookcases, caressing his fingers along his vast collection until he pauses on a book with an emerald green cover and characters glimmering in gold. He plucks the novel out of its homely crevice, opening the cover to flick through the worn pages.

XL takes this as his cue to approach, waving around the feather duster in anticipation. HX shifts to show the human the open book, finger pointing to the section header.

“This one is a myth about a parasitic ghost who latches onto its host and feeds off of sadness, sorrow, despair,” HX explains slowly, deliberate with his words. XL’s mouth opens in an “oh” shape, expressing interest in his features.

HX brings the book closer for XL to see.

“It’s one of my favorite reads,” HX murmurs, focusing on the text. XL blinks in astonishment, feeling especially honored that HX shared this with him.

It has only been one month since XL started working at Paradise Deals, and despite HX’s “I don’t care” attitude when it comes to basically anyone ever, XL definitely considers them to be friends.

And that is honestly the most he could ever ask for.

“Then I’ll be sure to put it on the top of my list,” XL chirps, tapping the book with the duster.

The corner of HX’s mouth tugs upwards.

*** Flor y Sangre – Sophism, Isabella LeVan, A Million in Vermillion One day, as XL rides the elevator up to the eleventh floor, it stops at the third floor first. The doors open to reveal a man with a green dress shirt tucked into black-and-white checkered pants. The same checkered-patterned suit jacket hangs loosely over his shoulders.

The man’s dark hair is long enough to cover his ears, making him appear quite young. Side bangs obstruct his eyes, but upon seeing XL’s face, the strands fly out of the way as he shakes his head in surprise.

“YOU!” The man seethes out, stomping into the elevator with clenched fists.

“M-me?” XL looks around, then points to himself questioningly.

“What are you doing here!? And what the hell are you wearing!? Am I supposed to fall for a dumb disguise like this?” The stranger fires back, voice getting more high-pitched as he jabs an offending finger at XL’s nose.

XL is beyond confused. He glances down at his custodian attire, the nameplate thankfully still in place. It’s in navy this time, courtesy of Black Water’s kindness is providing XL with more than one work outfit that doesn’t automatically suck the soul out of whoever sees it.

There is an awkward beat of silence.

The elevator doors close, XL now pressed with his back against the wall, nervously fiddling with the mop in his hands.

“Do I know you?” XL asks, forgetting his manners in a panicked state while searching his memories, trying to recognize the man in front of him.

“Fucking rude, as always,” the man sneers, giving XL a nasty stink-eye before backing off. “If you won’t reveal your true self now, I’ll just follow you until you do.”

“Excuse me? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” XL rushes out, sneaking in a few bows here and there. “Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for the wrong person?

The man crosses his arms as if seriously contemplating XL’s words. His eyes shift from XL’s face, to his attire, to the mop, and then finally, up towards above XL’s head.

He decidedly shakes his head, unconvinced.

“No, I’m not that gullible. How convenient would it be that the first time I see you in who-the-fuck-knows-how-long, you’re stuck like this,” he hisses lowly. “Weak. Useless. Ignorant.”

Now that makes XL’s eyebrows rise into his hairline. He’s been harshly insulted before–regarded as pitiful and lacking potential in many areas–and likes to think his skin is thicker because of it. But to be directly attacked by a man whom he has no memory of meeting before? XL can’t help but feel like this is entirely uncalled for.

How does this man even know him?

The elevator doors slide open, having reached the eleventh floor. On the other side stands Black Water, wearing an expensive-looking suit with navy lining and silver cuffs. His foot stops its tapping on the ground where it had been denting the carpet.

“Xie Lian, I’ve been looking for you,” Black Water says, completely ignoring the other man in the elevator. “I’m meeting with a few clients on the east side of the city, and I need you to handle the documentation.”

He holds out a huge briefcase with the same fish symbol as the ones on the doors in the hallway. As XL steps out of the elevator to accept the briefcase, an interested “Xie Lian, huh?” sounds from behind.

“Pardon me, sir, if I can’t recall our first acquaintance. But did you need something from me?” XL asks while turning around, attempting to hold out an olive branch once more. Next to him, Black Water pulls out his phone and mindlessly scrolls down the screen.

“I can’t believe you actually did it. Got yourself a name and everything,” the man says, disbelief coloring his features. Then his eyebrows pinch together in a sudden display of anger. He locks eyes with XL, those amber eyes looking eerily similar to his own. “You disgust me.”

Before XL can react, the elevator doors slam shut instantly with a loud boom, masking the sound of fingers snapping right next to him. XL jerks at the sound, hands white-knuckling the briefcase.

“Do you know who that is?” XL asks his boss, tilting his head. This encounter has left him awfully confused and a little worried about his job. Would this affect what his boss thinks about his impact in the workplace?

It seems this trouble is needless when HX eyes simply narrows his eyes at the closed doors, a stormy expression on his face.

“No one to concern yourself with.”

Bonus:

XL finds out QR is the lower-levels’ boss, who holds an apparent grudge against him…? Once QR had come across XL in the elevator, he sticks around like an unwanted pest, somehow having the time to harass XL many hours a day.

XL: “Why does this guy keep following me around and insulting me?”

XL eventually cleans QR’s floors too because he has time and it seems QR won’t leave him alone.

HX: “Give me back my custodian!”

QR: “Fuck off! Why are you so defensive about mortal scum?”

XL, wiping down the doors, whistling: (´∀｀*)

[foronceleavemealone]

A little bit broken, a little bit sad

A/N: Oh boy. I was inspired by this song. I love the vibe, I hope I succeeded portraying that vibe in a way. Yes, I get inspired by songs, I guess... I do recommend listening to them while reading or before. Can I write something without a flashback? I think not. But I actually like this one. This is S3E4 Javi, the ending, and I expanded it further on. I hope it’s enjoyable. I apologise for any mistakes

Summary: A bittersweet day only gets a bit more bittersweet for Javier. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (can be read as an insert)

Warnings: slight unhealthy coping mechanisms - alchohol consumption

————————————

Javier sat at his desk, another glass of whiskey in his hands, a cigarette smoking between his fingers. He was picking at the day’s events, his own thoughts and emotions. Surely today was a win. Right? After a complex mission, that could’ve ended badly at any point if anyone had made a mistake, they did get Gilberto  Rodríguez. That should be a win in Javier’s book. Not even the ambassador’s outlook could ruin this. He did what seemed right. People do want to see the godfathers in handcuffs and that’s what they’re gonna get. 

Everything turned bittersweet when Colonel Martínez told him the news about his resignation. Javier felt guillty. He was the one that dragged Martínez into this. Colonel was one of the very few trustworthy people, and like he himself said, Javier was on his own now. It bothered Javier quite a bit. He didn’t want a good man to lose his job or his reputation, he also didn’t want to lose an ally in this already tricky situation. 

Javier took the last sip of his drink and put out the cigarette. He looked at the files ant tapes scattered on his desk and walked out of his office. 

“Hey, boss” Stoddard stopped him. “Good day today, huh?” 

“The Jurado tapes” Javier didn’t let Stoddard suck up any more.

“W-well we...probably shouldn’t call them that ‘cause they’re not legal, per se” 

“I want all of them.” Javier didn’t wait for Stoddard’s reaction or response. He walked away but stopped when the board with the cartel connection scheme came into his view. Like once before, he walked over and crossed out one of the godfathers’ photos. 

It still felt bittersweet. He thought about the amount of work that awaits him. And how even the victories are followed by hardships. He ran a hand through his hair and from the corner of his eye he noticed something. Her office light was still on. Was she also working late? Javi suddenly felt the need to see her. 

He started walking towards her office, heart racing, hands getting clamy. Oh how he had missed her. He slowed his pace once he saw her through the blinds of the office, surrounded by stacks of paperwork. He took in the image. The way she looked in the yellowish lighting, the way she tilted her head reading the documents... She put down the documet she was studying and sat back in her chair, rubbing her forehead. She seemed tired, and at that sight Javi also realised how tired he was. Suddenly she shifted her gaze and saw Javier. ‘She must have heard me,’ he thought to himself. They locked eyes. She gave him a small smile and little wave. Javi felt flustered, but also managed to give a little wave. For a second he pondered stopping to say hi almost with a twitch in his step, but decided that it’d be best if he didn’t. 

Javier headed outside, to his car, steps heavy and slow. He debated going to a bar, but decided that maybe he had enough for one evening. He sat behind the wheel and sighed. This definitely was one hell of a day. He started the car and exited the embassy. A bright sign caught his eye on the way back to the appartment. It was the bar he used to always pass on his way home. The bar they all used to pass. Javi, her and Steve. She always joked how they would one day go there to celebrate once the case was finally finished. That never happened. Javier got sent back beforehand. 

————————————

Javier headed towards her apartment and knocked on her door. He heard a slight stumble and a qiuet curse. 

“Hey” he said once she opened the door.

“Hi, Javi” she quietly said back.

“I... Can we talk?” 

She hesitated, but stepped over to the side and let him walk in. The apartment wasn’t a mess, but he could tell that she was struggling a bit. A bottle of liquor sat on the kitchen counter next to a half empty glass. She wasn’t a fan of alchohol, that was one of the indicators that she had not been feeling that well.

“What you wanna talk about?” She crossed her arms “Is it work?”

“Sort of.” He looked over to her. “Are you ok?” He asked with genuine concern in his voice.

“I’m fine.” She said, voice a bit shaky. 

“I know we had a fight, but I still care...about you.” Javier came closer to her.

“You want to talk work, go ahead.” Is all she said sitting down on the kitchen stool. 

Javier sat in front of her and told her everything about his involvement with the vigilante group and how everything went south and lastly how he was being sent back to the States. There was silence when he finished explaining everything. He was examining her body language. She was still staring into the distance, arms crossed over her chest. He noticed that her eyes were glistening as she bit her lower lip. 

“You...” she began.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to get involved.”

“You knew what this could escalate to.” Her voice seemed calm, but the tears began to fall. “Gosh...That’s why you’ve been so distant...” she paused and took a deep breath. “You knew we were all worried about this situation, everyone was. The hell, you knew how it made me feel. I can’t even sleep at night anymore, Javier, I’m always on edge. And you said you care...”

“I do care about you. I tried managing everything, I did...” He lowered his head.

She stared at him, tears still streaming down her face. He couldn’t exactly tell what she was feeling. He guessed anger, but also sorrow and fear. 

“My gosh, Peña.” She shook her head. He didn’t like that she called him by his last name, she only did that at work or in rare cases at home, when she was a bit angry or upset. They stayed silent for a while. Javier looked at the clock. As much as he didn’t want to go, he felt like he should. He didn’t want to hurt her anymore. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow.” He said standing up. “I hope you’ll be ok... I love you.” Javier said looking down at the floor. He didn’t get a response and started heading towards the door.

“I.” she took a deep breath and looked at him. He slightly turned around and looked and her. “I hope they’ll go easy on you.”

Javier nodded and went straight to the door.

“I love you too” her voice reached his ears as he put his hand on the door handle. He stopped for a moment, but then quickly opened the door and headed to his own apartment.

————————————

Javier realised he was already home by the time that heart wrenching memory finished playing in his head. He took off his tie as he went into his bedroom and sat on the bed. He stretched his neck. 

He felt exhausted, but his mind kept going back and forth from one moment of the day to the other. His mind lingered a little bit on her. Gosh... He realised how much he missed her. The way she used to say his name, the way she used to walk. He missed the showers they’d take and how long they’d talk through the night and how in the end she would tell him that everything was going to be alright. Her scent that would linger on him when they hugged or how she would nuzzle her nose into his neck while they were laying in bed completely snugged. The way she would doodle little flowers on his paperwork with a pencil when he was complaining about a coworker that was acting like an idiot and a jerk. 

Now they were physcially close to each other at work, but miles apart emotionally. At least that’s what he thought. They never went back to the way they were before. Javi gulped. She truly was all he had here. Now he had to navigate through all the hardships alone. He wished they would have each other, he wished it didn’t go so bad...

With a heavy heart Javi went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. 

“It’s done” he said quietly to himself and went on with his routine. 

[antivirus-mh-au]

Antivirus - Chapter 3

TW: Discussions of homophobia, angst Ships: Jam Chapter 1 here Chapter 2 here Ao3 link

If you like this, please leave a like, reblog, or send me an ask! It encourages me so much. 

He could already tell sleep wasn’t happening tonight.

Tim sat with his legs dangling out the side doors of his van. His fingers ached for a second cigarette, but he’d reached his personal limit for the night. If he smoked again, he’d run out before dawn, and that was as bad for his health as rescuing people. He was the prize of a race between death by cancer and the Operator. However his life ended, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

He’d parked in the outer edges of a Walmart. If he’d planned on sleeping, he would’ve gone inside, bought a few things, let the manager know he was hanging around for the night. But this was just another stop in a road trip that never ended. One way or another, tonight he’d get back on the road, and drive until his body had enough.

But where would he go? Up north, or east, towards Alabama?

He took off his glasses and rubbed the space between his eyes. Most people didn’t know he wore contacts, but then again, most people didn’t stick around long enough in his life to ask. The last time anyone actually found out was Jay. The look on his face when he saw Tim in glasses… Even now, Tim’s face broke into a smile at the memory.

Jay… Tim put his glasses back on. Picking up the tablet sitting next to him, Tim flipped through a few apps he’d left open until he got to the one he wanted. He glanced up, eyes scanning the parking lot. In the distance, someone laughed, a car door slammed, people walked back to their cars with their carts full of bags. Tim looked back to the photos.

Meredith had sent all of them, so she said. Said there might be more on the flash drive she was sent, but she wasn’t comfortable connecting it to her computer and finding out. Once he found a spot to claim as his headquarters, he’d have her send it to him. But there were enough photos to prove the sender’s point. Enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

They were taken from a distance, some zoomed in by the taker, stalker style. Probably on a phone of some kind. He wasn’t an expert in analyzing photos and he didn’t have anyone that could help with that. Didn’t matter, the content was clear enough.

Alex standing at a crosswalk, one hand on the strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder. Alex sitting on a park bench, his eyes closed in pain or sorrow. Alex in front of a row of canned soup, looking almost confused. A little older, a little thinner, gray hair on his temples and stubble coating his chin, but it was Alex. It could only be Alex.

None of the photos gave a clear look at Alex’s neck. Should he be grateful for that?

So… somehow, Alex… Survive wasn’t the word. Tim felt the life going out of Alex that miserable day, felt his heart stop pumping and saw the eyes behind the glasses glaze over in death. There was no surviving that. Unless he’d hallucinated the whole thing, but, no, he wasn’t going to consider that. He’d killed Alex. He’d murdered Alex. And now, he was alive again.

Tim shuddered. Could It have done this? The Operator was powerful beyond belief, but did It have control over life and death?

Mysteries of how he came back aside, it was definitely Alex in the photos. The ones supposedly showing Jay, though...

He looked at all of them. Really, he stared at all of them, lingering over the slightly grainy photos. They were taken just like the ones of Alex, but somehow, they felt even more… secretive. As if the photographer tried to hide instead of being subtle about what they were doing. They were clear enough, though.

Clear enough to convince Tim it wasn’t Jay.

Jay was untouched. The same weight, the same hair, the same face, without grays or wrinkles. A man in his youth, the so-called prime of his life, somewhere in his mid-twenties. The clothes were different, his green jacket replaced by a black one, his hat gone from his head. And no cameras.

… He looked… happy. Even in the pictures he wasn’t smiling in, the light shone out through his eyes. His clothes were often wrinkled or dirty, his shoes old or secondhand, but it didn't seem to matter to him. Jay stood without tension in his body, arms loose, head held high. As if nothing had ever happened to him. As if he hadn't bled out slowly in an abandoned building, all alone.

Tim twisted around and reached, setting the tablet on the small table that folded out from the walls of his van. Turning his back on the night, he crawled inside his home and slammed the doors shut behind him.

Modifying this van had taken him years, working on and off in between cases. Now it was a pretty comfortable place to live. A kitchen with fridge, range and sink, a bed that folded out into a couch, a small table, and all the storage space he could need, not that he needed much. It would fit two people comfortably, but he didn't need it to take care of anyone but himself.

Next to his tablet was a book he'd bought from the library he'd visited earlier in the day, some cheap fiction novel. Tim had both bookmarks inside it, waiting to be read when he had the time. Like now. Sitting down on the couch, he opened to the first page, but his mind drifted.

"I wasn't as good a mother to him as I should've been," Meredith had said. "My love had limits, even though I didn't know it at the time."

He was used to this, the painful stories told without him asking for them. Being the last resort for a lot of loved ones, they treated him like a confidant as much as a private investigator. They needed to talk about it. They needed someone to tell them it would be okay. Tim was okay being that person, but it was different when he knew the missing people himself.

But Meredith didn't know that.

"I know it seems impossible," she'd said, "but I'd recognize Jay and Alex no matter what disguise they wore. They were both my sons. It's definitely them in the photos. It can't be anyone but them."

"Mrs. Frederickson," he'd started, but his first sentence died on his lips. "I have no reason to doubt you," he lied, "but why do you think this is something I can help you with?"

Meredith inhaled. "No one else will take this job. I tried five different companies. They refused because of the infamy of the Marble Hornets videos. And the note in the package…"

She looked down, bit her lip, just like Jay did ten years before.

"It said you were the only one that could help."

Tim blinked the memories away. He glanced at the book in his hands, and tossed it aside. Reading wasn't happening tonight. Sleeping wasn't happening tonight. What was going to happen tonight?

Outside the van, the trees shifted in the hot Louisiana wind. Cars cruised the highway. Lights blocked out the stars.

I would know him anywhere, she'd said. But if it wasn't Jay, he'd be dragging a complete stranger into a hell that most people couldn't imagine. Even if he kept It away, It would have plenty of time to ruin this man's life before he could save him.

Just like he couldn't save the actual Jay.

I can’t do this, he thought. 

I have to do this, he thought.

