#Mantra Herbal

[imsanjeevjuneja]

सपनों को पूरा करने के लिए पूरे efforts करें।

[numbersandstars]

Nakshatras Paranormal Abilities List- Part 1

Here is a list of paranormal abilities of each nakshatra. It is a short list and needs to be more complete. I'm working on it but feel free to share any other abilities with your nakshatras in the comments or via pm. Thanks.❤️

Ashvini: Miraculous healing, spirit channeling, discovery of secrets on life and immortality, reading omens. Connection with horses and a warrior goddess. Bharani: Occult abilities through fertility, in touch with the other planes, pyramids and tombs of saints trigger deep changes. Connection with ghosts, goddess energies (and shakti). Krittika: Occult abilities through rituals under the moonlight. A historical site or a historical artifact triggers deep changes. Healing herbs, fire rituals. Connection with spirits. Rohini: Ability for a strong devotion/bhakti. Occult knowledge about herbs. Rituals performed under the moonlight. Connection with Krishna, a snake or a Naga (divine serpent). Mrigashirsha: Interest in tantra, healing gifts, rituals under the Moonlight, plant-based rituals. Connection with Nagas (divine serpents) and snakes. Ardra: Healing (especially the animals), magic potions, extreme occult practices/penances, weather predictions, prayers are heard. Connection with Shiva, skulls, bones, dogs, wolves, wild animals. Punarvasu: Intuition, subtle technology, prayers are heard. Connection with cats, Rama. Pushya: Gift in performing rituals, chanting prayers/mantras. Connection with the Moon (Full Moon and New Moon), a goddess. Ashlesha: Intuition, hypnotic charm, ability to read people's mind, herbal healing, Vastu/Feng Shui skills, dragon magick, banishing spirits. Connection with cats, snakes, Nagas (divine serpents), dragons. Magha: NDE, out of body experiences, powerful spiritual knowledge, communication with the ancestors, ghosts. Connection with the ancestors, Sun, solar gods, yogis. Purva Phalguni: Traditional occult knowledge: mantras, astrology, palmistry... Gift of luck, healing abilities. Connection with Shiva, shiv-ling, solar gods, Sun. Uttara Phalguni: Intuitive healing. Connection with solar gods, Sun, Nandi. Hasta: Palmistry, tarot card reading, mantras, spells, incantations, astrology, healing hands, reiki, pranic healing, healing animals. Connection with the Sun, Gayatri. Chitra: Visualisation practices, visions of the gods, using pictures as talismans, astrology, keeps secrets. Connection with Durga.

See part 2: from Svati to Revati here.

[whimsigothwitch]

Everyday witchy tips

Not everyone has time for daily spells or rituals, here are some witchy acts to incorporate a bit of magic into your day!

Glamour magic while getting ready for the day, while washing your face first thing in the morning imagine washing away all negative thoughts. Draw sigils with sunscreen/daycream/foundation on your face, incorporate color magic (eyeshadow, lipstick, nails). Braid your hair with an intention for the day (being protected against harm, attracting luck etc.)

Color magic while getting dressed; red for confidence and strength, yellow and orange for happiness and energy, green for attracting luck and abundance, blue for focus and communication, pink for (self)love, purple for intuition and wisdom, black for protection, white for purity and protection. Gold jewelry for the sun, succes and prosperity, and silver jewelry for the moon and intuition.

Drinking herbal tea, start the day with a warm cup of tea. This can be made with fresh herbs from the garden, or from tea bags. Stir clockwise with a teaspoon or the teabag it self to put an intention in your tea for the day.

Crystals in pockets, bags, even your bra. Choose an crystal for the day, charge it with it’s intention and carry it with you.

Shielding from negative energies, imagine being surrounded by a white light that protects you. Or have a short mantra that you can say to yourself or in your head when needed, this can be as simple as 'I am protected against negative energies in any shape or from'

Showering, washing any lingering energy, thoughts or negative feelings away from the day. If you have trouble imagining negative energy washing off you in a color, see the soap you are washing off as this energy. Watch it flow away from you into the shower drain.

[butterflyexe]

Hearts attached 🖤

Max Verstappen x Reader Warning: Hints of sexual themes, desperation, parental neglect, depression, assault

A/N: This is my first time writing a fic and I am completely an amature in this department. This took me about a week of researching of how to write and what to write. I had to delete and rewrite it several times and half of the words I wasn't even familiar with 3 days ago. Please treat me with kindness.

In which some people are born with their souls entangled with their other halves which allows them to fell the emotions of their soulmate.

Soulmates are the two halves of the same eternal flame. When an eternal flame splits into two, it forms two halves of the same soul. When one of the flames are born in a human form, the other does too. They are bound to each other through heart.

In a world where only a select few are born with intertwined souls, Max Verstappen and Vivian Eloise found themselves bound by this extraordinary connection.

Max, a man hardened by his father’s relentless pursuit of victory, was a stark contrast to Vivian, a woman whose spirit was as vibrant as her laughter. Their lives were separate, yet together, connected by an invisible thread of shared emotions.

Max’s life was a constant race, a battle against himself. His father’s mantra, “Second winner is the first loser” echoed in his mind, shaping him into a man always on edge, always pushing, always striving. His emotions were a turbulent sea of anxiety, frustration, and exhaustion. He often over did himself, fighting himself to be better than the rest. He would do everything, go to any extent just to make his father proud. Yet, amidst this storm, there was a source of light and comfort - Vivian.

Vivian was a ray of sunshine. Raised in a family that nurtured her with love and kindness, she radiated happiness. Her laughter was infectious, her spirit unbreakable. But she also felt a pull, a tug at her heartstrings whenever Max was overwhelmed. She felt his emotions as if they were her own, and she found herself wanting to soothe his troubled soul.

Whenever Max was engulfed in self-doubt, feeling insecure, Vivian would find joy in the simplest things. She would dance in the rain, sing at the top of her lungs, lose herself in the pages of a good book or pour her heart out on the canvas. Her happiness flowed through their shared bond, washing over Max like a soothing balm. He could feel her joy seeping into his veins, calming his racing heart, and for a moment, he would forget his worries.

When Vivian experiences intense period cramps, Max senses her discomfort as if it were his own. When it first happaned, he thought he had gotten some severe stomach flu. Upon asking his mother he realized just how difficult it is to handle them. Max spent hours researching about mansturation, it's effects on women and ways to sooth them.Max took some special measures during this difficult period. He prepares a warm herbal tea, knowing it can ease muscle tension. Max put heating pads against his stomach to help her calm down and would eat chocolates his taste buds sensed her eat. His empathy and care help alleviate her pain, turning their shared suffering into a moment of connection and support.

Both of them would often spend hours at a time to try and imagine how the other looked, what were their favorite songs, favorite food etc. Max would often find himself wondering if she watched F1, if she knew him, if she was a fan. What was the possibility of her watching him race? He would try to give his absolute best in case she was watching.

Vivian would wonder what he looked like, if he had brown eyes like her or if they were blue. She would often try and pour her heart on her canvas using her best colours. She would wonder what book he was reading if her read any at all. She would wonder if he liked to admire art and paintings like she did.

Their lives were a dance of emotions, a symphony of feelings. They navigated through their separate lives, yet they were never truly apart. Their souls were intertwined, their emotions shared. They yearned for each other, a longing that was as deep as the ocean.

And then, one faithful day, they met. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring them together. Their eyes met each other's on the qualifying day of the Australian grand prix and in that moment, they knew. They knew they were soulmates. The connection was palpable, a current of electricity that buzzed between them. It was a meeting of souls, a fusion of hearts.

In the end, Max found solace in Vivian’s joy, and Vivian found purpose in soothing Max’s turmoil. They were two halves of a whole, separate yet together, navigating through life in their unique dance of emotions. Their story is a testament to the power of shared emotions, the strength of an invisible bond, and the beauty of soulmates.

