#Mystical loveliness

[robster2016]

Extraterrestrial Eden at Eventide

As the esteemed head of Galerie Lumière Céleste, nestled in the heart of Paris’s vibrant Le Marais district, it is with great pleasure that I, Étienne Lefèvre, offer my insights into the captivating oeuvre titled “Extraterrestrial Eden at Eventide,” an extraordinary otherworldly landscape painting. My tenure in the Parisian art world has been marked by an insatiable quest for works that defy the…

[warismenstrualenvy]

A dead body touched with the Odour of Sanctity can’t just smell ok. It has to possess the mysterious presence of a supernaturally pleasant odour. The scents can be brief or persistent, attached to the body, grave, water the body was bathed in, or objects the person touched.  In the case of St. Padre Pio, his spectral scent of roses and pipe tobacco visited people after his death and was considered a sign of his saintly intercession. All Odours of Sanctities are described as sweet, with notes of honey, butter, roses, violets, frankincense, myrrh, pipe tobacco, jasmine, and lilies being the most frequently reported accompaniments. The scent is also always culturally specific and deeply intertwined with symbolism. (...) One of the most popular of the fragrant saints, St. Therese of Lisieux smelt of lilies, violets and roses upon her deathbed. Her most often attributed quotes is, “The splendour of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not rob the little violet of its scent…If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness”. It also should be noted that during Therese’s lifetime violet absolute was synthesized, making a material that was once the most expensive fragrance component in the world, affordable for all and the de rigueur fragrance of respectable women. To the Victorian palette, violets represented chastity, modesty, and feminine virtue. Lilies and roses also have a long association with Jesus and Mary. Therese’s Odour of Sanctity creates an olfactive tableau of Therese, the respectable modest female, alongside the Virgin Mary and Jesus.  Before 1875 however, the scent of violets would not have been readily identifiable to the general population, and no Odour of Sanctity is associated with violets in any primary sources before that time. There is also an active association between Osmogenesia and Stigmata, with the floral odour emanated from the wounds. Stigmatic Osmogenesia in every case is reported as the smell of roses, which again is deeply symbolic with the wounds of Christ. While there is no way of knowing just how many people the Odour of Sanctity was associated with, in the Late Medieval and Early Modern periods ascetic mystics make up a large population of those afflicted with this post-mortem perfume. In particularly female mystics that lived cloistered lives. These women’s bodies suffered through harsh asceticism and self-inflicted mortification. Yet through the isolation, hardship, poverty, and virginity, these mystics sought to control their bodies and transform them into sacred vessels. It, therefore, makes sense from their perspective that, if successful, the discarded vessels of these perfected souls should already be touched by a whiff of Paradise. The association of the Odour of Sanctity with cloistered women parallels the profane eroticism of the earthly woman with the chaste eroticism of the sacred woman; while the worldly woman’s corpse corrupts by its nature and stinks, so the heavenly woman’s body remains pure and fragrant. However, the conversation is still about a woman’s body.

Nuri McBride, The Odour of Sanctity: When the Dead Smell Divine

[fairy-verse]

I'm curious since nightmare and night light are the same person why does the shape of their wing different, nightmare wing looks more like summer fairy

Looks can be deceiving, and there’s no greater example of this than when it comes to the fairies of Autumn. Mystical fairies, the big folk call them, for while winter fairies remind them of moths, and the spring fairies remind them of dragonflies, the autumn fairies remind them of nothing else than that which is strange and mystical; magical. They have peculiar wings, oddly shaped, but the more they appear to remind you of another type of fairy, the more dangerous they are. Luckily, autumn fairies are peaceful and reserved, preferring to stay in their underground domain during the day, and only emerge to the light of the night when the big folk have gone to sleep.

They are graceful and they spend most of their time outside dancing. Their twinkling lights can be seen shimmering above the surface of the crystal lake, but should any of the big folk approach, then they will scatter and disappear.

In what way are they dangerous? Well, who is to know, because there’s never been anyone to speak of it. None that has survived, that is. You see, the autumn Queen is the most deceiving of all her kin, because her beauty will lure you in, and that is how she’ll get you.

Be you kind or cruel, it matters not to the autumn Queen, because if you invade her domain then you must be dealt with. After all, there is a story that tells of how she was once gentle and sweet, the purest and loveliest of all the firstborns, but that it was tainted and corrupted once that same loveliness led her into danger. Now, although changed, that same beauty can still make others approach, but now she’s not so defenceless. She wishes to be left alone, for her and her fairies to not be disturbed, and should you tread on forbidden land then your intentions matter not.

You didn’t heed her warnings nor her wishes, and so, she will ensnare you with her beauty.

With a flash, you’ll see wings that express such wonder and light that you won’t be able to look away. They almost remind you of a butterfly’s wing, but these are greater and more wonderful to behold, and the Queen’s smile is so tender and loving.

You can’t help but approach.

And that is when those same wings change before your eyes into something terrible, something that is black and glistening, almost rubbery to the eye. But they are sharp, and they easily pierce your flesh, and the sight of the autumn Queen is terrible to behold, for now, her smile is sharp, all jagged teeth and your eyes turn dark before you see what happens next, and no one ever sees you again.