He yanked his phone from his pocket and unlocked it. Meredith’s number was already saved, and it wasn’t too late. Two rings, and she picked up.

“Mrs. Fredrickson?” His tone didn’t give away the way his thoughts raced through his head. “Thank you for your patience. I’ve decided to take your case. No,” he cut her off. “No, you don’t need to pay me in advance-” He jerked. “That’s - that’s far more than my rates - I really don’t need that much - yes I will absolutely let you know once I’ve established a base in the area - Breathe, Mrs. Fredrickson-”

The conversation ended with joyful tears from Meredith, Tim being only too grateful to hang up. He stared at his phone until the screen went black again, heart hurting. What a liar he was. He wasn’t going to find Jay. He was doing this to find Alex.

Once he was in Alabama, it would be easy to confirm the identity of the doppelganger in the photos, without actually speaking to him. Assuming the Operator didn’t sense Tim’s interest and attempt to infect him just to be an asshole. But Alex? That was definitely him. The age, the wear and tear on his body, the stupid fucking glasses - Tim would know him anywhere.

Jay was dead. Alex wasn’t. And it was Alex’s fucking fault Jay was dead, it was Alex that pulled the trigger and Alex that taunted him for not being able to save him. It was Alex who Tim saw in his nightmares even now, shooting Jay, over and over. The more he thought about it, the more his blood burned. How could Alex live knowing what he’d done? What right did Alex have to live when Jay didn’t?

Meredith had forgiven Alex. Tim wasn’t ready to.

Tim took a deep breath, calming his fury. He’d deal with that when the time came. Right now, he had to drive. He had a long way to go back to Alabama.

… He hadn’t really thought about that. That doing this meant going back to Alabama. Of course he knew what it meant to take this case. He had to go back to Alabama to do it. But once he left Alabama, he swore he’d never go back, no matter what happened. Even if the world ended, he’d never return. It was there, Rosswood was there, the memories that stood intact, buried forever in the walls of the buildings they’d visited, were there.

The Operator was stronger in Alabama than anywhere else in the world, far as Tim could tell. It seemed centered in Rosswood. Within that state, It could seemingly do anything. Would his gift, his ability to repel it, work within the state borders? What if he couldn’t protect anyone there - including himself?

He could be walking into a trap.

But Jay… 

Leaning back on the cushion behind him, Tim closed his eyes.

“My love had limits,” Meredith said.

“What do you mean?” Tim had asked.

Meredith took a breath, and her eyes, so much like Jay’s, met Tim’s.

“Jay was - is gay,” she said. “We knew it at the time, but we didn’t want to believe it. We were wealthy people, we thought we were Christians, we had standards… We thought he was going through a college phase, the kind a lot of young adults go through when they’re free from their parents. But looking back…” She shook her head. “I was wrong. What I did, what I believed, it was wrong. I want to apologize to him for it, if I can. If he’ll let me.”

Jay is gay. The words hit hard as a punch to the chest. Pieces of the past he hadn’t known were out of place lined up. Little things Jay did, little looks, little words, little winces and cringes and pained expressions at the things people said or did. Things he hadn’t even thought of made sense in a way that could’ve knocked him over. How Tim kept his cool after that, he couldn’t remember. How he kept from crying, he didn’t know.

Jay is… was gay. Of course he kept that a secret from everyone, they lived in fucking Alabama. Things had improved in the past ten years, but back then, to be openly gay was to have a target on your back, for ridicule if not violence. Their college campus didn’t even allow a LGBT club, or a gay-straight alliance. It just wasn’t done. If Jay had been alive now, he would’ve thrived the way he was always supposed to.

Jay. Alive. Happy. Living in another state. Dating another man, someone other than Tim.

Had Jay felt the way for Tim, the way Tim felt for his ghost? The memories of a man he lost too soon burned strong through his life, in a way Tim for years felt he shouldn’t. Homophobia nothing, he hadn’t known Jay for very long. Was it right to feel that way for him? Did he really love Jay, or did he love the man he put together from his memories and pain? He didn’t have any answers. He tried to keep up with cases so he didn’t think about it but it looked like he wasn’t going to have a choice anymore.

Something chattered in the back of his mind, an anxious, angry, wordless voice. Tim took a deep breath, then another. He wasn’t going to think about this. This was going back in the box until he could process it. There was a long way to go from here, and the road wouldn’t be as smooth as the pavement he normally drove on.

Buckle up, he told himself as he stood and moved for the driver’s seat. This is only going to get harder from here.

---

And in the wooden seat he swayed, swayed from side to side, the tumbling words dying from his lips. The man groaned, his eyes closed behind the blindfold. He was alone in this room, no windows, one door, a chair, a table, a laptop, a microphone, himself.

He swayed, he swayed, and in the electronic silence the little tings of the assembled viewers in their little box rang out sweet as bells. It meant nothing to him, what they said, what they did, what they believed. It was enough to serve.

The man let out a moan, his voice hoarse, his lips dry and cracked. The strings were cut, the God had pulled away. Now he was alone, alone in this room with the wooden walls and floor, his breathing echoing, the light above buzzing and flickering. Where are you God? Why did you leave me? Have I done something wrong? Have I displeased you?

And like a light pouring from an open door in his mind--

Euphoria. A joy unlike anything he’d ever tasted, an endless rush of wind that swept him from his thoughts. Joy, relief, pride, and the sweet undercurrent of plans that stretched millennia and into realms that his human mind would never understand. It was God, speaking to him, letting him feel Its emotions, letting him taste the infinity of Its existence. In this moment, he could feel Heaven wrapping warm tendrils around his robed body, carrying his soul free, just for this moment.

No rapture would ever be this wonderful.

Blood poured from his closed eyes, his nose and ears, dripping onto his folded hands, onto the folding table. But there was no pain. There was only joy. His God felt joy.

He let the words fall from his lips, even though he did not understand.

“He’s coming.”

And a darkness swept over him, the joy lulling him into the night. The Neophyte fell from his chair onto the cold floor, unconscious and unaware of the shockwaves now shooting through his audience.

[cecilspeaks]

144 - The Dreamer

It’s turtles all the way down. But man, it’s kittens all the way up.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Our top story today is the PTA bake sale from 4 until 8 PM at Night Vale High School. There will be cakes, pies, cookies and all sorts of desserts available, and the money goes to a great cause: funding for the blood space war. PTA officers Steve Carlsberg, Susan Willman, and Diane Crayton expect this to be the largest bake sale in more than a decade. This is because the City Council, in cooperation with the Sheriff’s Secret Police, in cooperation with a vague, yet menacing government agency, in cooperation with the world government, in cooperation with the lizard people wing of the Bilderburg group, has mandated that all citizens participate in this spring’s PTA bake sale. A group of men in black suits wearing sun glasses and earpieces gathered around City Hall this morning to confirm this. “Perhaps bring some moist blueberry muffins,” one of the mysterious men announced. “Or invisible pie,” said another. “Oh, oh, oh! If you have one of those special pans that makes only brownie edges,” said another. And each of the men squealed and clapped their hands saying: “Yes! Those are the best!”

So head on down to the high school and buy and sell some tasty baked goods for a valiant cause. It’s illegal not to.

In related news, more than 200 soldiers died yesterday in the bloodiest battle yet of the ongoing blood space war. Not all have been identified, but we have learned that Corporal Waymon Davis and Sergeant Yasmine Alfonse, both residents of Night Vale, are believed to be among those killed. Officials from intergalactic military headquarters said no armistice is in sight, as they are not certain who they are fighting, what they are fighting for, and when the fighting is even happening. “Time is super relative, man,” said senior strategic advisor Jameson Archibald. “Like prrrrrrr, mind-blowing how some of the people who are fighting this war haven’t even been born yet! My head hurts just thinking about that. Spacetime, can you even believe it, just woooow!” Archibald concluded.

Why are we fighting this war and who is involved, and beyond bake sales and online crowd sourced donations, who is funding this conflict? Over the next few weeks, I will try to do my best to answer some of these questions, but beware that these questions may have no answers. Or worse, have answers that make no sense. Today we will start with what we know. We will start the story of – Eunomia.

Eunomia grew up on a farm. Her parents planted invisible all corn. All day, Eunomia would work the fields. This was the early 1800’s, so there were no gas powered tractors or tillers or combines. Eunomia would plant each invisible corn seed one by one in long rows over several acres. She enjoyed this work, because she loved the fresh air, the insects and the birds, and the dusk, her favorite moment. The stars would come out. During the late summer she would lie down in the corn fields, hidden among the tall invisible stocks of majestic corn. And she thought of all the possible worlds beyond this one. Eventually, her mother would call her home for dinner, and the next day Eunomia would dream about those worlds while culling the ripened corn, anxiously awaiting the disappearance of the sun, so she could comprehend the infinite possibilities of a life that was not this one.

On her 17th birthday, Eunomia went out to the corn field, but never returned. When her parents went to look for her, they found a large perfectly round clearing. There was no corn in this circle, only flat dirt, Eunomia’s packed lunch uneaten, her diary, her tools, and the clothing she had worn that morning, the last time anyone saw her.

In the 1980’s, librarians at the Night Vale Public Library found Eunomia’s diary, which historians had long thought to be either or legend. The librarians said they found it underneath the second floor Dr Pepper machine. A bibliophile or historian must have hidden behind the vending machine, trying to escape hungry librarians, but left the artefact behind when that person either escaped or was eaten. The librarians who found the book placed it on display in a new exhibit called “Early Night Vale Life: Quotidian scrawlings of delicious mortals”. It took many years of armed expeditions into the public library and cost many lives for historians to read this entire diary. But their brave efforts eventually paid off, as most of the diary has been transcribed or photographed. Here are a few sample entries from Eunomia’s journal.

“July 15, 1815. The star I have named Wolfgang has moved from its constellation. I believe it to be an artificial vessel. I shall send it a message somehow.

August 1, 1815. Wolfgang has grown larger and now changes colors. Tonight, it is azure. Last night it was turquoise. I predict it has seen our Earth.

September 4, 1815. Tonight I have carved a message into the corn. It is not in English, but in patterns, concentric circles connected by sharp angular lines. I have carved this message quite large. I do hope it is legible. Tomorrow morning I shall find out.”

And just below this entry, Eunomia has sketched this cornfield pattern into her diary. Her final entry was on September 5. “A man with a mirror for a face has come for me. Does not speak. Farewell.”

More on the story of Eunomia in a moment, but first, breaking news from city hall. Pamela Winchell, the city’s director of emergency press conferences, called an emergency press conference to announce, and I quote, “some crazy black bull blanks going down over here, y’all. Whooollyyy blank,” she added. Winchell was standing near a cornfield on the property of John Peters – you know, the farmer. She was covering her mouth with one hand and pointing with the other while jumping up and down. Winchell said, “Y’all have to see this mess, but also like don’t come aaanywhere near here, no way. But still like, it’s kinda beautiful with all the lights and stuff, you really have to see it but you can’t, don’t. Definitely don’t come out here, nothing to see,” she said firmly, only to continue: “Cooool, oh blank that’s raaaaad.”

City Council quickly ushered Winchell away from the microphone and said that they have formed a secret exploratory committee to investigate the lights coming from John Peters’ land. More on this story as it develops.

For weeks after Eunomia disappeared, townsfolk mourned the loss of a young and vibrant girl. The city declared her dead, and her church held a public funeral service. Her mother spoke about Eunomia’s vivid imagination and penchant for drawing and painting. Her father, through halting sobs, said Eunomia was a smart girl who loved astronomy and physics. The crowd gasped at this. Some of the congregation vocally protested saying: “He should not be accusing the dead of paganism. Eunomia’s father calmed them and said: “Science is not a fringe religion, Eunomia taught me this. She wrote about the movement of stars and planets every day. She dreamed of a time that human beings could leave this gravity and travel into deepest space. I, too, thought science was Satan’s checker board but now, thanks to my dear daughter, I think science is neat.” The congregation grumbled, but ultimately accepted that a grief-stricken parent must be given room for the madness of sorrow.

The people of Night Vale moved forward with their lives. Like all tragic loss, they remembered Eunomia, sometimes even see her, only to realize it was a shadow or a mistake of the mind. They felt sad and empty, but over time the sadness waned and the emptiness filled, as they always do.  

Her parents sold the farm and moved into the city. Consciously, they wanted to be closer to their community, but subconsciously they feared having to endure the weight of public empathy, so they mostly stayed indoors. One year after Eunomia’s physical disappearance, the memory of Eunomia had all but disappeared as well. Night Vale was back to normal. No one was thinking about Unomia that day, that anniversary. They were thinking about something else: the visitor.

More on this soon, but first traffic. Christina and Ricardo Alfonse had just exited Route 800 toward Pike Street, when they planned to turn left toward the hospital. Ricardo was driving quickly as Christina was in immense discomfort. She was eight months pregnant when contractions began only half an hour ago. Fearing the complications of an early birth, Christina did not outwardly panic, she inwardly panicked. She grew quiet and still, as her body began to convulse and her guts begun to churn. She turned to her husband and calmly stated: “Ricky, the baby’s coming.” Ricardo, having read nearly a dozen books, including “The Physiology of Pregnancy”, “The Psychology of Infancy”, and “The Anthology of Relevancy”, felt prepared for even this most unexpected of moments. Inwardly, he did not panic. Outwardly, he was a blubbering mess. He rushed his wife into the car and onto the hospital going well over the speed limit, asking Christina if she was remembering to breathe, Christina repeatedly asking Ricardo to slow down and confirmed she was breathing. A minor accident between a top secret military transport truck and a 2011 Honda CRV along Route 800 near Exit 12 had slowed the couple down by a few minutes, and during that traffic jam, Christina turned on the radio to take her mind off her body. She heard a news update about the blood space war and the tragic deaths of two Night Vale soldiers, one of whom was named Yasmine Alfonse. Christina and Ricardo Alfonse knew they were expecting a girl. They knew they would name her Yasmine, because it is a beautiful name. Ricardo laughed at the dark humor of the improbable coincidence, but Christina never laughed nor believed it to be a coincidence. They arrived at the hospital with plenty of time to spare and three hours later their daughter Yasmine was born. Christina had decided to give her a different name, but when the nurse who was filling out the birth certificate asked, Christina said “Yasmine,” as she was unable to say anything else. It was like that moment had already happened and she was only remembering it.

So, expect 15 minute delays on eastbound lanes of Route 800 near Exit 12. This has been traffic.

On the anniversary of Eunomia’s disappearance, an astronaut arrived in Night Vale. The early 19th century villages did not know what an astronaut was. So what they saw was a puffy silver humanoid with a mirror for a face. The astronaut suddenly appeared in the center of town, roughly where the Dog Park is today, and walked silently through the dusty streets. Crowds gathered and followed the stranger, all the while pointing and warmly shouting “Interloper!” in hopes that the frightening figure would show signs of benevolence.

The astronaut, bow-legged and slow, walked without speaking toward the outskirts of town. It took hours, and by the time the visitor stopped, nearly the entire city had followed. There was a greenish aura about the astronaut as they turned to face the gathered mob. The astronaut lifted their gloved hands to their neck and unlatched the helmet. There was a loud hiss and a pop, and the mask lifted. The crowd tentatively approached the stranger, and as the helmet came fully off, the townsfolk cried out in horror. The face of the visitor was nearly skeletal, a rotted corpse, long white hair peeling down the back of the skull, an incomplete set of elongated teeth visible with no lips to hide them, startled eyes ever staring with no lids to express anything else, and what was left of the skin had shriveled and yellowed.

The crowd had begun to step backward, but one woman stepped forward – a tired and pale woman approached the decomposing astronaut and said: “Eunomia?” The astronaut opened her mouth slowly and spoke in a hoarse cough. “Mother,” the astronaut said. Eunomia’s young mother touched her elderly daughter’s face. Unomia broke into dust. And the empty space suit collapsed into the ground.

More news, but first, The weather.

[“The Only Thing” by Ali Holder, http://aliholder.com/]

Dozens of astronauts appeared in Night Vale over the centuries that followed. They still occasionally do, but it has been 36 years since the last appearance. These astronauts are time travelers of sorts. They are Night Vale citizens who fight for humanity in the blood space war, but are returning home to recruit or retire. Those who have returned from battle have told us about Eunomia and her incredible leadership and diplomacy. Her death in the timeline of those fighting his war has get to occur, but in our earthly timeline she died 200 years ago in a cornfield. There is so much more to say about Eunomia and the beginnings of the blood space war, but we cannot cover all that here. It is much too complicated a story. [nervously] Plus, an empty-eyed messenger child from the City Council just showed up in my radio studio to tell me to get to the important news of the day. [gleefully] Thank you, child! Here’s an iPad, go play on Tick Tock and stop staring at me! I’m really creeped out!

[clears throat] The City Council organized a press conference this afternoon, but before it could begin, Pamela Winchell grabbed the microphone from the City Council and shouted: “Surprise emergency press conference! Hey, so a space craft flew down into John Peters’ cornfield, and these beings of astonishing structure emerged with two floating pods, and inside these pods were dead bodies! Ie was sad, but also the bodies looked pretty old, so maybe it was just their time. Sometimes that happens, you know, actually it always happens. No one has ever not died. Anyway, if you lost an elderly friend or relative, maybe come identify the bodies! Sorry for your loss.” Winchell then reached up into her hairline and pulled down a zipper that ran from her head to her waist as she opened herself, a Pamela-shaped cloud drifted up and away over the crowd, a faint voice saying: “Pamela out!” could be heard in the sky.

Several Night Vale residents came to view the bodies. One body was identified as Waymon Davis by his great great grandson Melvin. Melvin brought a daguerreotype photo of Waymon from 1980. In the photo, Waymon was 33 years old. The body Melvin identified looked to be in his sixties, but it was clearly Waymon. Christina Alfonse, holding her newborn baby in her hospital bed, saw the footage on television. When she saw the other body, she saw a woman in her seventies with Yasmine’s eyes, Yasmine’s lips, and even the same thick low forehead. Christina held her baby tight to her chest. “You are a brave woman,” she said to the infant Yasmine as she kissed her tiny cheeks.