[cannibal-nightmares]

retirement!spiritstein where spirit is in a midlife crisis on a panicked road of self-betterment including that of trying to do morning sudoku puzzles and trying herbal remedies and daily stretches and hyping facebook mantras while stein has finally tapered off a constant need to study study study and just wants a nap all the time

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: April 7, 2025

Headcanons/fun facts for the Iron Eclipse cast vol. 5

Besides engaging in hobbies and other relaxing activities, what does the Iron Eclipse cast do to calm down?

Marco: He either works on his latest software project or finds a secluded spot in nature to admire its beauty. Once he finds the perfect spot, he reflects on happier times, looks at the old photograph he still carries with him, and contemplates what his father would do in a difficult situation.

Tarma: He either hugs the people he cares about the most or lets his mind wander to his unique interests and feelings about loved ones to distract himself from frustration.

Eri, Doctor Amadeus, Heidern, President Marx, Midori, Hilde Garn, Pocke, Celaphios, Torquil, Harvie, Amilcare, and Yohanes: They have no relaxation techniques worth noting

Fio: She either bakes simple treats, fiddles with Peppino, hangs out with Tarma or practices breathing exercises.

Trevor: He either smokes cannabis and chews on a couple of edibles, quietly admires his knives or listens to the Ecco the Dolphin and Ecco: The Tides of Time soundtracks. He occasionally listens to K-pop music that he finds humorously cheesy, which makes him laugh and serves as a distraction from his frustrations.

Nadia: She either makes detailed shopping lists, thinks about food or draws adorable, stylised animal doodles in her sketchbook.

Ralf: He either goes to the bar with friends and gets intoxicated, enthusiastically discusses his favourite action movies and anime shows with Clark or practices his close-quarters combat skills on trees. He occasionally watches baseball games and plays with the local children before telling them fun stories.

Clark: He either goes fishing to catch and release fish, looks through his photo album or cuddles and plays with his cats. He rarely plays rugby and sometimes gazes at the magnolia he carries, reminiscing about the good times he shared with comrades he lost in battle.

Tequila: He either reads apocryphal biblical texts, frequents nearly empty churches to pray or looks at the photographs he carries on his person and in his Polaroid camera.

Gimlet: He either looks at pornography magazines and admires the beauty of women or engages in intense physical release by punching and ripping pillows. Occasionally, he has insightful conversations with his adopted father and prays to God when alone. Rarely, he collects seashells to give to others and whistles random tunes while skipping rocks or daydreaming about Sagan and Alisa.

Red Eye: As Ruoxi, she has no relaxation techniques worth noting. As Shufen, besides playing her banhu, she either mumbles Buddhist mantras, shares herbal teas with loved ones or studies neuropsychology. As Liddy, she either attempts to recall birds she's seen, reminisces about amusing life moments or enjoys luxurious shopping and dining experiences.

General Morden: He either spends time with his exotic pets, plays the piano, checks in on his soldiers or retreats to his office to read classical literature and enjoy a couple of glasses of Scotch whisky. Additionally, he dedicates considerable focus to developing meticulous plans alongside Sagan, Logan, and Allen O'Neil.

Allen O’Neil: He either reminisces about the good times with his family and General Morden, lifts weights or plays simple board games while engaging in humorous banter with Sagan.

Ptolemaios: He enjoys meditating in dark places and carefully observing the rituals of his cult and current world events.

Rootmars: She either immerses herself in conducting scientific experiments on abducted livestock or visits remote, unoccupied places on Earth to admire the untouched natural beauty.

Invader King: He either sleeps in his cocoon and stops asexually reproducing for an entire day or eats the regurgitated larvae that he biologically produces.

Walter: He either plays his keytar, smokes from his bong, spends quality time with friends or snuggles with Tyra.

Tyra: She either plays with Angelica, counts the clouds in the sky until she loses track or plays with her hair. Additionally, she enjoys listening to song recommendations from Walter and Trevor.

Hyakutaro: He likes to study the history of martial arts and spend quality time with his twin brother and three cousins.

Allen Jr.: He enjoys creating music with Walter and calling Julia to catch up and discuss various topics.

Pupipi: She often studies the complex anatomy and psychology of humans and wildlife. She also enjoys taking leisurely hour-long strolls through forests and mountains.

Sophia: She either checks in on Marco to see how he's doing or researches various seafood dishes and cooking methods.

Margaret: She either flirts with cadets and new recruits, discusses her gardening ventures with Tequila or goes shopping for more orchid seeds.

Rumi: She either goes for a light jog with Madoka at the local park or reminisces about the good times she had with her older sister and her late friends, Chris and Alexander.

Madoka: She either studies the field of medicine, does cardio exercises or thinks about the different ways she can kill a person with a bazooka.

Leona: She likes to check in on Roberto to discuss various subjects and see how he's doing. She occasionally goes stargazing with Marco or bar hopping with Ralf and Clark.

Alisa Stewart: She either gently caresses her trusty wrench, gazes up at the sky to admire its beauty or gathers inspiration for her latest engineering projects.

Nathalie Neo: She often chats with Ralf about random things and enjoys a couple of drinks with him as a way to take her mind off her current frustrations. She also practices her aim by shooting paradummies borrowed by Walter or at trees and rocks during solo walks in the forest.

Roberto Nicola: He often gives himself motivational speeches to calm down and get something done, even if they sound corny. When he needs comfort, he turns to Fio and enjoys sharing a couple of her sweets and a cup of iced tea with her.

Avatar of Evil: They either devour the emotions of people they deem the most evil and annoying or hum melodious tunes while silently observing the current events of the universe.

Sol Dae Rokker: He either burns bushes, meticulously counts every stone used to build the Oro Sol Ruins until he loses interest or playfully drops a snake on his followers from the sky to see their reactions.

MS-Alice: She either likes to rewatch the best memories she has experienced since Marco brought her to life or listens to Nadia's ramblings about fashion, forensic science, piloting, and art. Occasionally, she enjoys pondering the meaning of existence with Wysteria and Celaphios.

Nayutaro: He either practices progressive muscle relaxation or studies and masters new martial arts and ninjutsu techniques.

Issenmantaro: He either flexes the muscles in his hands and fingers, braids his cousins' hair or practices new martial arts techniques with Hyakutaro.

Nanahyakumantaro: He either practices his roundhouse kicks or browses funny raven and crow images.

Happyakumantaro: He either thinks about the relaxing atmosphere of the beach or considers which cocktail recipe he should try next.

Abul Abbas: He either indulges in gambling and drinking or embarks on solitary camel rides in the desert with his most trusted accomplices. On occasion, he playfully flirts with Sagan and the female soldiers of the Rebel Army.

Macba: He either scrolls through dating apps or polishes his boomerang-like blades.

Wired: He either tallies his stockpile of grenades and bullets or engages in arm-wrestling matches with Macba.

Oghma: He either enjoys 20-minute sensory deprivation flotation sessions or explores various wine flavours, documenting his thoughts on each one in his journal.

Zoilo: He either listens to nature sounds with binaural beats or chats with Macba about their home life and work frustrations.

Anastasia: She reads books on ancient Greek culture and esoteric philosophical ideas, while unwinding with 30-minute aromatherapy sessions.

Wysteria: She enjoys visiting the serene cerulean lake near the Sparrowhawk Operations Base, which is lined with broad-leaved trees, a few conifers, and a variety of flowers with primroses being particularly prominent. She also enjoys fidgeting with the handle of her whip and cleaning her Desert Eagle in a field of wildflowers on a sunny day.

Dilovar: He appreciates reflecting on the things he's grateful for in life. He also enjoys lying down on the grass to take deep breaths and reminisce about cherished moments with friends and past victories over adversaries.

Sagan: She either playfully flirts with her platoon of men, touches up her makeup, go on a smoke break or competes against Logan for fun in a drinking contest. Additionally, she engages in rigorous and intense tactical training exercises.

Logan: He either devises tactical plans, goes antiquing, has a smoke with Sagan and General Morden or improves his flexibility and combative strength by doing gymnastics and boxing.

Guilherme: He either wonders how Janaina is doing or spends his time watching Torquil fine-tune cars and tanks, discussing random topics with him.

Ferdinand: He either showers his pets with loving attention or painfully pinches his cheeks for 2 minutes straight.

Mikuláš: He practices mindfulness by finding a quiet space in nature to sit and focus on his breathing, which helps him centre himself. There are times when he attends church to pray to God, focusing on the good things in his life.

Gyeong-Hui: She looks away, either up at the sky or down at the ground, takes deep, calming breaths, and gently clicks her tongue. She occasionally makes sock puppets and sometimes engages in light-hearted discussions about Dezső and her friends with Ferumox β.

Thandolwethu: She likes to think about cattle while collecting rocks and arranging them in a circle.

Ekaterini: She likes to go to beaches where there are few to no people around and draw random patterns in the sand.

Souma: He either does 10-minute yoga sessions or forces himself to yawn six times.

Juozapas: He either engages in intense physical exercise to release endorphins and clear his mind or plays with his beloved dog for a couple of hours.

Priyanka: She enjoys going on long walks in nature, appreciating the tranquility and beauty around her. She sometimes likes to visit Buddhist temples with Yohanes and discuss any TV shows or movies they have watched recently.

Zdravko: He likes to spend 15 minutes sitting at the edge of a body of water, finding the rhythm of nature to be soothing and grounding.

Dezső: He excessively daydreams about Gyeong-Hui until his face turns as red as a tomato while fiddling with his thumbs.

What are the padlock combinations for Marco's team to unlock their lockers in the Sparrowhawk Operations Base?

Marco: 5-9-21

Tarma: 4-8-22

Eri: 7-3-24

Fio: 6-10-23

Trevor: 13-2-9

Nadia: 28-15-7

Ralf: 1-30-18

Clark: 8-10-29

Tequila: 7-17-27

Gimlet: 6-16-26

Red Eye: 25-15-5

Mikuláš: 2-7-25

Gyeong-Hui: 5-14-2

Thandolwethu: 4-19-16

Harvie: 2-30-18

Amilcare: 8-6-25

Ekaterini: 3-19-27

Souma: 6-28-7

Juozapas: 17-24-3

Priyanka: 9-5-30

Yohanes: 7-21-13

Zdravko: 6-15-4

Dezső: 14-26-7

What is the love language for the Iron Eclipse cast?

Marco, Trevor, Madoka, Alisa Stewart, Wired, and Thandolwethu: Acts of service and quality time

Tarma, Tyra, Allen Jr., Pupipi, Leona, and Zdravko: Acts of service, words of affirmation, quality time, and physical touch

Eri and Nayutaro: Acts of service and words of affirmation

Fio, Roberto Nicola, President Marx, and Gyeong-Hui: Words of affirmation, quality time, and gifts

Nadia, Rumi, and Amilcare: Quality time and gifts

Ralf, Gimlet, Sophia, Nathalie Neo, Macba, and Harvie: Words of affirmation, quality time, and physical touch

Clark and Yohanes: Acts of service, words of affirmation, and quality time

Tequila, Heidern, and Celaphios: Acts of service, quality time, and physical touch

Red Eye: Words of affirmation and quality time (as Ruoxi), acts of service and physical touch (as Shufen), and words of affirmation, quality time, and gifts (as Liddy)

General Morden, Margaret, Dilovar, and Ferdinand: Acts of service, quality time, physical touch, and gifts

Allen O’Neil, Rootmars, Walter, Hyakutaro, and Torquil: All five love languages

Doctor Amadeus and Sagan: Words of affirmation, physical touch, and gifts

Ptolemaios and Invader King: Words of affirmation and gifts

Avatar of Evil and Sol Dae Rokker: They don’t have a love language worth noting

Midori, Pocke, and Zoilo: Quality time and physical touch

Issenmantaro and Ekaterini: Words of affirmation and quality time

Nanahyakumantaro and Juozapas: Physical touch and gifts

Happyakumantaro and Mikuláš: Acts of service, quality time, and gifts

Abul Abbas and Anastasia: Words of affirmation and gifts

Hilde Garn and Souma: Words of affirmation and physical touch

Macba and Zoilo: Quality time and physical touch

Oghma and Priyanka: Acts of service, words of affirmation, and gifts

Wysteria: She doesn’t understand love languages

Logan: Words of affirmation, quality time, physical touch, and gifts

Guilherme and Dezső: Acts of service, words of affirmation, quality time, and gifts

[adobealmanac]

Herbal Limpia

There are many ways to perform a limpia, such as the methods I have shared on my blog before. This is another method that I know of. I have been taught these, and here, you can learn from me. Know that all limpias are simply different paths to the same destination.

Performing a limpia is a two person job. it requires cooperation and coordination, as well as trust. However, it does require firm boundaries as every limpia requires some level of either physical or spiritual contact. Be firm, and let your partner know what you are and aren't comfortable with.

The Ritual:

You will need: • A bundle of fresh herbs 1-2 feet in length Rosemary, rue, mugwort, sage, or basil are wonderful for limpias. I typically go into my garden and pick the herbs intuitively, leaving an offering of tobacco or oregano for permission. • An outdoor space • Optionally, copal incense and mezcal

The herbs are used to absorb and transmute the negative energies. The bundle is not like a traditional herbal bundle you purchase from a store. In fact, it is more akin to a bouquet. You may make it as simple or ornate as you like. I typically tie my bundle together with a red ribbon. You beat the client with the bundle, and not lightly may I add. You beat them all over their body with the bundle, head to toe; front and back, as if you are brushing all the negativity out of their aura and body. You may say a small limpia prayer or mantra during this process, or simply enjoy the silence. The intention of this is to bring the spirit back to their body.

Sacred copal is used to purify the mind, body, and spirit. The white smoke of copal perfectly captures its purpose: to turn bad into good; to replenish; to cleanse. It has been used for thousands of years, and should be treated with respect and reverence. Source it ethically, and, if you can you should collect it yourself.

Mezcal alcohol is an alcohol derived from the agave plant. It is grounding. Therefore, it aids in returning the spirit back to the body. It also aids in cleansing and purifying the body. It is typically sprayed from the mouth of the curandero onto the heart, head, abdomen, and appendages. It is an intimate practice. Typically you spray it under their shirt, with permission of course.

And finally, gratitude. The curandero must give thanks throughout the limpia. Give thanks to mother earth and father sky. Give thanks to the ancestors. Give thanks to the allies and tools that aided in the limpia. Give thanks to God, Jesus, and Mary. The participant must give thanks too, often by giving a small gift to the curandero such as copal, tobacco, or mezcal.

Remember, curanderismo is healing magic. Do not treat it as anything else.

[mantraherbal]

Mantra Herbal: Nurturing Nature's Best for Holistic Wellness"

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[brimbrimbrimbrim]

A Ruined Ratio (Muse/Sculptor!Reader) pt.3

🖤A Ruined Ratio 3/7 🖤

Muse x F!Sculptor!Reader

Part 1/Part 2

Rating: Explicit (18+) Word Count: 2.4k Warnings: Sexual Awakening, Rough Sex, Knifeplay, Cumplay, Sexual Tension, Voyeruism, Bloodplay, Blood & Gore, Dubious Consent, Violence, Choking, Light BDSM, Toxic Relationship, Branding/Marking, Stalking, Multiple Orgasms, Vaginal Fingering, Yonic Symbolism, Liberal use of Artistic Rhetoric. Genre: Dark Romance / Horror / PWP

Summary: As a celebrated sculptor spiraling into creative stagnation, you strive to capture some sense of soul after stumbling upon one of Muse's violent, gruesome art installations. Muse thinks you're derivative but not without potential. He just has to strip you down to a blank slate first.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

The light that pours through your windows the next morning is weak, thinned out by cloud cover—milk-colored and useless for creativity. Though your studio seems undisturbed, unchanged from the day, there are imprints of large boot impressions in several chalky layers of clay leading from the fire escape window to the mouth of your sculpture. Even still, everything else sits where it should, the clay buckets sealed, your carving tools organized in stainless trays, the floors now swept from last night's efforts. 