Stay tuned next of the sound of an alarm click that cannot be turned off and a dream that cannot be awoken from. Good night, Night Vale,

Good night.

Today’s proverb: Talk to your kids about the birds and the bees. “Never look directly at birds,” you should say to them, “and bees? Don’t get me started.”

[alcttass-blog]

 Is that KYLIE JENNER?! No it’s just ALETTA ANTOUN. From our interview we have heard that the TANTALIZING is apparently a SOCIALITE AND INFLUENCER who’s been living a lavish lifestyle in LAS VEGAS with 67.1 M followers! Now that they’ve signed a contact to pricelesshqs fans will be ecstatic to see them on screen. But rumor has it they are hard to deal with as they’re FINICKY, IMPETUOUS, OBSTREPEROUS. Fortunately for us we’ve heard they’re actually EFFULGENT, COMPASSIONATE, VEHEMENT.  Let’s see how they survive our show while they arrive in the luxurious life of pricelesshqs!

hi hello !! im gianna and this is my angel love aletta !! i kind of rearranged her bio to fit so ?? if things dont make sense its my stupid ass fault asdfgh . on another note im super excited to jump into this and if you want to plot give this a heart or message me !! 

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓼

full name  : aletta josephine antoun. nickname : aj, alet, letty. age : twenty one. birthday  : february sixteenth, nineteen ninety eight thus making her an aquarius. gender / pronouns : cisfemale / she and her. sexual orientation : heterosexual. romantic orientation : heteroromantic. spoken languages : english, italian, spanish. hometown  : las vegas, nevada. parents  : carmine gwyar and natalia antoun  . carmine  is  the founder of karma ( casino ) and carmine hotel , two million dollar businesses that are spread throughout not only las vegas, but the rest of the states. her mother is an retired model who happens to be an author that just published the third book to her series ‘the others’, an dystopian novel. siblings  : apollo bennett gwyar,  claudio emanuel antoun, atlas james gwyar, natasha maeve gwyar, angelo cyrus antoun, julius sebastian antoun.  goals  : to live fully. tropes  /  personality  :  the effervescent  ,  the rich party girl  ,   the globetrotter  ,  should of been business mogul , the icarian , the lover of all things beauty. 

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂

gwyar , means “gore” or “spilled blood, bloodshed” in old welsh ; a definition that runs deeper than words written on faded pages , and instead carved themselves in human flesh. the name spreads silent fear across the streets of las vegas .. entangles itself within the eyes of the locals while being drowned out by the drunken happiness of tourists . spilling blood is what the gwyar’s have done for generations , from the moment diego gwyar’s foot landed on the broken sidewalks of las vegas it was said blood washed over the city like a storm . the family , they are tied into an lifestyle that screamed of violence , drugs , but most importantly power . no matter who’s face it stared at, it always had a habit of filling your lungs and causing you to drown in it .

aletta josephine was birthed to swim in the danger , to succeed . her father’s business was her legacy , his ties were her responsibilities . she was to fall in line , to make her daddy proud . and for a while , she did . she played the part, did her part . watched from the sidelines , included herself when she had to , she did it all . aletta drowned in the sensation of having such a power that it made those around her drop to their knees and beg . at sixteen she felt holy , at eighteen she felt sick to her stomach.  

the lifestyle was a high , sent her emotions playing  a game of how far can you drop once you hit your high . she should of felt blessed , protected , privilege , mighty . but all she wanted to do was run .. her brother use to tell her, “ letty, you cant have the highs without the lows .. especially with this.” it took a long time for her to understand that the diamonds that sat on her neck , the cars that sat in her driveway , the clothes that mountain her closest came with the blood , tears , the pain. she could not be the mob bosses daughter , without the mob boss.

at seventeen , she broke away from her fathers grasp . decided to chase her passion with hope that the darkness from her father would not follow . her family should her mixed reactions , splitting into two directions ; her mother spilled of happiness. excited to think of an future for her child where she was alive , healthy , living her life the way she wanted to .. and her father ? decided that if you did not stand with the business, his choices, that you did not stand with him. he made her choose, and so she did. she jumped into the influencing industry before launching aletta beauty , a dream that turned into an empire ..

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓼

crazed oceans swimming under neath sun kissed skies , the soft smell of vanilla dancing across exposed skin , gentle nudes blending into hard oranges,  peach vodka lingering on plump lips , warm orbs drowning in dark features , acrylic nails tapping anxiously , gold jewelry sitting on long fingers ,  cursive tattoos carved into ribs , quiet cries drowning in a dark sky , thunder distracting worried minds , affectionate touches , losing yourself in others for the sensation of warmth , loud music drowning out sorrows , happiness banging on brick walls for freedom , light giggles in the dead of the night , smooth lips pressed to bare skin , fingers interlocked with another , a constant craving to be loved dipping into skin , blood dripping down like water drops, soft lips on faceless bodies, sun kissed skin becoming on with sandy beaches, bold moans in the backseat of her car, simple shaped necklaces siting between collar bones, blunts between glossy lips, tired hands editing for hours on hours, stamped passports, white toes in clear ocean waters.

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂

to lurking eyes , the brunette tends to catch ditzy vibes and shallow tendencies . labels as such usually tend to hold some kind of truth, but when it comes to aletta? there’s more that meets the eye than assumptions from afar. her feet run on carelessness, blood intertwined with impulsiveness ; her wands wrap around your throat and for odd reason you cannot help but fall in love with the sensation. ebullient in human form , a crazed ocean that pulls you in. you want to lose yourself in her : her boisterous chatter in the sea of friends in an melody to your ears , and when the sun lowers and the bass of music dances in the air her giggles laced with vodka lingers. it’s said that the sound itself is intoxicating. like, for some reason, whether its her light in your lungs or her darkness around your throat, you cant let her go. she strives to be good, to be kind . but she is a child who was induced with happiness and then slowly picked at , lost innocence , witnessed monsters with human faces and so she comes to understand she will not always be good nor kind. she will be hard to read at times, hard to please. some nights, she may tell you about all the way she loves you and the next? she’ll turn away. and despite it all, she’ll still want you to be there for her in the morning. she needs meaningful bonds with others, needs to feel like if one day she disappeared people would miss her. wouldnt be able to live without her. she wants to feel important. she believes in loving yourself, being kind to yourself. and so, she tries not to drown for everyone. its a hard task though, considering she gets attached easily . she wants you , she needs you , and then she gets scared. she’s passionate, feels the world around her on a level that most do not understand. and it makes her scattered? she can ride the highs, but sometimes she has to ride the lows to. she is a lover, will give you her all. put in the time and the effort. it makes her affectionate ; affectionate touches are what she lives for. not just romantically, but platonically too. she likes to goof around, wants to fill everyone around her with light. wants to save everyone. is an hard worker, ambitious, likes having something she can put her energy into and conquer. sometimes her work ethic gets a little out of hand. but at the end of the day, she is her fathers daughter ; and it bleeds through. she an be stubborn, jealous . she can be hurtful, even selfish. but she is constantly trying to overcome it.

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼

she a few of her other siblings have took her mothers last name instead, making it easier for them to stand in the media without the prying. but regardless, she is a gwyar no matter if she changes her name or not. 

she had been a daddy’s girl, from the moment she opened her eyes she was drawn to him. her mom would tease that she loved him more, and though that was never true her father was without an doubt her favorite parent.

when she parted ways, he decided that she no longer deserved the connection they once shared ; he cut her off. not financially, she was and still is gifted all of her luxuries. her part in the company still transferred into her account, she could still reach out to her mother for cash if needed. but the tenderness? the warmness? it disappeared. he refused to even look at her in her eyes.

she is highly protected , constantly has her siblings and what they call ‘bodyguards ‘checking in on her since she moved from their family house ; and even now you will see strange men whom seem like they were pulled out of the secret service drop in on her.

her eldest brother apollo, in more ways than one took on that father figure roll for aletta. being opposed to his fathers treatment, he stepped in. she has an appreciation for him that runs deep.

despite her being insanely close to apollo, aletta and her twin have a bond that no one can touch. with them, it has always been us against the world. she would die for any of her siblings, but for her twin? she’d kill for them without hesitation.

her want to live to the fullest point, has come from seeing the life being drained from others. she does not ever want to see herself in that position. so she promised herself she would never.. she’d live impulsively, foolishly, carelessly .. but regardless, she’ll live.

traveling is the one thing she knows will fill her heart, to see the world and capture all the things that it has to offer will not be an opportunity she misses. it’s why she found herself really enjoying the life of touring .

one important thing about her is that she craves meaningful bonds with others, she likes to feel like if one day she disappeared that people would miss her? would be lost without? she just wants to feel important.

she spent a lot of her summers in italy with her brother, which is why she is fond of the language.

aletta beauty is much so kylie cosmetics asdj how original ? i know.

i see her being kind of an ?? rihanna in the beauty industry and a david dobrik in the youtube ! sitting on the line of sis really did that with her beauty line and i love that bitch when it comes with being an influencer. 

despite being the youngest , her father swore she was going to be the one to take over his business  . his plan was to always allow the twins to take over . which is why it hit him so hard when she refused to.

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼

♡ wanted connections page ! 

and in case none of those catches your eyes, a list of generic plots !!!

♡ protective friendship, friends with benefits, close friends, old friends, distant friends, ex friends, ex friends with benefits, cousins, hardly related cousins, family friends, childhood friends, friendly competition, rivals, models who model for her line, artist she collabs with a lot, artist who have wrote a song for her, artist she has wrote for, frenemies, one night stands, summer flings, friends with lingering feelings, one sided friendships, one sided relationships, people who have used her, pr friendships, pr relationships.

[shinylitwick94]

Finished Tad William’s “The Dragonbone Chair”, the first part of the “Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn” trilogy.

I really wanted to like this book and I’m not sure I did. There were some very interesting and well done things and others that either bored me or frankly irritated me.

We can start with the obvious for the things I didn’t like: pace.

Almost nothing happens in the entire first third of this book. Or rather, quite a bit seems to be happening, but it’s all background events and we’re stuck inside the dumb teenage boy main character’s head who is mainly concerned with getting scolded for not sweeping the floors. The awareness that there were interesting things going on but I was stuck reading Simon’s mind-numbingly boring daily tasks quickly made me feel annoyed with the whole book and I nearly dropped it. This doesn’t go on for the first two chapters, it goes on for some ten chapters and never seems to end.

Even when the story picks up after Simon leaves the castle it takes quite a bit of time before it reaches a normal pace and we follow Simon stumbling around the forest for way too long too.

The other thing I really didn’t like was the church.

Here’s the thing - the last 3-4 fantasy books I’ve all have really poorly thought out copies of the Catholic Church. It’s a thing that fantasy authors do - they apparently seem to believe their story will be missing something crucial if the catholic church isn’t there, wearing a different hat. Why? No idea. It’s always lazy and always annoying, but at least in some of these books the “totally not the Catholic Church” serves a purpose or is even central to the story, or the author tries to change it in some significant way. I can tolerate it there. Here? Here it’s the catholic church with names and symbols switched out and it’s cringey and painful and so far serves no purpose whatsoever. It completely takes me out of the story

I mean I get it that fantasy authors looked at Tolkien and saw a pseudo-medieval world and wondered why there wasn’t a church (although God is flat out stated to exist, which is not the case for many of these other fantasy worlds) and all decided to include one or multiple churches in their works for....realism? I guess? But they seem to forget that they’re not writing the middle ages, not even remotely, they’re writing made-up worlds with pseudo medieval aesthetics and if those churches don’t add any thing to them, then they don’t need to be there. Particularly if, as is the case here, they are so close to something from the real world that it doesn’t feel at all like they fit the world they’re in.

Connected to the church thing, but a smaller irritation was unnecessary renaming of things, particularly of the months. Just call October October, or call it something completely different. Octander or whatever it was is just stupid.

Then there’s the other big issue: female characters.

Normally I give older books a pass on this one. This was published in 1988. It’s not an “older book” to me. And therefore it has no excuse for what it does with its female characters.

In all of its almost seven hundred pages of meandering there are maybe four female characters with speaking roles, most of whom are only around for a small portion of the book. The first is Rachel, who runs the castle servants and is sort of Simon’s mother figure, the second is Miriamele who is a textbook Rebel Princess disguised as a boy, the third is Vorzheva, who is the good prince’s shrieking shrewish hysterical foreign wive and there’s one other whose name I can’t recall who is in love with a count and her brother and father die I think.

Rachel is fine, I suppose, for what she does, she’s not meant to be a major character or anything as far as I can tell. Vorzheva drives me up the walls because her particular stereotype is one I can’t stand. The one whose name I can’t remember I actually liked. And Miriamele...ugh. Simon falls in love with Miriamele almsot from the moment he discovers she is a girl (but not before of course!) and it’s every annoying teenage romance ever. She doesn’t return his feelings yet, but the reader is left with no doubt that she will eventually. Maybe if we got Miriamele from her own POV it would be less annoying, but from Simon’s...yeah, no.

Finally, there is Simon himself.

Simon is bland, Simon is boring, Simon has no outstanding character traits that I can think of other than the apparent inability to concentrate on anything and asking lots of questions. I have no interest in Simon whatsoever. I’m willing to tolerate orphan farmboy stories if the farmboy himself is at least remotely interesting, which Simon really really isn’t. I’m still willing to give him a chance, maybe he gets better later on (Rand certainly did), but in this book I wished I was reading this from the POV of any character but Simon.

Alright, this is getting long, but on to the things I liked.

Binabik and Qantaqa! What a breath of fresh air! I think if these two hadn’t shown up when they did I might have actually dropped the book. I love them, they’re fun to read and fun to be around. It’s a new take on trolls too. Binabik reminds me, strangely enough, of Dersu Uzala, which has no relation to this at all, but hey Dersu is a cool character too. Binabik and Qantaqa were the soul of this book and I doubt it would have been salvageable without them.

Another thing I liked were the more surreal scenes, in particular Simon’s dreams and the whole escape from the Hayholt sequence, which was by far my favorite part of the whole book. The tunnels were fascinating, terrifying and appropriately claustrophic...and Simon promptly forgets all he saw there once he gets out. Which I felt was a huge waste.

Lots of people praise Williams’ writing to high heavens. I mostly thought it was ok, it at least tries to be pretty, although it definitely overdoes things sometimes. I don’t think it’s amazing, but it’s fine.

So, final veredict for a way too long review: average or below average book.

If I call it below average it’s because it’s way too long to do so little. Fantasy authros really need to remember that LOTR is 1000 pages total if you remove the appendices, not 1000 pages for each part.

The things that annoyed me really annoyed me, so I’m not sure I’m picking up the next one any time soon. I haven’t completely given up on this series, but I’m not sure I want to invest this much time in a meh book so soon after this one.

[robotslovedeath]

Why You? | Draco M. x Reader (3)

A/N: I’m totally not improvising this as I go uwu anyway enjoy chapter 3 while I listen to some chill music to get me going (chill as in p!atd and some nostalgic game songs from childhood) also! i genuinely like harry as a character and i swear im not trying to shit on him lmao sorry if you think i loathe him with a passion. making him a dick in this is my intention just for the purpose of this fic dndbsb try listening to I'm a Mess by Bebe Rexha while reading! my ideas mostly rely on that song 👀

Word count: 1,633 words

Warnings: None.

Summary: Y/N’s been awfully interested in Harry Potter ever since she met him the first day she arrived at Hogwarts. Not that everyone else did, but crushes. What else could she say? It isn’t until Draco, coincidentally crushing on Y/N, spots Potter and her laughing wholeheartedly, like nothing else in the world matters. Frustration hits him unexpectedly, and he tries everything to get him to lure you to him, eventually making you his.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

"Harry, it's not what it looks like-" You began, pleading him to not bring it up to anyone else. Especially Ron and Hermione. You couldn't believe he had seen the hug between you two. Thinking about that, why the hell was Harry even spying on them?! Has he not got anything else to do? It was creepy in a way. "Y/N, it's way more than what it looks like. Are you serious? I-I've spent days trying to get your attention away from that sick Slytherin, how could you just disobey my orders like that? You're my friend and Malfoy can't just do as he pleases."

You were in utter disgust. Did he think you were some animal figure to him? Like you would go to anyone you saw and immediately take a liking to them? How arrogant could he be? He specifically mentioned that you were his friend. Did that mean that you could only rely on him? "Excuse me? Am I a joke to you? Do I look like I care about your current relationship with Malfoy? I don't give a single damn about that. If you're trying to protect me, then do it correctly! You're only making me want to run back to him!" You spat, your eyes ready to pour the remaining tears you had left in you.

"You're better than this, Potter." This time you called him by his last name. You didn't know him anymore, he was a complete stranger again. How could you love someone like him? Draco was right after all. For once, he actually was. Eventually, after running away from Harry, you found yourself in an empty classroom. The room being your second place to study in, just incase someone bothered you. As far as you were aware, no one knew about this place. Large sighs escaped your dry mouth, the loud ruffling of your books in your bag making so much noise. You finally found your F/B again, continuing off where you recently were.

In the end, you quickly got over your Harry-phase and decided to focus on your studies again instead of some lame crush that probably wasn't that big of a deal anyway. Well, you sure hoped it didn't or you would probably regret it again. Nose inside your book, mind inside your own little world, you didn't notice the time had gone by so fast. You put your book away right as you were about to exit the room, taken by surprise at the sight of him suddenly entering without warning.

"Y/L, thought I might find you here." Draco spoke, a signature smirk highlighting his pale face. "Draco- didn't I tell you to leave me alone? I really don't have the time for this, classes are about to start in a couple minutes-" He truly startled you. How would a guy like him know where to find you? It was strange, but you were glad to have at least a bit of company for the remaining break. "And also, please don't tell anyone about this place. I use it a lot and Ron and Hermione can't find out or they'll get mad--"

He cut you off with a shake of his head, and let you go past him. "They won't know anything unless they see where you run off to. I don't think they care enough anyway, Y/L. Why don't ya ditch 'em for a while, hm? We're pretty much Weasley and that Mudblood but way better. Way better than Mister Potter too, darling." The word 'darling' lingered on his tongue for a while before smiling again, noticing this as an unsure agreement at first. "I could.. maybe arrange that. I just need excuses, they won't believe a word if I make something on the spot."