You pad barefoot across the cold concrete in the same clingy boyshorts you wore all yesterday and night, a thin tank top sweat-clung to your spine as you move past the head—still open-mouthed, still monstrous, and yet—

You pause before it, fingers rising where the upper lip curls grotesquely over the brow. A blot. Not quite paint. Rusty in color, dry enough to flake away under your nails. It stains the edge like a fingerprint pressed in parting. Denial has brought you far in life, so you embrace it again and shrug it off as your own, the sort of smudge left behind by a manic energy brought on by frenzied creativity. 

Doesn't matter that you haven't touched anything red-hued in months...

You don't dwell. Don't think about suspenders and bleeding eyes on clingy cream. Can't let that cut-muscled body, broadening as your sleepy eyes climbed up it, haunt your waking dreams. That shit is for sleep or exhaustion. Plus, it's not real, you repeat within, holding it like a mantra as you shed your clothes and duck into the shower. 

The steam fogs up your mind just enough to keep you grounded. You wash like you always do—quick, thorough, surgical—and you don’t linger because you’re not the kind of woman who needs the comfort of your own touch... or anyone else's for that matter. You're too used to being cold. Too used to starting your day with a list of things you have to do just to feel like the hours aren’t wasted. 

Breakfast follows—eggs, toast, herbal tea with cinnamon, and orange slices since the weather calls for it. 

You spy a magazine on the counter after your first warming sip. It's been there for weeks, opened on an article about Elegance in Negative Space. There's a page ripped out and a single fingermark of dried cherry peeling up the corner. You toss it in the trash can, eating with mechanical efficiency at your kitchen counter, scrolling your phone one-handed and sipping with the other. Distractions. You need  distractions. It works until something from the television tears you away from your weekly calendar.

The news. You swivel on your stool, mug and phone in hand. 

A flash of red on the flatscreen, slightly distorted from this angle as it faces the couch and not your kitchen. There's a stuttered frame, then a shaky video jerks into motion—raw, captured at the wrong perspective from someone’s camera phone.

You find yourself standing behind your sofa, hands empty at your side, watching the screen. The video pans across the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art—a place you know well—each step decorated not with welcome banners or tourists or school groups, but with—

"Severed heads..." you say aloud, your own voice almost unrecognizable to your ears.

There's a dozen of them. Men and women. Old and young. All lined in grave procession, like jack-o-lanterns, their mouths gaping wide—stretched wider than living flesh permits—and stuffed inside those mouths are small, blood-soaked origami figures, soggy at the edges. Sleeping bodies folded into paper, slumped inside butchered mouths, their shapes dreamlike and prenatal. 

Like you, the critic whispers. Your fingers dig into the couch backrest. The camera video shakes, the image flickers, and your stomach lifts into your ribs.

The anchor on the television cuts back in as the video fades. You catch verbal segments ' police confirming nothing... insider speculation... signature technique... previously named Vincent Van Gore now commonly known as Muse, potentially Inhuman—' and the name lodges in your chest like a shard of glass.

"Muse." It tastes far sweeter on your tongue than something so blood-soaked should. 

The anchor repeats his name like someone who doesn't understand the weight of it, someone who doesn’t know how he stood outside your window, doesn’t know how you thought you dreamt him. But he's... he—

Your phone rings, making you jolt and yelp. An electric surge of adrenaline discharges down your spinal cord as you stumble to your countertop and pick up the call without considering the ID.

Sylvan’s voice slides through, unctuous, asking if you got his last message. You mumble an affirmative, clearly queasy, but he pays it no mind, asks if you’d be interested in dinner or coffee or maybe something stronger , always dancing around what he actually wants. Without thinking, you mumble— sure, fine, maybe —turning your attention back to the news, to the words scrolling beneath the anchor’s expressionless face.

BREAKING: SINGLE ORIGAMI MADE FROM MAGAZINE CLIPPING PLACED ON EAST-FACING STEP... INVESTIGATORS UNSURE OF SIGNIFICANCE... INTERVIEW WITH CHIEF OF—

Sylvan's still talking as a fawn response causes your hand, clutching the phone, to sag at your side. Your eyes move to the trash bin but dart away, back to something safe. They settle on a dust bunny against the wall, between the kitchen and the television. Sylvan's distant chatter never ceases, going on about some show, some gallery, connections he can make for you, but you’re not listening anymore. You don’t even say goodbye—you just hang up.

And then the week swallows you whole.

Time fractures into long blocks of silence interrupted by moments of hysterics and panic at the passing pigeons, groaning pipes, and wind whistling with shifts of the fall air pressure. You stop leaving your studio entirely, barricading yourself within its brick walls. You jam a chair beneath the doorknob of your bedroom at night. You order curtains but realize your 16-foot ladder barely reaches the halfway point on your windows. More time spent in your bedroom, away from the glass panes, and when you sleep, it’s under your bed—not on it—because that space feels smaller, safer—pentimento almost. 

Groceries, takeout, and material shipments arrive, left at the base of the building by request. You collect them in oversized hoodies and boots, avoiding eye contact from any onlookers, one foot in the building foyer for fear that you'll be grabbed and taken away if you break contact with your sanctuary—your home—a prison, maybe.

By day four, the intercom rings. Sylvan showing up unannounced, or maybe not. When your phone died on the second day, you didn't bother charging it. More come and go, all ignored, some friendly, some curious, one a wellness visit that you reluctantly answer with just enough information so that you're left alone. The buzzing stops on the fifth day, but somehow, the silence is worse.

Yet, during the day, you work. A drop cloth covers the monstrous head, so you don't compare everything else to it. 

You work like you’re trying to exorcise something through your hands—soaking down your unfinished sculptures, tossing them into slip bins while fresh clay forms hulking constructs, grotesque mutations of your old style, things with too many mouths and holes, unnaturally long limbs prying open their own ribs. You don’t name them—don’t sketch beforehand—just let the heat in your belly guide you until they dry, and when they do, when the skin tightens and the weight feels final, you lift them... and if you find them lacking, you tiptoe to the window opposite the fire escape, and toss them to the backstreet below.

You watch them all fall, limbs breaking, faces caving in, bloodless bodies turning to clumps and shards on the alley floor. 

At night, hiding under the bed, when you think the knocking of your knees are footsteps, you wonder if you’re supposed to join them down there. Is this what the late, great Edmondson experienced during his prophetic visions where God told him to chisel the first Tomb-Stones? That catalyst that propelled his sculptures was divine... are you hiding from your prophetic legacy? Under this bed. Beneath the grave of inspiration, nested in welcoming silks and down pillows. Hiding from Muse.

You don’t know if he will come again. But you know you want/don't want him to.

On the seventh night, sleep refuses you. You've swallowed magnesium pills, drank cherry-infused teas, even opened a year-old bottle of Klonopin prescribed to you during a gallery opening that left you with chronic nightmares from the stress... but nothing works, not tonight...

... and as the clock passes midnight, a feeling scrubs you clean—of just nothing . A numb, glacial absence takes residence until even the throb of your thoughts feels muffled, buried beneath cotton batting. Your limbs are heavy yet twitch with that electrical ache of sleeplessness, a paradox that draws you from under the bed frame into the cool sharp air of your bedroom. 

You remove the chair, open the door, and step outside, nothing but a baggy hoodie between you and darkness. The studio greets you without ceremony—quiet and ink-black, lit only by the dim streetlights bleeding in through the high-set windows. It should feel safe and familiar, but you still feel nothing .

Your sculptures stare. Each of them—those malformed things you birthed—feels sentient. Their shadows lean too far forward, reaching across the floor like arms poised to catch you, draw you under. You move faster, heart thudding in nothing-panic with nothing-fear . The gnawing, cavernous absence of feeling is unbearable.

Go outside, you tell yourself, sounding melodic. You'll feel better with some fresh air, won't you?

A pull anchors deep in your stomach, guiding you to the fire escape.

"Yeah," you agree. "Just some fresh air. I'll feel better."

You unlatch the window and crawl out, breath fogging in the cold as your knees scrape against the sill, fully naked under the loose fleece. Goose-pimples run up your legs. Your hot groin chills against an upward breeze, one that licks like ice up your belly, trapping around your collarbones, leaving your nipples stiff and aching.

You should go back inside— should —but that numbness starts to unravel the longer you stand there. The cold hurts , but the pain is something. The pain makes you real again. Nothingness starts to fade as you grip the icy railing, wringing free flakes of red rust as you lean over without really thinking, without knowing why—until you see...

... him.

"Muse."

Far below, haloed by alley light and the jagged scatter of broken sculptures, he looms amidst the ruin like you chiseled him, cast him down, but refused to break. He is still. Waiting. His eyes—carmine voids hollowed out of filthy cream—are angled up, locked on yours. They shine like rubies... like fresh blood under stage lights.

He has no expression, no mouth, no skin to be seen. And yet he stares at you in a way that ignites something feral in your chest.

Like a delayed switch, you gasp—sharp, high, full of horror and that awful thrill you never know how to name. The wrought iron groans beneath your feet as you tumble back with a jerk so suddenly your shoulder clips the window's metal frame. It slams shut. Scrambling for support against the railing, you twist, throwing yourself toward the open pane, fingers grappling the sill to crawl back through. But the window is shut. It doesn’t budge. It’s either stuck or latched, and in your panic, your hands can’t find the catch, can't work the mechanics, can't even function as fingers.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you hiss under your breath, tugging harder, lungs heaving with that electric dread, the one that starts in your toes and melts up your spine.

The metal beneath your feet vibrates .

You freeze, panic overtaking logic. Lizard brain online in the driver's seat. He’s climbing up to meet you... And he's fast. Two steps at a time.

The fire escape shifts, this time with weight— his weight—and you feel it before you hear it: the sound of boots against wet steel, the ragged grunt of effort leaking through a fabric mask, and the creak of the railing as his gloved hands pull himself up and up and up.

No, no, no, no, you gasp, yanking on the window with everything you have. The latch catches. You don't see it. Can’t. You’re too afraid. 

Hands seize you—strong, coarse—gripping your upper arms, fearless of the bruises bursting under his fingers. Muse yanks you back even as your foot kicks wildly against the brickwork around the window sill, even as your fingers reach for cold glass. You feel the kiln-like heat of him through your hoodie—your back pulled tight against his chest, the press of his mask against your cheek.

“Hour after hour… creation and rejection.” His words paint your skin, breath blistering through the mask, “The rhythm of despair. A ritual—” you struggle, and he corrects his grip, snarls and squeezes harder, “—even. So romantic. Gave me ideas.”

His breath shudders out, low and strained. 

“Imagine it—“ A grunt, as though you weigh nothing, as though your animal fight is pitiful compared to the dozens, if not hundreds he's forced into submission. “—your cold, perfect body snapped open on the concrete, framed by the bones of your abandoned work. A self-portrait in flesh. Maybe I’d leave a plaque: Here lies the artist who feared the rot she gestated.”

You yank away once more— one last time —and grasp the latch. Muse growls, jerking you back. The window slams open with a sudden, traitorous shriek of metal hinges… and crashes into your forehead with a sharp, hollow crack of bone.

White light. Then black. Dark, humorous breath on your jawline, the cotton brush of a nose against your ear. 

“Don’t worry. You haven’t even started to bleed.”

Your body slumps, limbs like string, head lolling forward before Muse hefts you back, warm, solid, and far too gentle for the grip that initially took you.

Before the cold vanishes entirely, your last sensation is the sound of him exhaling through fabric—tender, almost reverent—and the slow sway of his chest against your spine, as though he’s rocking you to sleep while the fire escape groans under his shifting weight.

Then nothing there's nothing. 

Though, as you sleep, strong arms scoop beneath your knees and shoulders, lifting you through that threshold he crossed a week before. Like a bride on her wedding day, chaste flesh draped in black… held securely, prepared to be wrung dry. 

Check it on AO3 HERE

[coven-of-genesis]

Spell to increase health

Creating a spell to increase health is a personal and spiritual practice that can vary depending on individual beliefs and practices.

Here is a general framework you can use as a starting point to create your own health-enhancing spell:

1. Set your intention: Clearly define your intention to improve health. Be specific about the aspects you want to enhance, such as physical well-being, mental clarity, emotional balance, or overall vitality.

2. Choose your method: Determine how you want to conduct your spell. It could involve a physical ritual, visualization, meditation, or any other method that resonates with you.

3. Gather materials: Select any materials that you feel represent health and healing to you. This could include candles (white or green are often associated with healing), crystals (such as amethyst or clear quartz), herbs (such as lavender or chamomile), or any other objects you associate with well-being.

4. Create a sacred space: Cleanse and prepare your space to create a focused and positive environment. You can burn incense, use essential oils, or play calming music to set the mood.

5. Cast a circle (optional): If you follow a tradition that involves casting a circle, you may choose to do so to create a sacred and protected space for your spell.

6. Visualisation on and affirmation: Close your eyes and visualize yourself in a state of vibrant health. Imagine energy flowing through your body, revitalizing and healing every cell. Repeat affirmations or mantras related to health and healing, such as "I am healthy and strong in mind, body, and spirit" or "Every day, I grow healthier and more vibrant."

7. Symbolic actions: Use your selected materials in a way that feels meaningful to you. For example, light a white or green candle to symbolize healing and well-being, hold a crystal in your hand while visualizing your body's vitality, or create a healing herbal bath or tea to consume.

8. Gratitude and release: Express gratitude for the health you currently enjoy and for the healing energies that surround you. Release any doubts or negative beliefs about your health. Trust that your body has the innate ability to heal and restore itself.

9. Closing the spell: Conclude your spellwork in a way that aligns with your beliefs. This could involve thanking any deities or spiritual entities you work with, closing the circle if you cast one, or simply expressing gratitude and sealing your intentions.

Remember, creating a spell is a personal practice, and it's important to trust your intuition and adapt these steps to suit your own beliefs and preferences.

Additionally, while spellwork can be a valuable tool for healing, it's important to take practical action in your daily life to support your well-being, such as maintaining a healthy lifestyle, seeking medical advice when needed, and nurturing positive habits.

[supernaturalfreakout]

The Ritual (History on Your Side—Chapter 4.)

Sam Winchester x OCfem!reader/You

Chapter summary: You, Sam and Dean head to the woodland to cast the spirit free. *Please see the masterlist for entire work summary and tags* Masterlist | Read on AO3

The next evening, an hour before sunset, the three of you arrived at the haunted woodland. The November air was crisp against your skin as you followed the brothers to the site of the tomb, boots squelching as you trailed through the mud.

Sam and Dean had picked you up after spending most of the morning snoozing in their motel, in preparation for tonight's ritual.

After all of the excitement and tension of yesterday, you had only managed to get a few hours of sleep.

The brothers had left yours at around 2am this morning, after further clarifications and rehearsals of the spell, fuelled by late-night takeaway pizza. You were thankful it was a Friday.