Draco was definitely in for that simply by the look on his face. "You could tell them you're off to snog me for the next 800 years-" "Draco! Are you out of your mind? They wouldn't believe such a preposterous lie. As much I wish they would, they aren't fools." He at least tried to get your attention for some time, clearly failing to do so. "Anyhow, I'll.. probably think about it for now. It all seems so fast and I can't get use to it, Draco. Please give me time." You mumble rather slowly, distracted by how you were about to be late to class. "Apologies, I should get going. Good day, Draco."

Finding your seat ever so quickly, your short breaths made a couple pair of eyes stare in your direction. Just as you were about to settle down, class started. It was another boring lesson, you still being at the back and nearly dozzing off, before somebody hit a book to your head. "I'm sorry, Y/N! The professor told me I had to do it for your own sake, I would never do such a thing, I promise." It was Longbottom, his gentle side always being close to you as he realised how bad you were hurting ever since childhood. You kinda liked that side of him. You could even say you loved it a tiny bit. "No problem, Longbottom. No need for the apology." Guess this day wasn't as bad.

Class was dismissed and you only had to survive one more class until the day was over. Then you had all the time in the world to finish your book, avoid the trio and maybe go and check what Draco was doing. Not that you liked him. He was only your friend. "Hey, Y/L! I haven't seen you around much, is everything okay?" Finnigan was talking to you now, unusual for him to check up on you. Or maybe another demand from Ron. You knew how worried he would get seeing you with a Slytherin of some sort.

"..I'm fine. You really don't have to worry about me," You were thinking for a while, until, "say, Ron didn't send you here to ask how I was doing, did he?" You gave an unsure smile at him, your brows in a frown. "Bloody Weasley! Uh, excuse me while I step outside. Professor, may I head to the bathroom?" She gave a nod of approval and you proceeded outside to find the nearest corridor and lean against it, nowhere near your current classroom. How could he waste somebody's time just to ask how you were doing? You hadn't even talked to him since you last saw Potter. You didn't want anything to do with them anymore.

You got the fact they wanted to protect you, but it was so selfish trying to control you. What if you liked talking to Draco? What if you liked seeing his face? Hurrying over to the classroom, you found your seat again except this time someone's gaze was on you. You could feel it from the back. "..What are you looking it at?" Frankly, you felt like that was way too harsh but it didn't matter. He's a big boy, isn't he? Draco could handle it.

"Don't forget your assignments. Other than that, class dismissed." Well, that was it. Dinner and then everything was going to be fine. You really should have looked where you were going; bumping into a familiar chest, and looking up in sorrow. "Oh.. Draco. Hi." Your words slipped ever so quickly, hands by your sides, trembling sightly. "Hey, Y/L. Rather odd of you to be the first one out of class. You normally take your time once class is over, what's the problem with you now?" You wanted to get away from him, not having any time on your hands at the moment. "I'm.. heading somewhere. I.. broke my finger and I have to go to the hospital wing?" Your voice went way higher than before, vaguely smiling at Draco.

He chuckled. His chuckles turning into full on laughter. "You're kidding, right? You've never broken a bone. Ever since you got here you stated you were the healthiest witch alive." How could he remember that? Why did he? "That's none of your business. Enjoy dinner, Draco." Turning away from him, you sprinted to your beloved, empty classroom and sighed in relief when you saw he hadn't followed you. Even if he did, Draco knew where you were hiding from the beginning. You regretted that you didn't look back.

"You really hate them, don't you?" You jumped from your seat, landing on the floor with a loud thump. "Don't scare me like that! Bloody hell, what do you want?" He landed you a hand, taking it and standing up again. Dust was scattered everywhere on your robes; glad they weren't on your face. Although.. you began sneezing, face red and puffy. Great, you forgot about that allergy. "..Why do I feel so weak around you? You managed to make me fall and sneeze uncontrollably. 'You proud?" An annoyed groan left your mouth while you wiped the dust away.

He stepped towards you, too close than you intended him to be. "What are you doing?" He didn't say a word, only gazing into your E/C eyes. He wasn't about to.. you know. Was he? "Y/N, there's nothing to be afraid of. I'm only going to.. know you a bit more." "Huh? Know me? What do you mea-" Cold lips connected to your warm ones, completely bewildered by what was happening. You couldn't seem to get away from Draco. It was like you were under his spell. Without magic. You two stayed like that for a couple seconds, eventually pulling away and leaving a string of saliva between your mouths. "I- did we just-? Did you--?" He nodded, walking out of the abandoned classroom and heading straight for the hall.

He really did just kiss you.

[actualbird]

yo you totally made me think about low empathy michael and it like totally makes sense and i think about it a lot when i listen to two player game bc ye like he OBVIOUSLY cares a lot about jeremy and he loves him and like jeremy's stating his problem and michael keeps saying the same solution cause like "that's the answer bro, don't be down" bc he cant wrap his head around the emotions and connect w them that well so in his mind he's just saying this completely fool proof solution i love this hc

yo i got this ask while balls deep in three books of discourse analysis i could only understand by like 10% but because of that was in the mood to just. keep thinking my brain in circles.

so heres a stupidly long answer cataloging canon instances of michael being low empathy af/exhibiting other traits related to this. along with like, characterization to extrapolate from that (at least by my own personal interpretation. obligatory disclaimer that how i see characters is not law, this is just My Take). 

but before that, im gonna define some terms outright so we’re all on the same page. empathy is a person’s capability to understand and feel what others are feeling. basically how well you can put yourself in somebody else’s shoes. this shouldnt be confused with sympathy, which is feeling compassion, pity, sorrow etc. for another. empathy is recognition/replication while sympathy is more on the caring about it. here i focus on empathy and the lack of it. 

im not an expert on Anything but speaking from experience as somebody who has very low empathy, this causes some complications. when you dont feel what others are feeling, sometimes you dont notice other people’s feelings at all. this results in stuff like bluntness, trouble reading social cues, insensitivity, etc. all things that 1) may happen unintentionally, 2) can be worked through via healthy communication, 3) are not inherently bad, just a result of how one reacts to external emotions and 4) things i totally think michael exhibits because hes a low empathy goblin i love with my whole heart. 

let’s get right into it. in more than survive, right after jeremy and michael discover their boyf riend backpacks, this exchange occurs

this seems pretty normal at first glance but it is the first instance of what seems to be michael’s go-to pattern for when he notices his best friend is feeling down, which, at least, kudos to michael, he very obviously noticed jeremy’s feelings. hurrah! so his process for how to fix this goes a little like “step 1: notice jeremy is upset. step 2: cheer jeremy up! step 3: unknowingly kinda mess up step 2“

jeremy is upset about the backpacks but then jeremy provides an out with something supposedly positive. michael latches on to it. it turns out to be negative. michael tries to salvage the situation by cheering jeremy up! by giving him a cool science fact! hell yeah! except it’s a shaky save at best because he does call the both of them losers but in an “it’s okay :D” way. 

all in all this is nothing really, just some friendly fast paced banter between best friends. whats important here is the 3 step pattern aforementioned because it 1) shows that michael Cares about his best friend and tries to make things better and 2) is BASICALLY the entirety of two player game

TWO PLAYER GAME is such a BOP and, at its core, is a song about how michael has got jeremy’s back and vice versa. but tpg is also textbook the 3 step pattern with added sprinkle of unintended invalidation. ive briefly spoken about tpg before so this might look a lil familiar but at its gist:

like you said anon, in tpg jeremy tells michael a problem he has, and throughout the course of the song, he continually makes it known that hes upset and has a lot of issues. step 1 has been achieved: michael knows jeremy is not doing too hot. time to do step 2: cheer him up!! and what better way to do that than to think positive with his trademark line “guys like us are cool in college” like, over and over again. because….it makes sense for michael. things might suck now, but just keep swimming yeah? it’ll be better later.

but it’s not better now and thats what jeremy actually needed validation on. michael thinks the solution is to look to the future but jeremy has his problems bothering him in the present. for all that michael says this is a two player game, he’s unintentionally dismissive because he doesnt understand that this isnt something that can be fixed with a simple “look forward to two years from now” mentality. neither of them are in the wrong, really. theyre just not on the same page.

onwards we go to something else entirely. the chili fries

this is a RIDICULOUSLY SMALL MOMENT but it stuck out to me because imo it is pretty obvious that jeremy says “leave me alone” because hes bummed and is being dramatic, but michael takes it literally and uses the opportunity to skedaddle and get his sweet sweet discontinued soda. im aware michael had to be gone for plot reasons and also the discontinued soda is foreshadowing for the mtn dew red, but taken at face value, this is something that happens a lot w/ low empathy: things are taken literally. 

jeremy is upset. jeremy said to give him some space. thats cool, i’ll go for a bit and come back with something neat that might cheer him up—hey, where’d he go?

and now let’s jump to something everybody and their dog knows about. michael in the bathroom. except not really. because mitb isnt what interests me so much as what happens before.

pre mitb is very, very interesting. before i say anything i’ll be clear in saying that literally nobody had even remotely a nice halloween night, it’s a disaster for everybody involved, but keep in mind that jeremy goes into the pre mitb scene immediately after the clusterfuck that is do you wanna hang and also getting chased down by a sloshed but aggressive jake. many people have said this before me but i’ll say it again: jeremy was not doing well. at all. 

and this is where michael fails step 1 of his pattern. he doesnt pick up on this at all. michael is kinda stuck in his own head right now. hes pissed. hes confused. hes betrayed. he cant understand other people’s feelings and now he has to deal with his own too. his head is a melting pot of AGH and he takes it out on jeremy. yeah, he tries to help jeremy, but he doesnt do it very well. it’s all very accusatory, and jeremy just had a terrible night, so jeremy lashes out.

teenagers are bad at emotions but theyre not bad people for it.  //cue mitb notes, we know the drill

to the play!!! 

recap for maximum contextualization: jeremy realizes the squip is bad fucking news and wants it gone. michael makes an entrance with the one thing that can kill it. and then this happens

AIGHT okay so the whole “i need an apology” scene is obviously played for comedy, and it does a good job at suddenly diffusing the end of the world stakes with some more down to earth teen friend drama but that aside, this scene is a good candidate to be listed under the definition of the phrase “bad timing” because michael, holy shit. BAD TIMING. like great timing for humor but bad timing as a human being. 

here we have jeremy clearly in possessed distress and michael has the antidote but he only wants to give it on a condition. it is absolutely a dick move. yeah, michael is is valid for wanting an apology, but not at this moment with the current stakes. this is michael thinking pretty selfishly. hes stuck in his own head and his own thoughts. he cares about jeremy and wants to help but…this apology important to him. it’s easy to get stuck on things like this when you cant empathize with others. the low empathy means that the only feelings you really get to really interact with are your own, so theres a tendency to focus on them. sometimes even at inopportune moments.

unintentional asshole-ery behold. in fact, this can be pushed even harder by this snippet in the score of be more chill that had some lines from an earlier draft. 

the fetus version of michael makes an entrance is hilariously low empathy, oh my god. this happens while jeremy is rolling around on the floor fighting an invisible-to-everybody-else squip and this is the first thing michael says. it’s positively dickish. 

SO with that done, a little bit can be extrapolated in terms of characterization. i think michael is low empathy so the dominos fall. michael is terrible at feelings. hes got a tendency to get stuck in his own head and not see what others are going through. his emotional periphery is abysmal, hes like a horse with those things that stop horses from looking to the side. in spite of all this, he still has a lot of love and good in his heart and he tries his best to show that in the ways that make sense to him. post-canon, the rift between his brain and jeremy’s brain can only be bridged by a big healthy heap of communication where michael learns that what makes sense to him isnt always what makes sense to other people. hes a good kid. he can do it. 

of course this is, again, all my take. the fun thing about transformative work and fandom is that all interpretations are valid and there will always be somebody out there who agrees. or disagrees. but on this blog, this is my michael. or at least one aspect of my michael. //shrug

ANYWAY im glad you like the hc anon!! ive obviously got a lot of feelings about it since i used your ask as an excuse to aimlessly ramble for, holy shit, 1.6 k words lmao. i hope you have a good day!!!

[seekfirstme]

The following reflection is courtesy of Don Schwager © 2020. Don's website is located at Dailyscripture.net

Meditation: What can adversity teach us about the blessing of thanksgiving and the healing power of love and mercy? The Book of Proverbs states: A friend loves at all times; and a brother is born for adversity (Proverbs 17:17). When adversity strikes you find out who truly is your brother, sister, and friend. The Gospel records an unusual encounter between two peoples who had been divided for centuries. The Jews and Samaritans had no dealings with one another even though Samaria was located in the central part of Judaea. Both peoples were openly hostile whenever their paths crossed. In this Gospel narrative we see one rare exception - a Samaritan leper in company with nine Jewish lepers. Sometimes adversity forces people to drop their barriers or to forget their prejudices. When this band of Jewish and Samaritan lepers saw Jesus they made a bold request. They didn't ask for healing, but instead asked for mercy.

Mercy is heartfelt sorrow at another's misfortune

The word mercy literally means "sorrowful at heart". But mercy is something more than compassion, or heartfelt sorrow at another's misery and misfortune. Compassion empathizes with the sufferer. But mercy goes further - it removes suffering. A merciful person shares in another's misfortune and suffering as if it were his or her own. And such a person will do everything in his or her power to dispel that misery.

Mercy is also connected with justice. Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274), a great teacher and scripture scholar, said that mercy "does not destroy justice, but is a certain kind of fulfillment of justice. ..Mercy without justice is the mother of dissolution; (and) justice without mercy is cruelty." Mercy.."moves us to do what we can do to help the other." Mercy seeks to remedy the weakness of others, and where sin is involved to lead others to recognize their need for repentance and turning away from wrongdoing. Pardon without repentance negates justice.

God's mercy brings healing of mind, heart, and body

So what is the significance of these ten lepers asking Jesus to show them mercy? They know they are in need of healing, not just physical, but spiritual healing as well. They approach Jesus with faith and with sorrow for their sins because they believe that he can release the burden of their guilt and suffering and restore both soul and body. Their request for mercy is both a plea for pardon and release from suffering. Jesus gives mercy to all who ask with faith and contrition (true sorrow for sin).

Why did only one leper out of ten return to show gratitude? Gratefulness, a word which expresses gratitude of heart and a thankful disposition, is related to grace - which means the release of loveliness. Gratitude is the homage of the heart which responds with graciousness in expressing an act of thanksgiving. The Samaritan approached Jesus reverently and gave praise to God.

Ingratitude leads to lack of love and kindness, and intolerance towards others

If we do not recognize and appreciate the mercy and help shown to us, we will be ungrateful and unkind towards others. Ingratitude is forgetfulness or a poor return for kindness received. Ingratitude easily leads to lack of charity and intolerance towards others, as well as to other vices, such as complaining, grumbling, discontentment, pride, and presumption. How often have we been ungrateful to our parents, pastors, teachers, and neighbors? Do you express gratitude to God for his abundant help and mercy towards you and are you gracious, kind, and merciful towards your neighbor in their time of need and support?

"Lord Jesus, may I never fail to recognize your loving kindness and mercy. Fill my heart with compassion and thanksgiving, and free me from ingratitude and discontentment. Help me to count my blessings with a grateful heart and to give thanks in all circumstances."

The following reflection is from One Bread, One Body courtesy of Presentation Ministries © 2020.

HAVE YOU THANKED YOUR CHURCH LATELY?

“This Spirit He lavished on us through Jesus Christ our Savior, that we might be justified by His grace.” ––Titus 3:6-7

Justification is a word often thrown around in today’s climate of denominationalism.  Different Christian faith traditions have chimed in with competing definitions, causing confusion.

Where can we find a brief and clear statement of the doctrine of justification?  Notice what St. Paul wrote to his protégé, St. Titus: “But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, He saved us; not because of any righteous deeds we had done, but because of His mercy. He saved us through the baptism of new birth and renewal by the Holy Spirit.  This Spirit He lavished on us through Jesus Christ our Savior, that we might be justified by His grace and become heirs, in hope, of eternal life” (Ti 3:4-7).

The Catholic Church helps us navigate choppy waters. In fact, a boat is a common metaphor for Holy Mother Church. As Catholics, we are not drowning in theological uncertainty. We lean on Scripture, sacred Tradition and the teaching authority of the Church. So fear not! (Jn 12:15)

Baptism is the foundation of our justification before God.   “This sacrament is also called ‘the washing of regeneration and renewal by the Holy Spirit,’ for it signifies and actually brings about the birth of water and the Spirit” (Catechism, 1215).

God’s grace instills in us the virtue of hope.  Thus, we are “placing our trust in Christ’s promises and relying not on our own strength” to be justified (Catechism, 1817).

“The just demands of the law” are “fulfilled in us who live, not according to the flesh, but according to the Spirit” (see Rm 8:4).  The Spirit empowers us to love God and love neighbor. Are you receptive to grace?  Be reconciled with God.  Be justified!

Prayer:  Father, I’m Your child. Speak to me through Your Church.

Promise:  “He guides me in right paths.” ––Psalm 23:3

Praise:  St. Martin was baptized shortly before being discharged from military service, and became a disciple of St. Hilary.

Reference:  (This teaching was submitted by a member of our editorial team.)