After heated discussion, a gameplan was devised for tonight. Sam was to take the lead, reciting the spell incantations, whilst Dean would make the herbal offerings, all whilst maintaining the safety of the site. You were to help set up, but otherwise wait by the car.

You had argued that you could help Sam with the offerings, freeing up Dean to keep watch, but you were quickly shot down due to concerns for your 'safety'. You resigned to your part, exhaustion taking over, thankful that they were even allowing you to tag along at all.

You scanned the scenery vigilantly as you walked, taking note of salient landmarks, painting a mental map in your mind.

Dean had parked the Impala as close to the edge of the clearing as possible, so his "baby" could be seen at all times from the tomb site. You had been taken aback when he proposed this, unaware that "baby" was his nickname for his beloved Impala. Sam had to hold back a laughing fit as he explained that Dean wasn't referring to you.

Arriving at the tomb site, you helped Sam arrange the ingredients on a makeshift altar as Dean drew protective sigils around the perimeter, salt-loaded shotgun slung over his shoulder.

As the sun started to set, the atmosphere became tense. The sky began to blend shades of orange and pink, casting elongated shadows across the clearing.

Sam's nervousness was evident in the way he watched over you- not even trying to hide it. You found his protectiveness frustratingly endearing.

Dean gave a final check to the salt sigils, his movements confident and precise, but his eyes betrayed a hint of anxiety. "Everything set?" 

Sam scanned the perimeter for any signs of disturbance. "Yeah, just about." 

Dean stepped back, finally satisfied with the protective measures. "Alright, we're as ready as we'll ever be."

As Sam walked you back to the Impala, he gave you another pep-talk about what you should do if things go awry, but then reassured you. "It should all go smoothly, it's just a ghost at the end of the day."

You raised your eyebrows. "Just a ghost?" 

Sam chuckled. "Oh, we've dealt with much worse..."

"Like those Angels and Demons you mentioned? I still need to pick your brains about that."

You wished Sam luck as he left you by the car, watching as he made his way back to Dean.

---

As the skies darkened, the moon appeared, glowing iridescent overhead. It's eerie glow highlighted the solemnity of the woodland as you settled by the Impala, feeling a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. In the distance, Sam and Dean began the ritual, Sam's mantra carrying through the air as he commenced the incantations. The wind whispered through the trees, adding an extra layer of mystery to the atmosphere.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours as you watched with bated breath, unable to tear your eyes from the unfolding scene. Faint glimmers of light flickered amidst the darkness as unease settled in the pit of your stomach.

Suddenly, a distant rumble echoed through the woodland, sending a shiver down your spine. You strained to make sense of the sound, your heart pounding in anticipation. Before you could work out where it came from, a chilling gust of wind swept through the clearing, causing the leaves to rustle and the branches to rattle. Your thoughts raced as you crouched by the Impala, trying to discern if it was part of the ritual or an unforeseen occurrence.

In the midst of the chaos, a deafening silence descended and an uneasy sensation of being watched sent a chill down your spine. You gripped the hood of the Impala, eyes darting between the tomb and the surrounding woods as a sudden surge of energy pulsed through the air. The faint glow around the tomb intensified, casting an ethereal aura, and the ground beneath your feet trembled. Your heart raced as you waited with suspense.

Suddenly, Sam and Dean's voices rose in unison, chanting words that echoed through the night, their figures bathed in an eerie glow. They stepped forward, each carrying an offering as detailed in the Men of Letters texts. They moved closer to the tomb, their voices resonating with purpose. Sam reached out to the spirit, offering heartfelt sentiments in light of the betrayal that had bound it to this earthly realm, seeking to right the wrongs that had tethered it.

The atmosphere crackled with an intense energy as the spirit appeared with an ethereal rage that distorted its form. Its anguished cries echoed through the woods, grating on your nerves. Consumed by its torment, it lashed out violently with tendrils of spectral energy. Sam and Dean stood their ground, expertly dodging it's attacks as they continued their efforts to calm the spirit's rage. Their voices resonated stronger as they pleaded the spirit to let go and transcend to the moon, where closure finally awaited.

In a burst of radiant energy, the spirit finally relented, its anguished cries fading into a haunting whisper. A moment of uncertainty hung heavy in the air, and then, as if moved by an unseen force, the spirit began to ascend. A serene calm washed over the woodland as the spirit, enveloped in the radiant glow, gradually ascended toward the full moon.

The ritual had worked.

With the night now quiet, you took this a sign that it was now safe. You ran towards the tomb site, where Sam and Dean were standing, recovering from the ordeal.

As you were approaching, Sam looked up to meet your gaze, and he smiled wide, his expression a mixture of triumph, exhaustion and gratitude.

---

The moon cast a watchful glow across the clearing as the three of you cleared the remnants of the ritual. You glanced up, whispering a message of awe and gratitude.

Dean was practically bouncing off the walls, his energy infectious as he packed things back into the Impala. "Did you see that, huh?" he exclaimed, flashing a grin. "That's how it's done, baby!" He slammed the trunk shut, his enthusiasm reverberating in the night air.

Meanwhile, Sam was quietly content, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Thanks for all your help." He directed his gaze to you, gratitude shimmering in his eyes, his voice carrying genuine appreciation. "We honestly couldn't have done it without you."

Dean, still hyped up, threw an arm around both of you. "The night's still young, and we deserve a celebration. Let's hit a bar, have a few rounds. What d'ya say, guys?"

"Absolutely!" You chimed, unable to contain your enthusiasm. "I'm in!"

Sam nodded, a glint of amusement in his eyes at Dean's excitement. "Sounds good," he agreed, his smile widening a fraction as he glanced in your direction.

Chapter 5

[myzticmint]

Real Talk:

Growing up under the Pentecostal and COGIC denominations gave CULT.

It has been hard to embrace the “woo woo” as they call it in astrology, spirituality, manifestation, Alchemy, Herbalism all that good stuff b/c that Religious Trauma™️ turns me off from some things like meditation/manifesting starts to give me those anxious/dooms day feelings when I would obsessively pray b/c I didnt want to go to hell as a kid.

Like my prayer mantras each night were insane… OCD levels (probably was just the adhd tho).

Every time I want to really embrace the spiritual side to this, that christian paranoia bubbles in; I get so disgusted and annoyed by the whole process b/c I can’t shake the foundation of spirituality/relegion based in fear mongering and oppression.

The mind is crazy like lol why can’t I just be normal… 🧚����👽🧖🏾‍♀️

[ayurvedicmedicineforstone]

Ayurvedic Medicine for Kidney Stones

Discover natural healing with Satvic Mantra's Ayurvedic Medicine for Kidney Stones, offering effective, herbal solutions for kidney health

[yoga-teacher-training-ays]

The Best Yoga Teacher Training in Rishikesh India 2024

Hatha and Ashtanga Yoga Teacher Training Course at Arogya Yoga School, Rishikesh. Certified by Yoga Alliance USA

If you are looking to bring a change into your life by learning yoga for self-rejuvenation or transfer the benefits to others, by getting a professional certificate and expertise, then Arogya Yoga School is the perfect fit for you.

✅200 Hour Yoga Teacher Training in Rishikesh ➤Just 700 USD With Food and Accommodation.

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Highlights

Morning and evening yoga class

One special session of Ayurveda

One Free sound healing session.

Daily fresh and healthy organic vegetarian/vegan/gluten-free meals

Daily mantra chanting, asana, yoga anatomy, and yoga philosophy

Eligible to register with Yoga Alliance upon completion

Free Yoga Manual Book.

24 nights' accommodation with 3 meals daily

Course objectives

Develop your personal daily practice

One Sound Healing Session.

Develop and practice daily pranayama, Kriyas, Mudras, and meditation

Learn about the skeletal and muscular systems and how this affects your practice and teaching

Study the Patanjali's Yoga Sutras and learn how to incorporate them into your daily practice and life

Learn how to structure a class and then incorporate all these components into designing your own class

Learn to teach this class to your peers in a small group environment and then you will teach this class to your peers as your assessment

Included excursions

You will enjoy weekend excursions on Saturday evenings and Sundays, to make the most of your time off classes.

What's included

24 nights' accommodation

Daily 3 meals nutritious vegetarian meals and herbal tea

Weekend excursions

Course materials will be provided (notebooks, yoga mat, cleansing kit)

1 sound healing session

Outdoor yoga session

1 sightseeing tour

Kirtan

Certificate of completion

Practice teaching, learn how to sequence your first yoga class and teaching tools

Herbal teas

Excursions on Sunday

Yoga Teacher Training Arogya manual

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[spintaxi]

Let Them Theory

Mel Robbins' "Let Them Theory" has taken the self-help world by storm, advocating for a hands-off approach to others' behaviors. But what if we applied this philosophy to the realm of satire? Let's explore a satirical take on the "Let Them Theory," imagining its application in various absurd scenarios. 🧠 The Sermon on the Couch In the beginning, there was chaos. People were meddling, nagging, and micromanaging their way into ulcers. Then, lo and behold, Mel Robbins descended from the mountaintop of motivational speaking with two sacred words: "Let Them." A mantra so profound, it could make a Buddhist monk say, "Why didn’t I think of that?" But as with all great revelations, questions arise. Is this the path to enlightenment or just another detour on the road to self-absorption? Let’s delve into the gospel of "Let Them" and see if it holds water—or at least a decent cup of herbal tea. 📚 Chapter 1: The Genesis of 'Let Them' According to Robbins, the epiphany struck during her son’s prom night. She was fretting over corsages and dinner reservations when her daughter, channeling the wisdom of the ages, said, “Mom, let them.” And just like that, a theory was born. But wait—wasn’t there already a poem titled "Let Them" by Cassie Phillips circulating in 2022? Phillips, an army wife, claims her viral poem inspired the movement, complete with tattoos and social media shares. Robbins denies any knowledge of Phillips’ work, asserting her theory is rooted in ancient philosophies and personal experience. So, either great minds think alike, or someone forgot to cite their sources. We’ll let you decide. 🧘 Chapter 2: The Philosophy of Passivity At its core, the "Let Them" theory advocates for relinquishing control over others’ actions. Your friend didn’t invite you to brunch? Let them. Your coworker wears Crocs to the office? Let them. It’s a call to focus on your own reactions rather than trying to change others. But critics argue that this approach can veer into apathy. Dr. John Duffy notes that while setting boundaries is healthy, completely disengaging can lead to neglecting important relationships. In other words, there’s a fine line between zen and zoning out. 🛍️ Chapter 3: Monetizing Mindfulness Robbins’ theory didn’t just stay on the page; it became a brand. From books to podcasts to merchandise, “Let Them” is now a full-fledged enterprise. She even attempted to trademark the phrase, though the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office deemed it too commonplace. It’s a savvy business move, turning a simple concept into a revenue stream. But it raises the question: when does self-help become self-serve? 🧩 Chapter 4: The Puzzle of Plagiarism The controversy deepens with allegations that Robbins’ theory isn’t entirely original. Beyond Phillips’ poem, critics point out that the concept mirrors stoic philosophy and the serenity prayer. Robbins acknowledges these influences but maintains her interpretation is unique. It’s reminiscent of the old joke: “If you steal from one author, it’s plagiarism; if you steal from many, it’s research.” 📈 Chapter 5: The Cult of Simplicity Part of the theory’s appeal lies in its simplicity. In a world overwhelmed by complexity, two words offer a lifeline. But some psychologists caution that oversimplification can be misleading. Not every situation can be resolved by “letting them.” It’s like using a Band-Aid for a broken leg—comforting, but ultimately ineffective. 🧠 Chapter 6: The Psychology of Letting Go Despite criticisms, many mental health professionals see value in the "Let Them" mindset. It aligns with principles of radical acceptance and can help individuals set healthier boundaries. In this light, Robbins’ theory isn’t a panacea but a tool—useful when applied judiciously. 🧵 Chapter 7: The Fabric of Society On a societal level, the "Let Them" approach raises concerns. If everyone adopts a hands-off attitude, who holds people accountable? Activism, justice, and progress often require engagement, not detachment. In other words, if we let everyone do as they please, we might end up with a world run by toddlers and TikTok influencers. 💼 Chapter 8: Workplace Implications Imagine the HR department applying the "Let Them" theory. Chad from accounting wants to host meetings in a Viking helmet? Let him. Janice refuses to respond to emails written without emojis? Let her. Productivity tanks, but morale soars—at least for Janice. At some point, even the most enlightened manager would scream, “Let them... go!” 🎓 Chapter 9: The Education Edition Teachers report a surge in students explaining away homework negligence with the phrase, “Let them.” Missed assignments? “Let the teacher give me a zero.” Detention? “Let the principal express his truth.” It’s the ultimate philosophical dodgeball. Socrates would be proud—until he realized they were quoting a TikTok. 🐄 Chapter 10: Let Them Moo Our dairy farmer co-author tried applying the theory to his herd. One cow refused to move from the middle of the road. “Let her,” he whispered, until traffic backed up to the post office and the sheriff issued a citation. Moral of the story: philosophy is beautiful until a Holstein decides it’s in charge. 🛸 Chapter 11: Let Them Believe Anything Your aunt thinks birds aren’t real. Let her. Your cousin sells healing crystals for emotional stability—via Cash App only. Let him. Your roommate insists their essential oils cured shingles and a broken heart. Let them. The rise of the “Let Them” cult has conveniently coincided with a sharp decline in fact-checking. 👀 Chapter 12: Let Them Watch Reality TV stars have now cited “Let Them” as justification for their entire careers. “Let me make out in a hot tub while screaming about my ex on national television,” said one Bachelor contestant. “It’s my healing era.” Apparently, the path to self-awareness is lined with ring lights and rage-tweets. 🧂 Chapter 13: Let Them Season Poorly Cooks across America have embraced the theory. “Let them oversalt the pasta,” one chef explained. “It’s not about taste; it’s about emotional expression.” Food critics nationwide have resigned en masse. 🐾 Chapter 14: Let Them Bark Even dog owners are now philosophically disengaged. “My pug peed on a wedding dress,” one bride recounted. “The owner just said, ‘Let him.’” Meanwhile, the dog has 40k followers and a Friskies brand deal. 👑 Chapter 15: Let Them Rule Politicians are using the theory to explain scandals. “Did I accept donations from a foreign bingo parlor? Let me.” “Was I sexting during the infrastructure vote? Let them judge me.” It’s not corruption, it’s empowerment. And it’s bipartisan. 🧘‍♀️ Chapter 16: The Zen of Doing Nothing The real genius of "Let Them" is that it allows people to cloak inaction in spiritual righteousness. Your friend ghosted you? Let them. Your ex married your cousin? Let them. Your neighbor is building a doomsday bunker under your porch? Let them (and maybe invest in a shovel). 🧩 Conclusion: The Great Letting The "Let Them" theory is simultaneously brilliant and baffling. It offers a powerful reminder not to waste energy controlling others—but when used recklessly, it turns personal growth into a lazy river ride through delusion. The truth lies somewhere in the middle: let them... but don’t let yourself lose your mind. 💬 What the Funny People Are Saying Ron White: “I tried the ‘Let Them’ theory on my liver. Didn’t end well.” Jerry Seinfeld: “What’s the deal with ‘Let Them’? I mean, if I let everyone do what they want, I’d be in traffic behind a guy playing a didgeridoo.” Sarah Silverman: “I let my cat vote in my HOA election. She ran on a platform of more tuna and fewer emotional support peacocks.” Amy Schumer: “I let my ex back into my life. He let himself into my fridge. We’re both spiritual now.”