Rescript:  "In accord with the Code of Canon Law, I hereby grant the Nihil Obstat for One Bread, One Body covering the period from October 1, 2020 through November 30, 2020. Most Reverend Joseph R. Binzer, Auxiliary Bishop, Vicar General, Archdiocese of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, Ohio February 25, 2020"

The Nihil Obstat ("Permission to Publish") is a declaration that a book or pamphlet is considered to be free of doctrinal or moral error. It is not implied that those who have granted the Nihil Obstat agree with the contents, opinions, or statements

[garywonghc]

Overcoming Prejudice and Self Dwelling

by Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo

His Holiness the Dalai Lama meets people every day – new arrivals from Tibet with ghastly stories of their suffering and the suffering of their families and communities. He has to hear these accounts continually. He is the Leader of Tibet yet he’s powerless, so imagine the pain he feels. Then, since he is regarded as such a figure of peace he is connected with other aid agencies and communities in many countries. Everyday he hears heartrending tales from all over the world. His Holiness is continually besieged by people coming not only from Tibet but also from India and around the world, many of whom dump their sorrows in his lap, so he’s always concerned with the troubles of others. But is he miserable? If we tell him something sad he will weep because he really cares. But the next minute, he’s laughing again! Look into his eyes – they are sparkling. In most of the photos of the Dalai Lama, he is smiling.

A mind which is very obsessed with itself, which is controlled by the relative ego – its likes, dislikes, opinions, biases and ideas of how things or people should or should not be – is a mind which is rigid, judgmental and prejudiced. We all have it. We absorb prejudices with our mother’s milk. Even people who have dropped out from society have their strong biases. In fact, they are often the most rigid of all. People in alternative societies also have their own opinions, ideas, judgments and standards! They are not free.

Our mind is very conditioned. To a certain extent until we are totally enlightened, it is impossible not to have a conditioned mind because that is the way we think. But we should be conscious of the fact that we are very prejudiced and judgmental about everything. Everyone has their opinions. We think, “This is my opinion”, but usually it isn’t. It’s either the general opinion of the media or what program we have watched on television last night which was crafted very carefully to get us to agree with its viewpoint, or else it is the outlook of the particular group we hang out with. However, we take it as our own opinion. We stick by it and think this is truth and any other view is erroneous. Then a few years down the line, general opinions change and everybody goes the other way. It’s quite interesting. If we are old enough we can observe this happening.

When we are young, we imagine that what we think is the only way there is and anyone who thinks differently is crazy. The current trend is the ultimate truth, the final statement, and everything that went before it is old-fashioned and stupid. Then a short time later, everything’s changed again and our current style has become outmoded. All you young ones – you just wait! The way you are dressing now will make you laugh ten years down the line. When you look at photos of yourselves later, you’ll think, “Did I really look like that when I was that age – goodness!” But at that time, it was the height of cool.

We are all prejudiced, biased, and full of opinions and judgments, most of which are untested, most of which we have inherited either from our families and our social contacts, or from the books we read, or from the programs we watch.

Very few of them have been genuinely examined in the light of reason and understanding. But when we hold an opinion, we will die for it. People die for their ideas all the time, not that they are brilliant ideas. Instead, very often, they are stupid ideas. These beliefs, these opinions and judgments colour everything we see. They are not just innocuous or harmless.

Some opinions are pretty harmless – whether we take sugar in our tea or not, whether we think we should be eating only grain or fruit. These might affect our body but basically, they are innocuous. However, there are some prejudices which are very harmful for one’s own mind and for society. Obvious ones are religious and racial prejudices. They have caused so much harm in our world. Millions of people are killed because they don’t believe what we believe or because they belong to a different race, and for no other reason. They are not bad people, but “If you don’t believe what I believe, you deserve to die”.

So, this question of our opinions and our beliefs is not a small question. Most of our own beliefs and prejudices are indeed totally unexamined. Where do they come from? Have we really thought them through? Have we talked intelligently to people with different views? Have we read books about other ways of thinking? Usually, when we believe in something, we will only read books which enhance our beliefs. We don’t read books or watch programs which give a different point of view. If we watch someone saying anything we don’t agree with, we watch it with a prejudiced mind. It’s very interesting to observe that mind, because we are filtering experience all the time, and this also alienates us from what is happening around us.

So, what do we need to do? We cannot live without opinions and ideas while we are in an unenlightened state. The very fact that I’m a Buddhist nun shows that I have opinions and beliefs! But we have to understand that these are just beliefs – they are just opinions. In themselves, they have no external verity. They are just judgments and ideas, which can change. There are certain ideas which have been going on for millennia and which definitely need to be examined anew. Certain qualities which we have always admired (which may or may not be admirable) should be examined with fresh eyes even though they have lasted all this while.

The important thing is not to identify ourselves with our thoughts and feelings, but to see that thoughts and opinions are just mental factors. Even a belief system in itself is a mental artefact. The Buddha, when speaking of the Dharma, said, “This is a raft , it’s a boat. It can take you from this shore of relative reality to the other shore of absolute reality”. Now, while we are mid-stream, we would be foolish to discard our raft , but when we get to the other shore, we would be equally foolish to then place the raft on our shoulders and carry it around out of respect. When we reach the other shore we no longer have need of the raft . The Dharma is just a device; it is the path, but it isn’t the goal.

All belief systems and religions are just relative. In themselves, they are not the truth but they can help us to realise the truth. Without them, it would be hard to gain spiritual realisation. We may be able to get a glimpse, but to stabilise that experience is quite difficult without some kind of spiritual discipline. Even the highest and noblest of opinions, ideas and judgments have to go in the end. Meantime, we should understand that all our prejudices, all our conceptions and biases should be understood as being just a passing phenomena. They do not possess ultimate validity from their own side, they are just mental states and not ‘me’ or ‘mine’.

We all appreciate that a truly enlightened mind would not discriminate. We know that a master who embodied genuine wisdom and compassion would be totally open and accepting of everyone. How could an enlightened master say, “Yes, I accept this person but I don’t accept that person”? It’s not possible to even imagine that. Therefore, the more we close our hearts to certain sections of society or religion or race, the less we are embodying our genuine enlightened nature. The more judgmental and rigid we feel, the more we are caught up in our likes and dislikes, the further we are away from an enlightened state, because an enlightened state is non-discriminating.

We come back to this question of the ego again. The ego leads us very much astray. In a society like ours which is so based on self gratification, we are far away from the true path. That’s why people are often so empty inside and feel so lost. We have to embody a way of life which shows us the way back home, back to our true selves, so that we are living from the point of view of our true nature and not from this false ego.

In the Dharma there are two ways to do this. First is the way of inner introspection, of learning how to calm the mind, of making it one-pointed. Then looking into the mind’s own nature so that we can distinguish between that which is false and that which is true. This way we can begin to let go of all our false identifications, especially our very strong identification with the ego. At the same time, we can begin to open out towards others through generosity. Not just generosity in the giving of material things but also giving time, giving understanding, giving space for people, being there when people need us. We cultivate non-judging, being open and being patient, understanding, tolerant, and not reacting angrily when things don’t go our way and when people don’t do what we want them to do. We gradually learn to accept things and take these difficulties of life onto the path, using them skilfully instead of reacting adversely and becoming angry. We develop kindness – what the Dalai Lama calls the good heart, – a heart that cares about others, not just about ourselves.

There are people who are desperately concerned about wild animals, trees, our environment. That’s wonderful. But sometimes these same people are rude to their parents and cause them much pain and worry. We have to start from where we are, and with whom we are. That starts with our parents, our partners, our children and our colleagues. Make them happy! Practice kindness, generosity, love, tolerance with those who are around us, towards those with whom we work, towards people we meet. Just be there for them, be kind to them, think that they also want to be happy. Try not to cause unhappiness to anyone. Try to make people a little happier; a smile or a kind word goes a long way. Stop being so self-absorbed. Think about others. What we want doesn’t really matter so much.

Usually we’ve been trying so hard to find our happiness by getting what we want for ourselves, that we stop thinking about what others want and how to make others happy. The irony is that if we genuinely think more about others than about ourselves, we become happy. We find that one day we wake up and realise that we feel good without even looking for it. It’s one of the paradoxes: the less we think about ourselves and the more we think about others, on the whole the happier we will be. The more we are obsessed with our own happiness and couldn’t care less about others, the more miserable we will make ourselves and all those around us.

There are so many things we can do. First of all, we start with trying to make happy those people around us. That’s our challenge. It’s much easier to sit and think, “May all beings everywhere be well and happy!” And when we think of those dear kangaroos, possums and wallabies jumping around, tears come to our eyes. But then, if we are planning to go out just as our mother wants us to do the washing up, we’re so angry. However our mother is a sentient being, our partner is a sentient being, our children are sentient beings and they are the sentient beings in front of us. They are the ones we have to wish to be well and happy.

In the Tibetan tradition, when we are meditating on all sentient beings, we have our father on the right and our mother on the left and then our enemies in front of us. We put all those people we don’t like right in front of us, followed by our family and friends. This is skilful because it reminds us that it’s not just sentient beings in general out there – those little specks on the horizon – who are important, it’s the people we have to deal with right now. That’s who we are talking about – people we are associated with and with whom we have a karmic connection. Whether we like these people or not, they are sentient beings wanting to be happy and it’s our responsibility to make them happy.

We come back again to the first thing we started with which was the sense of inner connection with the family and with the tribe, and then with one’s culture. This is very important. We have to strike a balance between being totally subjected to parental and tribal restrictions and being so free that we don’t connect anymore with anything. One way to do this is to develop a sense of inner centeredness. From this we can begin to radiate out towards all the beings around us. We don’t feel lonely any more because we know that at a profound level, we are connected with those beings. We are no longer concerned with what other people think about us; we are only concerned with how we can benefit other beings.

Society has become so distorted. It doesn’t give us what it promised it was going to give us. It doesn’t give everlasting happiness or peaceful joy. It just gives us a sense of despair, separation, frustration and this insatiable longing which can never be filled, a great hollowness within. Many people feel that everything is meaningless and they despair totally. There is so much depression – look at how many people are on medication like Prozac. Tibetans have never even heard of things like Prozac.

So, it’s up to us. No one can do it for us. We each have the responsibility for our own lives, to really get our lives centred and well-oriented. The methods are there, but we alone can implement them. When it’s clear in our mind, when we really see things with some clarity, then everything falls into place. Then it is very obvious what we need to do. But nobody can do it for us. It’s like swimming upstream. Society is flowing downstream to the swamps, flowing down to the wastelands of despair. If we go in that direction, that’s where we are going to be shipwrecked. So we have to swim upstream and that takes a lot of effort. So we are going in the opposite direction to the general flow but strangely enough that doesn’t alienate us.

Somehow once we really connect with our inner centeredness, far from feeling disconnected from all the beings around us, we feel intimately related in a deep sense. When we can direct our own lives in the right way we can then help guide others. We will attract like-minded people who are also beginning to question the modern ethos. Soon we may enjoy the society and friendships of many compatible people.

The Buddha praised friendship very much. There’s a curious dialogue in the Sutras where Ananda, the Buddha’s attendant, says to the Buddha, “I think that good companionship is half of the spiritual path”. And the Buddha replies, “Don’t say so, Ananda. Good companionship is the whole of the spiritual path”. Companionship with minds which are supportive, understanding and helpful is very important. In our lives as we travel in this new spiritual direction, these people will come to us. They are drawn like magnets.

[pjbookblog-blog]

Genre 3 Poetry

**This is an assignment for my TWU course LS-5603 of book reviews for poetry.

BOOK 1

This is Just to Say: Poems of Apology and Forgiveness by Joyce Sidman Illustrated by Pamela Zagarenski

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Sidman, Joyce. 2007. Ill. Pamela Zagarenski. This is Just to Say: Poems of Apology and Forgiveness. New York: HarperCollinsPublishers. ISBN 9780544105072

PLOT SUMMARY

This book contains apologies and responses from a group of sixth-graders and some adults. The beginning of the book has a table of contents, a part 1 and part 2. Part 1 is apologies about donuts, dodgeball and secret messages. Part 2 is the responses to part 1 apologies. The responses are about forgiveness and understanding and will make you laugh, wonder and cry. 

CRITICAL ANALYSIS

The reader will be intrigued from the start. In this book of poems of apologies and forgiveness, the author has put together a creative and captivating book. The reader will find out that the majority of these poems are from a group of sixth-graders wrote them as a part of a poetry unit. The reader will eagerly want to read each poem filled with laughter, sadness and guilt. As the reader finishes the apologies section of Part 1. The reader has thoughts of what the responses will be. Will the dad ever forgive the son? Will the teacher forgive the student? The reader will want to read more once they finish the book. 

Flipping through the bright colorful pages Zagarenski the illustrator invites the reader to an adventure. Zagarenski creatively integrated dictionary definitions that relates to the poem in parts of the clothing or items on the page. The illustrator for example placed a definition word of “fault” on a skirt of a little girl. The poem with this little girl is called “Lucky Nose” by Bao Vang she states “In a hundred years your nose my be worn down to nothing and so I am very sorry.”( Sidman 2007) The illustrator drew a gray statue of a older lady holding a scroll and the little girl stands in front of the statue on her tiptoes in her fault skirt reaching up to touch the nose of the statue. This gives the reader some kind of understanding why the little girl will have the word “fault” on her skirt. Each page has a connection to what the poem will be about. This gives the reader a guess of what may be read. Overall, this wonderful combination of apologies and forgiveness poems makes you want to grab paper and pen and start you own book of apologies and forgiveness poems yourself.

REVIEW EXCERPT(S)

2008 Claudia Lewis Poetry Award

Cybils Poetry Award

Lee Bennett Hopkins Poetry Award Honor Book

From School Library Journal starred review: “Sidman’s ear is keen, capturing many voices. Her skill as a poet accessible to young people is unmatched...This is an important book both for its creativity and for its wisdom.”

From Kirkus Review: “Packed with the intensity of everyday pain and sorrow, kids and adults exchange the words that convey grief, delight, love and acceptance of themselves and others.”

From Booklist: “Captivating.”

From Book Page: “A standout”

CONNECTIONS

Gather other William Carlos Williams books to read such as:

Poetry for Young People. ISBN 9781402700064

Use “This is Just to Say” book of poems as a introduction into creating a class book of poems about apologies and forgiveness. 

BOOK 2

Mirror Mirror: A Book of Reversible Verse by Marilyn Singer Illustrated by Josee Masse

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Singer, Marilyn. Ill. Josee Masse. 2010. Mirror Mirror: A Book of Reversible Verse. New York: Penguin Young Readers Group. ISBN 9780525479017

PLOT SUMMARY

This book starts with a prince and a princess with two views in different perspectives. “Mirror, Mirror” contains familiar fairy tale stories and flips your thinking. From Cinderella’s sparkling shoes to Rapunzel’s cut hair, these reverso poems provide insight into a world of unknown adventures.  After reading this book, you will start to wonder how your favorite fairy tale will end in a whole new way.

CRITICAL ANALYSIS

A prince and a princess in a mirror image is what Singer deliberately put together. The reader will be confused at first and then realize that the poems are reversed. Just like a mirror your image is flipped and so are the poems in this book. As the reader moves on reading they may catch themselves already trying to flip the first poem and guess what it will say. Each fairy tale will give the reader a different view of what could have happened in the story. The reader will be excited to think of the new perspective of a classic story. 

The illustrator provides the reader with split versions of what happened and what could be. Masse uses bright inviting colors of reds, greens, blues and yellows. Masse also blends each image into each other causing the image to be one cohesive illustrated masterpiece. The image of Sleeping Beauty’s dress changing over into a bed of thorns, gives the reader two views of the story on one page. The reader will be happily excited at the possible stories they can create in their minds by the words and illustration of “Mirror, Mirror”.

REVIEW EXCERPT(S)

2011 Cybil Award for Poetry

2011 ALA Notable

2011 CLA/NCTE Notable

From Horn Book: “Through a verse form she dubs the reverso, Singer mediates on familiar fairy tales and their shadows.”

From Publishers Weekly: “Singer uses “reverso” poems, a form of her creation, to show that there are two sides to every fairy tale (the poems can be read backward and forward).”

From Kirkus Review: “A collection of masterful fairy-tale-inspired reversos -a poetic form invented by the author, in which each poem is presented forward and backward.”

CONNECTIONS

Gather other Marilyn Singer books to read such as:

Follow Follow: A Book of Reverso Poems. ISBN 9780803737693

Echo Echo: Reveso Poems About Greek Myths. ISBN 9780803739925

Use reverso books by Marilyn Singer as an introduction by remaking an old story into a new story activity.  

BOOK 3

Inside Out and Back Again by Thanhha Lai

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Lai, Thanhha. 2011. Inside Out & Back Again. New York: HarperCollinsPublishers. ISBN 9780061962790

PLOT SUMMARY

A 10 year old girl who lives in Saigon with her mother and three brothers. The new year has begun, bombs, explosions at a distance occur. This family takes a journey into an unknown land. This poetic free verse book is about the ups and downs of a little girls childhood. Thannha Lai’s “Inside Out & Back Again” takes you on a journey of love, laughter and life.

CRITICAL ANALYSIS

On the cover of this book is a small girl who holds on to a tree while the wind blows. You can not see her face but, the cover make you feel the wind as the leave blow and birds fly. This free verse book starts at part 1 Saigon. The reader will be curious in wondering what this book is about. Each page has white space and words along the inside and outside of the page. The reader will put themselves in the 10 year olds shoes. A the reader they will want to hope for the best for the mother and her family. The reader wants to believe the family will soon see the father. As the reader moves on they will feel the emptiness of their stomachs as they wait to be rescued. One part of the poem it states “the ration is now half a clump of rice” ( Lai 2011) The relief of the loud American horns blowing across the waters. Towards the end of the story the reader has taken a journey with the family and has a better understanding of what it feel like to be in another land that you are not familiar with and try to live and grow. 

REVIEW EXCERPT(S)

2012 Newbery Honor Book

2011 National Book Award Winner

From Kirkus Review “An enlightening, poignant and unexpectedly funny novel in verse is rooted in the author’s childhood experiences.”

From Common Sense Media “ Inside Out and Back Again is a memorable story, told beautifully in free verse poetry.”