A chaotic, satirical digital illustration titled 'Let Them Theory Support Group'. The scene shows a suburban living room with a dozen people sitting ...

Let Them: A Satirical Exploration

1. Let Them Eat Cake... and Kale In a world obsessed with dietary choices, the "Let Them Theory" suggests we stop judging others' food preferences. If someone wants to eat cake for breakfast and kale for dessert, let them. After all, who are we to interfere with their culinary adventures? 2. Let Them Binge-Watch Your friend is watching the same reality show for the fifth time? Let them. Perhaps they're conducting a deep anthropological study on human behavior. Or maybe they're just avoiding doing their laundry. Either way, it's none of our business. 3. Let Them Use Comic Sans Your colleague insists on using Comic Sans in professional emails? Let them. Maybe they're trying to bring a touch of whimsy to the corporate world. Or perhaps they're just unaware of the font's reputation. Either way, it's a battle not worth fighting. 4. Let Them Overuse Hashtags #MotivationMonday #SelfCare #Blessed #LetThem. If someone wants to turn every social media post into a hashtag extravaganza, let them. It's their digital space, and they're free to decorate it as they please. 5. Let Them Believe in Conspiracy Theories Your uncle is convinced that pigeons are government surveillance drones? Let him. Engaging in a debate won't change his mind, but it might ruin Thanksgiving dinner. Sometimes, it's best to nod and pass the mashed potatoes. 6. Let Them Mispronounce "Espresso" If someone insists on ordering an "expresso," let them. Correcting them might make you feel superior, but it won't make the coffee any stronger. 7. Let Them Wear Socks with Sandals Fashion faux pas or bold statement? Either way, let them. Comfort over style is a personal choice, and who are we to judge? 8. Let Them Take Selfies with Food If your friend wants to document every meal with a photoshoot, let them. Perhaps they're curating a visual food diary or aspiring to be a food influencer. Either way, your meal will still taste the same. Upworthy 9. Let Them Use GPS for Familiar Routes Your partner uses GPS to navigate to the grocery store they've been to a hundred times? Let them. Maybe they're avoiding traffic, or perhaps they just enjoy the soothing voice of the navigation system. 10. Let Them Believe They're a "Grammar Nazi" If someone takes pride in correcting others' grammar, let them. It's their way of contributing to the world, one misplaced apostrophe at a time.

The Satirical Takeaway

The "Let Them Theory" encourages us to relinquish control over others' actions and focus on our own responses. In the realm of satire, this philosophy reminds us to find humor in the quirks and idiosyncrasies of those around us. After all, life's too short to stress over someone else's choice of font or sandwich ingredients. The Guardian Read the full article

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Revive Your Spirit at a Wellness Retreat in Rishikesh

The first mild light of dawn breaks over the Himalayan peaks, portraying the sky in watercolour hues of pink and gold. Below, the sacred Ganges River flows, its gentle murmur a steady whisper to a few of the ashrams of Rishikesh. A wellness retreat in Rishikesh isn’t always just an excursion — it is an awakening of the senses, a mild nudge to the soul that has been napping below the weight of modern life.

Morning mist swirls around historical temples as barefoot yogis make their way to dawn exercise, prayer beads clicking softly against timber mala beads. This is Rishikesh's most real, uncooked, nonsecular, and transformative.

More Than a Scenic Getaway

The magic of this region lies not simply in its photograph-ideal scenery, although that by itself might be worth the adventure. Something elemental stirs right here. Perhaps it is the charged air, vibrating with centuries of mantras. Maybe it’s the water itself, which has appeared as holy for millennia, able to wash away more than simply physical impurities. Whatever the supply, traffic often describes an almost magnetic pull that keeps drawing them back to the yoga & meditation retreats Rishikesh has cradled since long before The Beatles made their well-known pilgrimage right here in 1968.

A Purpose Beyond Relaxation

What makes a wellness retreat in this sacred city so extraordinary compared to destination spas in some other place? The distinction lies in motive. These are not locations that promise mere relaxation — they provide transformation. The conventional yogic technique would not separate the frame from the mind or spirit. Everything interconnects in a delicate dance of balance that holistic recovery in Rishikesh honours through every practice and remedy.

Traditional Teachings in a Timeless Setting

Dawn yoga classes take place on systems overlooking the rushing Ganges, in which the morning sun casts long shadows throughout the weathered wooden flooring. Teachers here don’t clearly teach manual postures — they perpetuate a dwelling tradition. Many have spent many years, if not lifetimes, immersed in these practices. Their commands come not from weekend certification guides, however, but from lineages of know-how passed down via generations.

The asana exercise — bodily yoga postures — is just one facet of the holistic healing in Rishikesh. Traditional meditation techniques open doors to inner stillness that many retreat individuals in no way knew existed within themselves. The easy act of sitting in silence, watching the breath, becomes revolutionary in its ability to quiet the steady chatter of the wandering mind.

One retreatant defined her experience: “By the 0.33 day, something shifted. I stopped fighting against my thoughts and surely watched them drift by like leaves on the Ganges. That’s when the real recovery started.”

Beyond the Mat: Ayurveda and the Ganges

The yoga & meditation retreats in Rishikesh go far beyond the mat. Ayurvedic consultations monitor a man’s or woman’s body types and imbalances, followed using customised remedy plans incorporating herbal treatments, specialised rubdown healing procedures, and dietary modifications. These historic restoration sciences do not just cope with signs — they are searching for root causes with a precision that often surprises visitors acquainted with more generalised Western procedures.

Between scheduled practices, retreat contributors find themselves attracted to the Ganges. Some meditate on its banks; others take part in supervised ceremonial bathing. The river itself appears to have a pulse — a dwelling entity in place of simply flowing water. Scientists have mentioned the surprisingly high negative ion content close to rapidly transferring rivers, just like the Ganges, which measurably influences human mood and energy levels.

Healing in Nature and Sound

The surrounding forests provide another recuperation measure. Walking meditation paths wind through pine and deodar timber, their needles releasing compounds that Japanese researchers have validated reduce strain hormones and raise immune characteristics. This woodland remedy forms some other important component of holistic recovery in Rishikesh, engaging all senses in a diffused method of recuperation.

Evenings at retreats often feature kirtan — devotional call-and-reaction singing that dissolves limitations between participants as voices blend in ancient Sanskrit chants. Even folks who arrive questioning whether they “can’t sing” discover themselves swept away with the aid of the communal electricity, inhibitions forgotten inside the flickering mild of ceremonial flames.

Transformation, Layer by Layer

As one week folds into the following, diffused shifts occur. Sleep deepens. Digestion improves. The area between minds widens. Physical aches that arrived with visitors start to dissolve. The yoga & meditation retreats Rishikesh affords create a container for transformation that works gently but constantly on multiple tiers simultaneously.

Perhaps the most treasured takeaway comes in the shape of sustainable practices that continue long after the retreat ends. Participants go away with personalised exercises for continuing their journey — respiration techniques to manage pressure, meditation practices tailored to their character, and dietary recommendations that guide persistent stability. The holistic restoration in Rishikesh does not stop with the retreat but ripples outward, touching each aspect of existence again, domestic.

A Journey That Calls You Back

Many discover themselves returning 12 months after the year, using those sacred areas as touchstones for his or her ongoing improvement. Each visit shows well-known new layers, each of the place itself and the self that encounters it. The health retreat in Rishikesh now becomes not only a destination but also a date — one that deepens with time and interest.

The Ganges continues flowing, the temple bells keep ringing, and the mountains stand sentinel, detached from the passage of centuries. Meanwhile, folks who come to this sacred location discover something undying inside themselves — something that has constantly been there, waiting to be remembered.