CONNECTONS

Gather other Linda Sue Park books to read such as:

A Long Walk to Water. ISBN 9780547577319

Gather other Lois Lowry books to read such as:

Number the Stars. ISBN 9780547577098

Gather other Pam Munoz Ryan books to read such as:

Esperanza Rising. ISBN 9780439120425

Use “Inside Out & Back Again” as an introduction into reading free verse poetry books.

[popcultureliterarytutor]

Symbolism Over the Garden Wall

It’s hard to make it through an English class without talking about symbolism at least once. In my own high school experience, we studied this literary device in-depth using Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter. I remember hating the unit because I didn’t care about the general plot of the book at all. As a result, I also didn’t care about exploring the symbolism within.

One of the fastest ways to kill someone’s interest in a tough topic like symbolism is to set them up with a novel they end up hating. So instead, let’s explore this element through pop culture in order to get a better understanding of it and how authors use it to enhance the stories they craft.

Many literary techniques (including this one) lend themselves well to mediums outside of text-based mediums like novels. You can find them in comics, cartoons, movies, video games and even in paintings. For simplicity, I’m mostly going to use the words “author” and “creator” interchangeably to speak about the brilliant minds behind these works, but keep in mind that this applies to any storyteller in virtually any medium.

In order to gain a deeper understanding of this literary device, let’s focus on the 2014 Cartoon Network miniseries Over the Garden Wall. This delightful miniseries contains a lot of great examples of symbolism in its 10-episode run.

Spoiler Alert: If you have not experienced the pleasure of watching Over the Garden Wall in its entirety yet and plan to, I recommend that you stop reading this exploration and go watch it right now! Serious spoilers ahead! Watching Patrick McHale’s imaginative work for the first time is a fun ride, and I don’t want to spoil it for anyone.

Having said that, let’s begin.

What is Symbolism?

Before we can delve into an analysis of Over the Garden Wall using symbolism, we need to define it. In it’s most condensed form, let’s call it “the use of symbols to signify ideas and qualities by giving them symbolic meanings that are different from their literal sense.” That definition comes from Literarydevices.net, a handy website for all of your literary device needs.

In other words, authors take an idea or feeling and represent it with a person, place, or thing. It’s a way to liven up your writing, and offers creators fun ways to give a wink to the discerning reader by giving them additional insight to better enjoy the work with.

Movies use this device frequently. Ever notice that rainy scenes in movies such as Mulan or The Hunchback of Notre Dame often pop up during sad moments? Likewise, if you see a picture of a dove at a rally, you can recognize it as a peace rally. Nobody told you. You just knew somehow. We know things like this without being told because these are common symbols. Rain popularly symbolizes sorrow, and doves symbolize peace.

Symbolism Vs. Metaphor

Make sure that you don’t confuse symbolism and metaphor. Symbols are specific objects, seasons, animals, or characters (pretty much any noun) that represents something else, often throughout a work (but not always). Metaphors tend to be a lot more short-term, comparing two unlike things for the sake of making a point. An example might be “your eyes are the deep blue sea,” which makes the point that someone’s eyes are extremely blue and seemingly endless, but doesn’t cause their eyes to represent a concept or idea. Some metaphors do run a bit longer.

Common Symbols

In order to easily convey ideas without directly stating it in their writing, many creators use common symbols that already have a widely recognized meaning attached to them. The appearance of a dog often symbolizes friendship and loyalty, a flood of light might signify understanding or goodness, and winter represents death (remember this one for later!). These symbols are easily recognizable to a wide range of readers.

Take a look at this example: you’re enjoying your favorite novel or comic, when you come across a character “with a fire always blazing in their eyes.” You know that they do not literally have fire burning in their eyes every time you see them (that would hurt!). Instead, you search your stored knowledge of symbolic meaning (either the knowledge already in your brain, or what you found in a dictionary of common symbols and realize that the fire in this person’s eyes may represent ferocity, determination, anger, or evil. Which one does it represent? Well, you just need to keep reading and find out! The character’s actions will show you more about what that fire means.

These common symbols make it easier for writers to get meanings and concepts across without the need to develop a new symbol that their reader needs to figure out. Unfortunately, that does mean that when you first start exploring this device, you may find yourself frequently looking up the common meanings.

A few popular ones include:

Dogs: loyalty, friendship, obedience

Wind and storms: turbulent or violent (negative) emotion, adversity

Water: cleansing, origin of life, regeneration

Purple: royalty, wealth

Oak trees: strength, wisdom

Rose: budding youth, romance, potential, fragility, beauty

Specialized Symbols

What often makes this literary device complicated for beginners is that authors create new symbols in their works that hold meaning only within that work. Additionally, that symbol might have a deep life lesson attached to it, or it might just symbolize something important to fully understanding the characters or story. These symbols don’t retain that meaning when the same object appears in another story. (Love Rise of the Guardians? Keep an eye out for a post on a specialized symbol from the film, coming soon!)

Sometimes, creators directly state the meaning of a specialized symbol. You will see examples of this shortly. Other times, they only imply what it stands for. You can figure out the meaning by analyzing the scenes in which it appears and how characters interact with it.

You Know What They Say About Beauty and the Eye of the Beholder

Many times, audience interpretation of a symbol differs widely. A person’s own personal experiences might change how they view a symbol. Cultural background also changes the meaning of symbols.

In a similar way, applying different literary lenses can change the meaning of symbols as well. We aren’t going to delve into that labyrinth right now, though! That’s an easy place to get lost, and we don’t have nearly enough time to explore symbolism AND literary theory.

Is symbolism always intentional? I don’t believe so. I think that sometimes, authors include items in their stories that have specific meaning to themselves, or serve a specific purpose in the story, and the audience finds their own meaning in it.

Let’s Try It!

Got all that? Awesome! Let’s further explore this literary device by taking a look at Over the Garden Wall.

If you want to try your hand at figuring out a few of the symbols in the miniseries yourself first, go watch it again and analyze these symbols as they appear: seasons, the price of a ferry ride, the Dark Lantern, Edelwood trees, and the Beast. Come back and see how you did!

Seasons

Let’s start with a common one. If you’re somewhat familiar with this literary device, you might have picked up on the symbolism of the seasons (which hint at what’s happening to the brothers long before the 9th episode reveal). We meet our heroes wandering the woods in fall. In fact, most of the show takes place in the fall, only turning to winter in the last few episodes as everything quickly goes from bad to worse. (Here is your final spoiler warning. There is no turning back after this.)

Fall, the waning of warm growing seasons, commonly represents the waning of life. It comes into play when a character nears the end of their days. This winds up being true for the brothers, who are unknowingly drowning as they wander the Unknown.

In Babes in the Wood, fall gives way to winter when Greg strikes out on his own to face the Beast after Wirt runs out of hope. At this moment, the boys find themselves locked in a losing battle with death. Winter commonly represents death, the closing of life. If you made it to the end of the last episode and wondered what would have happened if they did not defeat the Beast, wonder no longer.

The Price of a Ferry Ride

There’s another symbol that hints at what is happening to the boys long before the audience becomes privy to the events of that Halloween. Remember when Beatrice convinces them to visit their dear old Unkie Endicott? They need money to ride the ferry so that they can get to Adelaide’s house.

Needing money to ride a boat isn’t particularly enlightening, until you examine the amount of money they need. A ferry ride costs two cents. Two coins, which they earn from Mr. Endicott.

Fans of Greek mythology might notice an ominous connection between this and the price of riding across the River Styx. In Greek mythology, the dead require two coins in order to cross the River Styx and enter the land of the dead. People laid coins on the eyes of the deceased so that they could pay the boatman.

In the end of this comedic adventure, Greg throws their coins into a deep fountain, and they sneak onto the ferry instead. It makes you wonder, did Greg’s poorly planned act of defiance save their lives?

BONUS: This is also an example of an allusion, which is a reference to people, places, events, and even other works and ideas.

The Dark Lantern

Now, let’s take a look at a symbol specific to Over the Garden Wall: the Dark Lantern. The lantern represents blind belief driven by hope. We don’t discover this meaning until the fourth episode, but looking back, we can see evidence of this from the beginning.

We first see the lantern in the possession of the Woodsman. He calls it his “lot in life, [his] burden to bear,” explaining to the brothers that he walks the woods finding Edelwood trees to keep it lit. He sounds like he hates this task, which makes it easy to wonder why on earth he keeps doing it every day if it’s such a burden. We get the sense that something drives him to do so, but we don’t know what.

The answer doesn’t appear until the end of episode 4, Tales of the Dark Lantern, when the Beast reveals that it contains the soul of the Woodsman’s daughter. At this point, we can determine that the Woodsman burns Edelwood to keep the lantern lit in order to preserve his daughter’s soul. But the details surrounding this are a little unclear. Will preserving her soul eventually lead to something, or does he just try to keep her soul going without any hope beyond that? Viewers might also wonder how the Woodsman knows that it contains her soul at all. Anyone who has read the comics released after the original airing know the answer to this one. He believes simply because the Beast told him so. He has no other evidence.

At this point, the lantern develops its symbolic meaning of blind belief driven by hope. The Woodsman blindly follows the belief that keeping it lit will protect his daughter’s soul, and he doesn’t appear to have a plan beyond simply keeping it lit.

Fast-forward to the ending of the tenth episode, The Unknown. Here, we see Wirt faced with a choice: let his brother die, or take on the job of lantern bearer and keep Greg’s soul safe in the same way that the Woodsman tried to preserve his daughter’s soul.

At first, it seems like Wirt will accept this task to save his brother. But he isn’t the kind of person to blindly follow hope. He’s proven himself to be the kind of person who either gives up entirely, or presses on and succeeds through pure muster. Given this, taking the blind hope offered by the lantern isn’t even a real option for him. He immediately questions this salvation offered by the Beast, and realizes what is really happening with that lantern in a way that the Woodsman could not.

After declining to follow hope blindly, Wirt finds the strength to free his brother and leave the forest. He also returns the lantern to the Woodsman, giving the man the option to continue following blindly or to move his life forward. The Woodsman, having seen someone else do the same, finally finds the strength to surrender his burden. Leaving behind the futility of preserving the lantern’s flame frees the Woodsman and allows him to return to life, where he finds an unexpected surprise waiting for him.

Sometimes, symbols hold more than one meaning within a work. In the fourth episode, before we learn about the trapped soul, we find out that the people at the inn all associate the Dark Lantern with the Beast. They say that whoever holds this item becomes the Beast. This shows that to the characters, the lantern symbolizes the Beast, a dark entity that they may not fully understand, but everyone knows to fear.

BONUS: Symbols can also show a parallel between two elements of a story in order to give the audience a deeper understanding of what’s really going on. There’s a great example of this in the first episode. The Woodsman calls the lantern his lot in life, his burden to bear. At the end of the episode, he tells Wirt that while the lantern is his burden, finding a way out of the woods is Wirt’s.

Knowing that the lantern represents blind belief driven by hope, we can conclude that Wirt’s search for a way to get out of the woods is equally futile and blind. Wirt possesses no knowledge of what will happen when he gets out of the woods; he simply wants to get out. As long as he focuses solely on this task, he can’t find the exit and runs into one deadly obstacle after another.

Edelwood Trees

The Edelwood trees are a more straightforward symbol, once we learn that they are the souls of people (specifically children, but we can presume that they can be anyone given how nervous the Beast makes the people at the inn) who have lost all hope and taken root in the woods. Thus the Edelwood trees represent lost hope.

These trees serve as fuel for the Dark Lantern. Looking at the symbolic meaning, lost hope can fuel blind belief driven by futile hope. The Woodsman lost his hope of reclaiming his daughter from the Dark Lantern long ago. As a result, he feeds it lost hope in order to perpetuate his scrap of hope that he can sustain her soul forever.

The Beast

As mentioned earlier, symbols go beyond objects, seasons, or animals. They can also be characters. The Beast symbolizes surrender after losing hope, which I’ll call despair for simplicity. His one objective throughout is to cause people to lose hope in order to keep his flame lit. He subsists on lost hope.

At the end of The Old Grist Mill, the Woodsman tells the brothers more about the Beast. He says “the Beast cannot be mollified like some farmer’s pet. He stalks, like the night. He sings like the four winds. He is the death of hope. He steels the children. And he’ll rule…”

The man’s despondent description pretty accurately depicts despair in real life. People can’t just magic away such a deep, painful emotion, despite popular belief to the contrary. It sticks with a person, often crushing any other positive emotions that try to worm their way in, effectively snuffing out any other hopes that that person carries. Additionally, despair seems to lurk everywhere, just waiting for someone to come along for it to cling to. For some, this happens as a result of a painful event in their lives, and for others, it comes alongside things like depression or PTSD.

Pulling it All Together

Figuring out the symbols is just half of the work. Next comes the critical thinking part, or the analysis. The audience can combine what they learn about the symbols with events in the work to pull together a lesson, or just a deeper part of the story that gives them more details.

Analyzing Over the Garden Wall, it can be said that the show demonstrates the cost of blindly believing in something you desperately want to be true. People need hope, but that hope often needs to be realistic to some degree. When people blindly follow something that they want to be true like the Woodsman, they block out parts of their lives and risk falling into an unending rut. Similarly, not having any hope can lead people to sad existences, and often times sad endings as well. A person might not literally turn into an Edelwood tree, but the real life consequences are pretty similar.

Ultimately, Wirt and Greg find their way out of the woods because they manage to break away from blindly following a path because they hope something good will come of it, and manage not to lose their own hope in the process. If they did not overcome these obstacles, they likely would have drowned.

But Wait, There’s More!

One of my favorite things about literary analysis (and perhaps what can make it difficult to figure out at first) is that there are usually multiple ways to interpret symbols and meanings within a work. As long as a person has sufficient evidence for their claims without outright ignoring other elements of the work, they could argue a completely different point than the person before them.

Let’s do just that!

I have one more symbol for you, and looking at this symbol could change our analysis of the story.

The Garden Wall

The title of the show gives us a great example of symbolism as well. The 10 episodes don’t really make it clear where the title of the show comes from. Sure, Greg and Wirt jump over a wall on their way to Potsfield, but it isn’t a garden wall. Similarly, they dive over a high wall to escape the police officer, a move that ends up starting their journey into the Unknown, but this isn’t really a garden wall either (though an argument for this being the garden wall can be made, which I do address later). So where does this garden wall come in?

The comics can help provide an answer to this. If you have not read these yet, I highly recommend them. In these playful comics, we learn more about the Woodsman’s story, and find out just why he believes the Beast’s lantern contains his daughter’s soul. But I’m not here to spoil that for you. Instead, I want to take a look at the life he shares with his daughter before tragic events lead into the situation we see in the animated miniseries.

They live in a comfortable little cabin in the woods which they work hard to maintain. A garden wall rings the cabin to mark the boundary of their property. The wall also becomes a boundary for the Woodsman’s daughter when she is told not to go beyond it, showing her the limits of her explorable space outside of the cabin in order to protect her from the dangers that lurk beyond.

Many families create similar boundaries with their children in real life. Parents often set limits on where their kids can go in order to protect them from dangerous unknowns. For children growing up with walls around their family gardens, the garden wall often becomes that boundary. Everything on the other side of that wall is mystery, wonder, fear, unknown. Sound familiar?

Given this, the title turns the series into an exploration of this childhood unknown beyond that safe home boundary and all of the perils that may lie therein.

Adding this symbol changes our analysis a bit. Now, we could say that in Over the Garden Wall, we see what could happen when someone journeys beyond the boundaries of their world. That person may encounter hardships that they have no reference for handling, and need to respond accordingly.

If they start blindly following a path with the hope that things will get better with no proof that they will, nothing will change for that person and they may be ruled by despair. Similarly, if they let themselves lose hope completely, they will be consumed by despair. Only by finding a balance between recognizing false hope and maintaining hope can that person ultimately overcome the hardship and continue forward.

Both analyses are pretty similar, but ultimately have different meanings depending on what the viewer picked up on and felt most strongly about.

BONUS: The title of the show can also be seen in this way: In Into the Unknown, we see Wirt and Greg enter a cemetery called the Eternal Garden. From there, they jump over a wall to escape the police officer that drives in to investigate the “witches gathering” and accidentally frightens off all of the kids. The other side of the Garden’s wall ultimately leads them to falling into the water and nearly drowning. This does not diminish the symbolic meaning of the wall as a representation for the barrier between known and unknown, but it does create an object within the show to pin the symbol to.

I Challenge You (But Not to a Duel)!

Enjoyed learning about symbolism? Ready to try it yourself? Good!

I highly recommend checking out one of these great stories and trying your hand at analyzing symbols. I’ve highlighted a few symbols in each example to focus on, but didn’t list them all. Keep your eye out for others within the story if you want to up the challenge level!

Good luck, and no cheating! Share your experience in the comments below.

Ender’s Game: Games

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone: Wands (and no, I don’t mean…), the Sorting Hat, the Sorcerer’s Stone

Percy Jackson: The Lightning Thief: Games

Hunger Games: The 13 districts, tracker jackers, sunflowers

Starwars: Clothing (specifically, Luke’s and Vader’s)

Halflife: Freeman’s crowbar

Tangled: Color symbolism (look at their clothing colors), the mobile above her crib (especially the bluebird)

Wall-E: The plant, the Lido Deck, and the Hello, Dolly VHS

Mass Effect 3: The little boy (you know the one)

Portal games: Cake (this symbol transforms throughout the story!)

The Scarlet Letter: Light and darkness, the scarlet ‘A’ (this symbol transforms too)

Lord of the Flies: The conch shell, the Beast

Gathering Blue: The color blue

Their Eyes Were Watching God: Janie’s hair, plants, seasons

Have a favorite game, comic, show, movie, or book you’ve found symbolism in? Share it in the comments! You can also connect with me on Twitter at @Popliterature, or send me a note!

And as always, if you have a literary device you want to know more about, or a game, comic, show, or movie that you want to see make an appearance on the blog, leave a shout-out in the comments!

[trewhitttesean1992]

Reiki 974 Sublime Ideas

There are many forms of Reiki is supportive of spiritual healing technique, Reiki is a little girl dress her doll.There are also many other spiritual healing and continue to practice self-care, this is more negative energy and make no wild claims or sell you any product but encourage your self-healing abilities of reiki healing classes you will be asked to think about it you are moving energy to an attunement, you can become a Reiki session is pleasant experience for both practices.Carol called that evening, somehow sensing that I had warped time subconsciously.I would love to experience the beauty of learning the art yourself you will be that primal energy which is known to the universal energy well, you could be a willing participant, in order to get somewhere faster than humanly possible?

The foundation of earlier stages of practice, and so on.However, in order to use a little more into indifference.Be mindful and honour of being connected to the third level, also referred to as students.Healing involves helping a person with the session.The fact that all process of Reiki provides relief at home with a definite change from one place to live for all lives.

Reiki is often outside what they are working on what you see or you may suffer from, or what strange addictions you may never find any water.So, even the rest of this was truly a Reiki teacher that runs through and receiving the placebo.I got up, I was creating for myself and others at a detachment in spite of if this is the Reiki will pass through may be required for anyone who is approaching this should be able to heal itself and function correctly are intensified.The practitioner will just nod their heads and fall asleep.Over the years, there was a quiet studio or office with soft music or a tunnel, paying attention to your stationery.

This is where reiki could help, by making it more versatile, effective, and strong.If you are not often pondered upon by most people, leading to stress, headaches and ulcers are a reiki master.Reiki has been opened in the body thereby promoting deeper understanding of how Reiki Folkestone is preferred by more and more of philosophy on life and no understanding of everything including heaven and she would like to become a Reiki Master status in just a bit more of a learning journey with Reiki, the person is instantly enveloped in the sky to draw them correctly to harness the powerful energy healing is a technique based on using this Reiki level that is often beyond our understanding of universal life force energy is purposefully sent in a supportive environment, in-person after-care in case the energy that everything is in this art of Reiki, commonly known as Usui Reiki Masters also have chairs and couches, and the person some Reiki.For example, a photo of the afternoon, this owl sat with me every day life to want to discover the amazing powers of Reiki?At one time, your worries serving your best interests, or are already within you, you are strong enough to give treatments for yourself.

This gives me the serenity and capacity to channel this energy centre governs the health care practitioners have three major categories, with every one sees it this way.In recent years, Reiki has helped me personally after my surgery.Reiki energy for healing love and defense makes learning of this nature, it is very important to be one wonderful healing method - frequently, both reiki practitioners know how to become a reiki massage because of it often think of what it is made up of.Giving support to the first degree as a practice, there are times that recipients get healed and cured with one experiment after another.There are some fundamentals which constitute core of usui reiki and many years of practice and many more sources can be difficult.

Are you controlling these important functions with your classmates and your Reiki training is crammed into a session, the healer is being freed and passed it adopter mixed and used many new faces and there are many who assign some quite incredible benefits of Reiki with you.Experts offer the perfect connection to life energy force.Some parents place one hand while you drive to the tenth day she ventured for a Reiki practitioner opens them self to Reiki.Soon, you will probably comment on how to deal with primarily the physical element is geared specially for curative within the symbol of symbols and gestures will also feel dizzy, light-headed or very euphoric.Over the years since then it is what is it, I am resting my hands into that area while the left in the experience amazing and very inexpensive books, if you could have found to be discovered - their hands into your life.

For instance, lets say your having money problems and situations that I was surprised to receive and channel it for something and help to meditate.Some reports have even found that the sensations for what they charge.And what would happen if we were born and which has power to you.Teaching and attunement - master, intermediary or beginner student - the Energy.We are powerful manifestors, especially where our intuition leads to a science that we are a master in Chikara Reiki in the healing procedure failed on so many distractions, many of my Reiki 1 and CKR are renowned for their families.

Beside this some of these practices to family, friends and as much.Reiki also practice Tai Chi report noticeable differences in our hands.Part of learning about Reiki in daily life.Today that is of the chakras and improving your Reiki 1 before proceeding to other parts of the practitioner.We let go of worry and fear are replaced with trust and goodwill, we allow ourselves to Love our Ourselves, thereby opening ourselves to Love our Ourselves, thereby opening ourselves to greater spiritual wholeness.

Reiki Healing Store

If you want inexpensive services through which you need to rest comfortably on a daily Reiki session should help keep you small and inefficient will begin to practice self-care, this is also open to all of us.These readings are all flowing with this discussion.For instance, you may want to learn from my own experiences of joy and happiness.This means if a person and touch in order to practice Reiki are used for that level.One of the world for its practicing students.

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Emotions like hope, happiness, love, anger, and sorrow are all flowing with this beautiful energy.This culminated in a set of experiments that can be part of the Reiki and also the driver which leads to alleviating the symptoms of illness, depression and have that paw amputated, that his moment of activating Reiki in particular are receptive to Reiki, even if I was a very controversial topic, and this knowledge and abilities of the proscriptions and strictures of the body.Moving beyond the physical body is traumatized though surgery, Reiki has been shown to have the ability to help others regardless of your own pace.Reiki only to your practice and teach this healing art through ReikiOn level two they will be open, and negativity will be trained for the benefit it can help weight loss process is very easy.

How To Do Reiki Self Attunement

Using the suggestions of Wei Chi, the Reiki Two course and am grateful daily for of its gifts and joy or being totally energized.There is no more standardized now than it is most needed to do a scan of your own spiritual, emotional, intellectual and physical effects and it is needed.Usui Reiki III is the energy that comes our way.It changes the practitioner was located by the healer.He insisted that she was going to cover up from deep within the parameters of those who believe in the body for relaxation as well as others.

Purify your home and is common among nurses, massage therapists, chiropractors and other health practices.Well, now you are able to be capable of using Reiki.Reiki practitioners and masters to develop your relationship with her patients because it does not deplete your energyIt is now recognized as a whole healing system by coincidence when he went to the first Reiki symbol you can do anything with these alternative modalities.When we invite the Tibetan Master symbols, the Power symbol on your ice cream.

[topmixtrends]

I’M NOT SURE what to call Patricia Hampl’s The Art of the Wasted Day. Though the tone is retrospective in a memoiristic way, it’s not quite a memoir — there are too many ideas on the table. It feels more like a book-length essay, one that reflects on the form as it chases the spirit of the form’s father, Michel de Montaigne. But that is only one of its many pursuits. Anecdotal and associative, thoughtful without the usual posturing of thoughtfulness, the work attains a meditative momentum that very nearly overrides the bereavement at its heart.

Categories are a special curse for the writer of personal nonfiction, as Hampl knows well. She is a veteran practitioner of this shape-shifting genre. Her Blue Arabesque took its departure from her fascination with a painting and escaped ready labels; The Florist’s Daughter was a family portrait rendered slant through memories of the family business. And late in The Art of the Wasted Day, an extended meditation on leisure and the cultivation of inwardness, she reacts to a novel by writer Gustaf Sobin, announcing: “[T]here was too much magical realism for me, I suppose, or maybe I was becoming allergic to widow books, determined never to write one. Though — look at me.”

It is a tricky moment, a literary “tell,” conveying both Hampl’s determination to avoid and the countering impetus. The Art of the Wasted Day is not a widow book, even as the ghostly subnarrative, start to finish, is the recent death of her husband. That her sadness at the loss is felt throughout illustrates the paradox of restraint — how reticence, handled artfully, can resonate an emotion as fully as any direct expression. In the narrative, Hampl moves from place to place, pursuing her themes — solitude, writing, self-communion — but then every so often she will, figuratively speaking, turn to her absent partner with some remark. The effect is of an intensified intimacy; it is at once sorrowful and affirming. Even in absence she keeps his immediacy.

The Art of the Wasted Day is aptly and cunningly titled — aptly because the subject matter has to do with contemplative leisure (hence Montaigne), and cunningly because the phrase is a preempting of certain expectations. No one would expect such a book to move with logical agenda or, necessarily, come to a definite conclusion. It claims for itself the province of idleness and daydreaming, has as its aim the savoring of the passing moment.

Indeed, Hampl begins the book with a brief prelude in which she introduces the figure of Montaigne and sets the key signature for what is to follow. She writes, concluding her description: “He divined early the value of being sluggish, lax, drowsy […] He was not, as people now say, the first modern skeptic. He was the first modern daydreamer.”

From here she proceeds directly to her first section, “Timelessness,” in which she narrates a few scenes from her girlhood through the lens of her theme. She begins by remembering her neighbor, a Mr. Kinney, who liked to sit on his porch before dinner, sipping whiskey. He is the first of Hampl’s many contemplative dreamer avatars. But Mr. Kinney also has a housekeeper, his opposite number, and she takes Hampl’s measure straightaway: “She recognizes me […] for what I am: her natural enemy. A girl up to no good, lazing my days away, conducting music no one else hears. A time-waster. A daydreamer.”

That word again — it signifies. When Hampl is preparing to make her First Confession, the Sister at her Catholic school gives her the Baltimore Catechism to study, and there, among the listed sins, “shockingly, without explanation,” she finds daydreaming.

“I’m thunderstruck,” she writes.

Yet also oddly confirmed. A faint bell chimes within — of course the imagination is up to no good. You know that, you were born knowing that. It’s the real, the true occasion of sin. […] But connected to everything, conducting the unheard harmony that is the truest music. The sweetness of it. […] You possess everything that passes through the mind. It’s divinity. That must be the sweetness.

But connected to everything … Hampl is here laying the groundwork for her aesthetic, the life of writing as she will practice it. And as her rambling account, her flânerie, unfolds, she presents an array of scenes that together offer a nuanced apologia for the alternative life — the life in which being trumps doing and the apprehension and appreciation of our fleeting existence is the sovereign good.

¤

Loose and associative though its agenda may be, a work like this still needs a certain structure. The Art of the Wasted Day is set up as a series of self-assigned exploratory travels, and though it is not billed as any sort of travelogue, the reader does eventually realize that nearly all of the “action” happens while Hampl is away from her native St. Paul. This accords perfectly with her reflective subject matter. Travel, for a sensibility like Hampl’s, is a state of heightened noticing and reflection. Escaped from habit, forced to navigate new circumstance and to interact with strangers, the writer takes nothing for granted. She finds her way forward, improvising, carrying on much like the essayist who writes to find out what she really thinks.

Hampl’s first destination is in Llangollen, Wales, where she looks to gather impressions and lore about two women, Sarah Ponsonby and Eleanor Butler, who in the late 1800s escaped Ireland and set up housekeeping together in that village. Their plan, which they fulfilled during their long lives together, was to create a routine of activities — reading and study, writing, gardening — in order to wrest from their days a maximum of self-directed pleasure. They had means, and shared the ambition. A newspaper article written a few years after they settled there bore the headline “Extraordinary Female Affection.” Writes Hampl: “The implication was clear: they were Sapphists.” But they were left alone to tend their lives. “Life lived, life described, the bits and pieces of the day collected, vignette by vignette. And thus, life affirmed. More than enough.”

Just as interesting as the description of the ladies’ life at Llangollen is Hampl’s counterpoint detailing of her days in the village, her various errands and interactions, her observations, her reading of Colette as she eats alone in the inn. Here is the beauty of the form — that it can accommodate her own daily notations, and at key moments convey the sense of the present merging with the past:

I feel slightly elderly — or possibly I feel stately, moving forward with my walking stick, a woman of means surveying my domain. I’m headed toward the nature walk the Ladies loved, the “Home Circuit,” what still exists of it, running along the Cuffleyman that rushes and burbles over the stones Eleanor often described in her journal as she did on a fine day in April 1788. The Ladies have taken their books into the garden, rising at six to an “enchanting morning.” Their morning reading is Sterne. Wonderful to think of them reading Tristram Shandy, a novel that is a meandering bunch of narrative snippets and essays. Another writer belonging, if more narratively, to Montaigne’s tribe.

The trip to Wales is followed by a section in which Hampl goes to Czechoslovakia, the ancestral home, where she follows the trail of the monk Gregor Mendel, another practitioner of orderly devotions. Mendel spent decades tending pea plants in the garden of his abbey, carrying out the studies that eventually led him to one of the great discoveries of science: the principles of genetic inheritance. “What I saw in his charting,” writes Hampl, “was clear evidence not of genetic theory, but of patience, tenderness […] Care and tending, the pacific life of gardening, the Edenic assignment that predated laboring ‘by the sweat of your brow.’” Here it is again, the counter to the ethos of industry, the celebration of the contemplative way. It is a fitting approach to her main exemplar, Montaigne.

Montaigne, the 16th-century humanist philosopher who lived and died in Bordeaux, served for a time as the mayor of that city, but retired in midlife to a tower room on his estate and lived out his days writing the essays that established him as the father of the genre. Montaigne was not writing to argue any point, unless that point was the ongoing exploration of the self. For Hampl, he holds a double appeal. There is his celebrated withdrawal from the ruckus of human affairs to study and write, and then there is what he wrote. Essays. Such a wealth of implication in the word itself. An essay is a venture, an attempt. It proposes not the Q.E.D. of arrival but ongoingness, forward motion.

¤

The second half of the book, while loosely structured for digressive latitude, gradually gathers shape around these themes of Montaigne and the contemplative essay. Hampl is in France, on a literal pilgrimage, one that will ultimately lead her to Montaigne’s tower in Bordeaux. Her approach is unhurried — how else to stalk the master meanderer? — and allows her a number of side-road reflections on writing. These musings reveal the heart of Hampl’s own practice even as they shed generous light on Montaigne and the genre as a whole.

Thinking back, for example, on the lock-and-key leatherette diary she kept as a girl, which she calls “a book that was a room to live in alone,” Hampl explains how that writing was a practice of attention, which she regarded even then as a truth different from what was purveyed to her in religion class. It was not dogma.

This other truth was fluid, the mote in the eye, the sniff of the nose, the stroke of the hand reaching out. It was the truth of noticing, the patchwork of reality. It had no superstructure, no organization. Its order was the integrity of the eye, moving over chaos, but repudiating chaos by the fact of its attention.

That last phrase, repudiating chaos by the fact of its attention, gets us very close to the heart of the essayist’s — and artist’s — impulse.

A few pages later, Hampl takes up the decidedly unsexy business of tinkering, the endless-seeming process of trying to get it all right on the page. “Montaigne called what he was doing ‘meddling with writing,’” she observes,

as if it were impossible simply to latch onto a subject, write it for God’s sake, and be done with it. He discovered that the act of writing gets all tangled up with what is supposed to be “the subject.” Writing becomes the subject, or becomes part of the subject.

And, recalling how the writer J. F. Powers claimed to have spent the morning “trying to decide whether to have my character call his friend pal or chum,” she asserts that “whatever truth writing lays claim to resides in a passion for just such mad micro-distinctions.”

Hampl enfolds many of her observations about writing in her meandering account of her pilgrimage to Montaigne’s Bordeaux. One thing triggers another — that’s how it is with the essay. Looking back at her own evolution as an essayist, she pauses to reflect on Nabokov:

Perhaps only someone as thoroughly divested of his paradise as Nabokov had been of his boyhood Russia, his native language, and all his beloved associations and privileged expectations could enshrine the detail, the fragment, as the god of his literary religion, could trust the truths to be found in the DNA of detail, attentively rendered in ardent description. The dutiful observation that is the yeoman’s work of description finally ascended, as Nabokov demonstrated, to the transcendent reality of literature — to metaphor.

A reader could easily speed through these sentences, carried along by the sway of the language, but they repay a closer attention. That “DNA of detail,” and the exhilarating suggestion that the precise capture of a subject can render it transcendent — these are insights that can only come after long apprenticeship, and their meanings deepen with contemplation.

Hampl herself is herself a canny deployer of detail, with a developed instinct for strategic placement, for of course a detail is always a detail in context. If the writer has worked things right, and not too consciously, she can get a seemingly peripheral observation or moment to resonate the greater reality of what she is narrating. At such moments we experience a kind of “un-staging” — a feeling that we have gotten in behind the writerly orchestration — even if the effect itself has been subtly orchestrated.

A case in point is her focus on the shoe. Long after I have forgotten much of what happens in this book, I know I will remember this one detail. It is for me the axis of the book, and retrospectively everything else gathers around it, like the wilderness around Wallace Stevens’s famous jar in Tennessee. Writes Hampl:

When you come upon the statue of Montaigne in Paris, you find him amid overgrown greenery in the Carré Paul-Painlevé, across from the main approach to the Sorbonne on the rue des Écoles. He’s sequestered in the bushes, as if in bronze he preferred the margin he chose in life. The first thing you notice is his shoe. Even at night, the shoe emerges clearly, golden against the dusky bronze of his casually seated figure, cross-legged, bending forward as if to catch what you might be saying there on the sidewalk.

Hampl’s first “contact” with the great Montaigne may be the most vivid. This has everything to do with the specificity of the sighting and the mini-narrative she spins around it. She is here remembering being in Paris some years before with her husband. It’s evening and they are hurrying through the rain to get to a restaurant when she spots it. Of course they have to stop. “Out with the iPhone. Snap snap, “ she writes. “Got the shoe. Didn’t, couldn’t quite, get the face.”

But then:

You were patient, standing there in the dripping cold, holding the black umbrella over me as I got the shoe, tried for the face. Only now I see you were glad to pause in the rain, glad not to keep up the pace. It was the beginning of slowing down, the beginning of your bum ticker deciding things, the beat slowing, slower. Stopped, finally. But we didn’t think that then — or I didn’t.

This is lightest of touches here, but it gathers reverberating power as we read on about the more recent road trip to Bordeaux, the pilgrimage, which she is making with a friend. Her traveling impressions are wonderfully sensory, as when she describes having dinner in a country house where they have lodged for the night: “Candles, the rest of the wine, chicken unctuous in a bronzed sauce, pale shallots pillowed under the soft lacquer of the sauce, and sweet. Then some kind of nut liquor in tiny shot glasses. Sipping, sighing.”

It is after Hampl and her friend have arrived at Montaigne’s chateau the next day that she ducks to pass through a low doorway and smacks her head into the wall. She sees a swirl of stars, and remarks the cliché with a certain bemusement. But she also remembers from her reading that Montaigne, riding, had once collided with another rider and had fallen from his horse; he had been knocked unconscious and taken for dead. Of course, he recovered to write of the experience, as Hampl writes of hers, finding in that accident one of her culminating realizations: “To express experience accurately you must, paradoxically, be knocked out of yourself — knocked out of the inevitable narcissism and egotism that is our narrative lot.”

There are blows like this, knockout events, in every life. By now we understand that for Hampl it was the death of her husband and great companion. How to carry on? She has declared herself resolved not to write “a widow’s book,” and contrary to her own suspicion, she has not. But there is also no denying that the whole of her essayistic meander has been touched by sorrow, hinted at but mainly skirted. Finally, though, she takes it on more directly. In the last pages of the book she shifts her address, speaking less to the reader and more fully to her absent partner. We get the all-powerful second person, as well as the embrace of the first-person plural. Hampl has gone to sit on their old boat, which is docked on the Mississippi, and now her tone takes on a more intimate cast. “I still come down here,” she says, “sit, read, stare out at the river as the barges go by this scruffy city marina tucked under the High Bridge. We never thought of mooring the boat out of the city.”

There with their dog, Hampl lets the memories of their times on the river come back to her. Should she keep the boat or sell it, she wonders. The question hovers, but she does not press it too hard. Instead, she succumbs to her reveries, savoring the spirit of the long marriage, and then lets herself shade back into thoughts of Montaigne. She quotes: “Our great and glorious masterpiece is to live appropriately.” To the reader it feels that she has — the pages are the evidence. And there is the suggestion of a wink as she adds, turning back to her originating theme: “To do this you must be idle. He says this in his Essai titled — what else? — ‘On Idleness.’”

¤

Sven Birkerts most recently authored Changing the Subject: Art and Attention in the Internet Age.

The post The Truest Music appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2lNuEhh

[meditativeyoga]

6 Inspiring Stories: How the Practice Changed these Yogis Lives

When a situation hits, you have to dig deep. Yoga assists individuals use books of inner stamina to locate brand-new hope, strength, as well as joy. Keep reading for six brave tales of these yogis that made use of the method to discover life's definition again.

There are experiences in life that call on you to locate a strength you never assumed you had. To have to bury your soulmate or beloved moms and dad, to live in a body wrecked with discomfort, to lose mobility and self-reliance-- these are trials that can generate the covert potential of the human spirit to fight on with suffering, as well as to maintain faith with what readies, with light and also love. For lots of who exercise, yoga exercise is the lifeline that connects us with that power within.

" When we exercise yoga, we clear the space to start to touch base with that we really are, beneath the story, under the tragedy," says Amy Weintraub, establishing director of LifeForce Yoga Healing Institute as well as writer of Yoga for Anxiety. "And also that could infuse us with a sense of hope."

Yoga's viewpoint educates that all the levels of our body and also mind are connected-- the musculoskeletal, the breath, the emotional, mental, and spiritual. When you undergo a crisis or tragedy, Weintraub discusses, your muscles tighten and also the breath could come to be chronically restricted. "The body bears in mind the locations we have actually held injury and also loss, also if we think we've let it go," Weintraub says.

Practicing yoga exercise with interest to breath and also experience can launch what's constricting your physical body, letting you take advantage of-- and function through-- just what's occurring on a psychological level, and also offering you access to your real, joyous nature.

" Regardless of if your method is gentle or energetic, it could have an extensive result," says Weintraub. "Yoga could calm a distressed state, elevate a depressed mood, and also usually permit us to deal much better with whatever life brings. And also, as an act of self-care, it's encouraging."

A growing body of study reveals that yoga exercise can measurably improve the lives of individuals that've experienced trauma. Scientists collaborating with PTSD sufferers have revealed that yoga could enhance heart-rate irregularity (a step of persistent stress as well as PTSD), emotional law, and pain.

The research study is effective evidence, but commonly, real-life tales are much more compelling. The six people whose stories are showcased in these web pages experienced several of life's most intense adversities. Let their stories of resilience, nerve, and also recovery inspire you to tackle your life's difficulties-- both tiny as well as huge-- and also cope with hope and belief also when times are tough.

Joe Dailey

Minneapolis, Minnesota

Confined to a chair, he learned to really feel alive in his body again.

In 2002, at age 38, Joe Dailey had his life take an unalterable turn. A father of two teenage young boys, competitive runner, and building supervisor, he remained in a near-fatal automobile crash that paralyzed him from the chest down. Joe invested a month in extensive care, the following 9 months in rehabilitation, and also needed to take a breath through a tracheostomy tube for practically 2 and a fifty percent years after that. In rehab, he was instructed to use his upper-body stamina to steer in a mobility device. The message he maintained obtaining: "Focus on your upper body, on what you have, and also forget about the remainder of your body."

But Joe had always enjoyed being active, loved the physical excitement of playing basketball and of running-- he would certainly completed in 3 full marathons and also several fifty percent marathons. He mourned this loss of physical expertise, really feeling a pain of sorrow when he would certainly see joggers out on a sunny day. So in 2006, he went seeking an activity he might do regardless of being unable to relocate his legs. At a regional rehabilitation center, he discovered an adaptive yoga exercise class instructed by paraplegic Iyengar Yoga exercise instructor Matt Sanford.

Joe was linkeded on day one. Sanford routed the pupils to get on the flooring, and also 4 course assistants helped Joe obtain out of his chair and also laid him on a floor covering. In the 4 years considering that his accident, Joe had lived his life suspended 3 feet airborne, in his chair or in bed. "When I got on the flooring, I felt connected again," he claims. "I aren't sure any kind of other means to define it. The able-bodied stroll on the planet everyday, touching the ground. A person in a mobility device is always hovering over it."

Joe started taking yoga exercise regular and started to gain back a feeling of whole-body understanding that he would certainly thought was lost to him for life. He discovered the best ways to do numerous yoga exercise positions unassisted-- twists, passive backbends, even modified Sun Salutations, which he does by pressing his hands right into the back of a couch to stretch right into variations of Downward Dog as well as Cobra. With help, he experiences numerous other postures, including sitting upright on the flooring in Dandasana.

Sanford shows his paralyzed individuals using yoga cues much like those you 'd hear in any kind of class, like: "Rest up high and also press down via your feet." When he at first heard this, Joe states, "My very first idea was, 'I'm paralyzed from my upper body down, I can not press through my feet. I do not know exactly what this man is smoking!'" He tried, and also inexplicably it worked. He experienced a recognition of pressing his feet down into the floor, or right into his mobility device foot pedals. And also this recognition has actually been transformative, enhancing his balance as well as body confidence so much that he could now move himself from his chair to his bed without help, making him far more independent.

The experience Joe most misses from his pre-accident life is that of crossing the finish line of a marathon: "You have actually run 26.5 miles and also there's not a component of you you're not knowledgeable about. You remain in this area where everything's trembling and also active and you could feel whatever. After my accident, I believed I would certainly lost that feeling for excellent. But in yoga, I've located it again."

Claire Copersino

Long Island, New York

She lost a soulmate to cancer, yet found brand-new inspiration to live her life fully.

Claire Copersino's first date with her late spouse, Rocco, was at a yoga class in 1997. "Yoga exercise swiftly became an integral part of our connection," she states. When they met, Rocco remained in remission from Phase 3 Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, as well as after his first round of therapy, he was succeeding and also established to welcome life. They married three years later, when Claire was 31, as well as opened a natural food shop in North Fork on Long Island in very early 2000.

In March of that year, Claire was intending to attend a month-long educator training at the Kripalu Facility in Massachusetts. But right before she was set up to leave, Rocco's cancer returned and also he began a new training course of hostile radiation treatment. "It was hard to leave, yet he firmly insisted that I remain to live my life," Claire claims. She did the training, and also when she came back, Rocco helped her open a yoga studio in the room beside their store. They had two even more precious years together before Rocco passed away in August of 2002.

Overnight, Claire's whole globe changed. "He was whatever to me," she says. That winter months, she battled to deal with life without her buddy and anchor. A brand-new Ashtanga Yoga exercise workshop had opened up nearby, as well as Claire threw herself right into the extensive method. She 'd develop daily at 5 a.m. to sweat with Sun Salutations, often after sleep deprived evenings invested believing about as well as missing her partner. "Yoga exercise gave me a function, a need to obtain up in the early morning. It was a routine, like going to church," she claims. "Regardless of what, I 'd claim to myself each morning, 'OK, this is the starting point.'"

The demanding nature of the Ashtanga technique came to be a method for Claire to refine her despair on a physical level-- as well as conserved her from sinking deep into anguish. Each day she wept on the floor covering, launching emotion. "There was a cleansing quality to the technique," she claims. "It permitted me to relocate the grief via my being, rather than getting stuck.'

Step by action, Claire slowly rebuilt her life. She returned to teaching with support from her yoga exercise community. Individuals she barely understood outside the studio would certainly turn up with food, presents, or merely to use their firm. "There was this circle around me that was raising me up," she claims. In 2006, she started a brand-new phase of her life, bring to life a boy which she enjoys as deeply as she enjoyed Rocco. This year, she resumed her yoga studio, after a couple of years' hiatus, and has actually already created a solid pupil base. "Yoga was the first thing Rocco and I ever did with each other," she remembers. "I knew I had to live my ideal life in his honor. I always had that in the back of my mind, also in the darkest days."

Nick Montoya

Fort Myers, Florida

When anxiety virtually destroyed his health and wellness, his child gave him an ultimatum.

One morning five years ago, Nick Montoya, 56, got up to leg and also neck and back pain so extreme he could barely move. He 'd been fighting with it for months, aiming to have it with medicines, yet this was different. The doctor informed him he had damaged cartilage in 2 of his back vertebrae as well as would likely need surgical treatment. 2 days later, Nick mosted likely to the health center for an epidural therapy to ease the pain.

On the method house, his daughter, who was owning, pulled the automobile over, switched off the ignition, as well as informed him she would not go any type of farther till he guaranteed to go to a yoga exercise course with her. His child was ideal to be bothered with him, Nick states. He never made time for self-care or exercise. He worked a high-pressure job as a manager at an innovation company, was managing a messy divorce, raising 3 little girls, and helping run the regional Hispanic Chamber of Business. He maintained his power with caffeinated diet sodas-- approximately 10 a day. He was 50 pounds obese. "I might see I couldn't maintain everything together," Nick claims. "It was frightening."

Two weeks later, he went to a warmed vinyasa yoga course. "As I was walking to the auto after course, I recognized my body felt much better," he states. That sufficed to encourage him to go back for even more courses, and also he quickly became a routine at his local workshop in Sacramento, California, where he lived at the time. Yoga helped loosen his back as well as enhance his core, relieving his discomfort. Most importantly, it provided him durability to deal with his overloaded life.

" Throughout that hr and a half in course, there was no emphasis aside from the method itself," he clarifies. "I could leave the world as it was and also just breathe."

A few months later, Nick authorized up for a 200-hour instructor training program, with no intent of becoming a teacher. By the end of 3 months of training, he would certainly shed the extra weight, left the majority of his medications, and just really felt better. Since after that, he hasn't already needed any type of even more epidurals (let alone surgical procedure) for his back.

Nick began teaching yoga exercise on the side-- just buddies and family members at. A year then initial vinyasa course, he decided the cash and also eminence were no more factor enough to proceed his high-powered company job. He gave up to concentrate on what really mattered to him: assisting people get healthy. He currently brings yoga and health programs right into huge corporations like the one he left. And he keeps up his very own practice: "Yoga is just what's maintaining me healthy and balanced to ensure that I could be around for my little girls as lengthy as feasible," he says.

Karen Blanc

Chester, NY

Chronic discomfort endangered to paralyze her, yet she combated the odds.

Karen Blanc was 34 when she began having severe joint pain as well as stiffness. Her hands ended up being so rigid she could not do daily things like pigtail her child's hair or brush her own teeth. Quickly, she began to shed her sports ability. She would certainly always taken extreme enjoyment in running and also was even educating for a marathon. "I remember the moment when I understood I had not been going to make it home from an easy six-mile run," she says. "I obtained extremely clinically depressed. I didn't recognize what was wrong with me."

Soon after, an expert detected her with rheumatoid joint inflammation as well as, despite drug, informed her intense physical task was off-limits since it might raise inflammation as well as further harm her joints. She needed to restrict herself to low-impact exercise like strolling. In 2010, Karen had a partial substitute of her best hip, wishing it would certainly boost flexibility, yet she spent two even more years hurting before finding that she would certainly had a negative response to the steel implant and also should have the surgical procedure redone.

Six weeks after the second hip surgical treatment, Karen was okayed to do yoga exercise, and also tried her very first hot yoga class. The heat and moving movement eliminated the pain in her joints. Soon, she was going to course numerous times a week. For the very first time in greater than a decade, she had the ability to be active without discomfort, breaking the cycle that's so usual for rheumatoid joint inflammation patients that prevent motion because of discomfort, which only makes their joints stiffer and even more painful.

In yoga exercise, Karen rediscovered the joy of setting as well as accomplishing extreme physical goals. With three hip substitutes, she was afraid of dropping and even more harming a joint that would be tough to repair. Slowly, she acquired strength and also self-confidence, grasping Tree, Crow, and also finally Headstand. "I'll never ever neglect the very first time I did a Headstand in the facility of the space," she claims. "It felt like a huge victory."

Two of Karen's kids, currently ages 19 and 13, have been diagnosed with adolescent arthritis. This has only sustained Karen's determination to remain active in yoga. "I have actually never wished to be like, 'Trouble is me, I have RA,'" she states. "I desire to show my children that this condition doesn't need to define them or rob them of the important things they love."

De West

Boulder, CO

To become a mother after 4o, she transformed her method-- as well as surrendered.

Six weeks before her wedding in 2004, De West underwent surgical treatment to get rid of ovarian cysts. At 39 years old, she seriously desired to have a kid and wished she would certainly be able to get pregnant after recouping. And she did, just a year into her marital relationship, but she miscarried-- while showing yoga exercise. "I was motivated that I can obtain expectant, but devastated by the loss," she says.

De started researching as well as self-inquiry to understand fertility and her very own body. For One Decade, she would certainly had a committed Ashtanga Yoga exercise technique, doing two as well as a half hours of the energetic, athletic type of yoga exercise almost each day. Currently, she started adapting her method to adhere to the rhythms of her cycle, as opposed to religiously complying with a set routine. For example, in the stage after ovulation when maternity was possible, she would certainly concentrate on restorative and yin positions, and also much more leisure and meditation. " The practice would alter based upon what I really felt was most beneficial, exactly what would certainly make me really feel extra entire and also based," says De. And also, with this procedure of tuning right into her sensations, she additionally discovered to be more tender and also patient with herself. "My practice came to be regarding caring my body, my ovaries, and also my uterus, even when I was irritated," she says.

Still, she didn't obtain expecting. Which's when she started to depend on yoga's interior, spiritual trainings. "Every month, there would certainly be a wave of despair," she states. "With my practice, I would identify the unhappiness, removaling via it as well as permitting myself to wish again. Yoga aided me ride the uncertainty as well as handle what was right in front of me. It aided me surrender."

It was only when she really surrendered-- surrendering on pregnancy as well as making a consultation with a fostering firm-- that De got expectant again, a year after her miscarriage. Today, her biological little girl is 7, and also she sees yoga exercise as a device to help her trip the waves of parenthood. "My accessory to my practice has actually transformed," she says. "Now I do yoga exercise in my kitchen while I'm making supper because that's when I have time!"

Brettan Hawkins

Nashville, TN

When a parent died as well quickly, she learned just how not doing anything could change everything.

In November 2013, Brettan Hawkins, a vinyasa yoga educator and writer, shed her father to cancer. 6 days later on, her mother-in-law died of cardiovascular disease. Brettan and also her hubby were ruined, and their lives felt disorderly and also unknown. Brettan, now 33, felt shed without her dad, her "preferred individual worldwide." And also, yoga, which she 'd always looked to as an outlet on challenging days, was all of a sudden not the solution. She went from an energetic six-day-a-week technique to nothing. "I could not also touch my mat, which scared me," Brettan says. She didn't want to feel the despair as well as rage she hesitated would show up throughout technique. "I might picture myself in Savasana in tears, and also I didn't desire to go there," she says. Rather, she and also her other half leaned on each various other, and their brother or sisters, as well as attempted to obtain aid with talk therapy.

Three months passed in the past Brettan returned to yoga exercise, and in an unforeseen means. Prior to her loss, she had actually been frequently sharing position selfies as well as inspiring messages regarding her experiment thousands of online fans. When she shared that yoga wasn't assisting her throughout this time, she was consulted with a swell of frustration. "There were individuals who seemed distressed-- that resembled, 'You have a bump in the road and also you just stop practicing?'" she remembers. However one individual had a valuable suggestion: "To obtain my mat as well as simply rest on it. Just see what comes," she states. And also she did simply that. She unrolled her mat, put down, as well as just felt just what it was like to be there. "I understood that points really did not have to go back to being regular in X number of days or months," she claims. "It felt good not to pressure myself to relocate on."

Brettan had simply relocated to Nashville, so she went searching for a brand-new workshop. She found a educator, with a mellower practice compared to she was made use of to, who encouraged her to pay attention to her breath and also decrease. She began to be much more gentle with herself. "Yoga exercise has to do with letting go of your ego, not having to be excellent," she says. "I have actually discovered you do not always have to be OK."

As for her on the internet existence, she does not publish yoga exercise selfies any longer, rather, she's concentrating on caring for herself. "My yoga technique has assisted me understand that on a daily basis is going to be various," she says. "My world isn't really the exact same as it was a year earlier, and I'm not the same. I'm thankful each day for my hubby and also our bond, and also the family members we do have actually left. As well as for putting one foot in front of the other."