The autumn fairies are the most deceiving of all the season fairies, and none more than the Queen herself, for hidden deep within her underground nest rests her true heart, her true visage. It’s protected, kept safe from the horrors she faced all those centuries ago, and though they may look different, they are the same. The Autumn Queen has only been forced to deceive the world to protect herself and her kin, and so her light needed to change.

The Autumn Queen will never again become whole, lest the island turns pure and rids itself of all the big folk. Because, for as long as they remain, she must be strong, fierce, and beautiful. She must remain a predator who’ll always be ready to attack those who do not heed her warnings or her wishes because in truth she is always afraid.

Afraid that she’ll experience the horrors of the past again, afraid she’ll lose herself completely and become the monster her victims scream at before they die, afraid she’ll lose all she holds dear and near to her broken soul.

The Queen of Autumn is a peaceful ruler who will never attack innocents who wander about their daily lives outside of her borders, for she is tired, and her only wish is to close her eyes and rest for a century or two, and then hopefully reawaken to a perfect Island where only the fairies reside, but of course, that is just a dream, and she still finds herself in the shadows of a living nightmare.

[woe-begotten-spirit]

So I know not a lot of people in the world have a strong opinion on who is best to ship Middle Earth’s Sun with but I am obsessed with The Lost Tales era Eonwë/Arien (or Fionwë/Urwendi) and the parallels with Elwing and Eärendil. 

The Arien/Tilion thing of Moon in love with the Sun of course makes sense in a sort of collective unconscious mythology type way but something about a romance between Bird and Celestial Body is just 🔥

In both versions our bird flies through the air seeking lover lost at sea

Manwë sent Fionwë his son, swiftest of all to move about the airs, and bade him say to Urwendi that the bark of the Sun come back awhile to Valinor, for the Gods have counsels for her ear; and Fionwë fled most readily, for he had conceived a great love for that bright maiden long ago, and her loveliness now, when bathed in fire she sate as the radiant mistress of the Sun, set him aflame with the eagerness of the Gods. (LT I, VIII)

Indeed for a while mishap fell even upon bright Urwendi, that she wandered the dark grots and endless passages of Ulmo’s realm until Fionwë found her and brought her back to Valinor (LT I, IX)

For Ulmo bore up Elwing out of the waves, and he gave her the likeness of a great white bird, and upon her breast there shone as a star the Silmaril, as she flew over the water to seek Eärendil her beloved. (Silm, ch 24)

who sails in a hallowed ship through the Door of the Night. 

Ulmo draws the galleon of the Sun before the Door of Night. Then speaks Urwendi the mystic word, and they open outward before her, and a gust of darkness sweeps in but perishes before her blazing light; and the galleon of the Sun goes out into the limitless dark, and coming behind the world finds the East again. (LT I, IX)

But they took Vingilot, and hallowed it, and bore it away through Valinor to the uttermost rim of the world; and there it passed through the Door of Night and was lifted up even into the oceans of heaven. (Silm, ch 24)

And then our birds Eonwë and Elwing end up being the ones to deliver the Silmarils to their fated places (from Elwing to Eärendil to Air, from Eonwë to Maedhros and Maglor to Fire and Water)

And thus it came to pass that the Silmarils found their long homes: one in the airs of heaven, and one in the fires of the heart of the world, and one in the deep waters. (Silm, ch 24)

There are several more similarities like the early idea that both Eärendil and Arien encountered mermaids while they were at sea (LT I, commentary on The Tale of Qorinómi and LT II, V) and Tilion originally chasing Eärendil instead of Arien (LT II, V)

And also I just think Eonwë should be allowed to do the apocalypse as revenge for his girlfriend because come on:

For ’tis said that ere the Great End come Melko shall in some wise contrive a quarrel between Moon and Sun, and Ilinsor shall seek to follow Urwendi through the Gates, and when they are gone the Gates of both East and West will be destroyed, and Urwendi and Ilinsor shall be lost. So shall it be that Fionwë Úrion, son of Manwë, of love for Urwendi shall in the end be Melko’s bane, and shall destroy the world to destroy his foe, and so shall all things then be rolled away.’ (LT I, IX)

[cc-genshin]

Traveling with Wriothesley: Day 7

"That's a breathtaking view," Wriothesley commented, feasting his eyes upon the lovely pink trees amidst the desert.

The Traveler smiles proudly, "Right? It used to be a lifeless wasteland though." They revealed, looking back to one of their previous adventures.

Wriothesley looks at them, his eyes laced with curiosity. "Oh, really? How so?" He inquires, eager to find out the Traveler's story.

"Well, those trees that you see? They used to be crystallized back then," The Traveler points at a distance. "So it was all dark and grey... plus, there was an ominous purple portal on the ground."

[How it used to look in the past...]

"But after helping out Sorush and the other Pari, we restored this place back to what you see right now." The Traveler continued their story, recounting their experience with a warm feeling in their heart.

Wriothesley looks at the Traveler, seemingly in awe, "Wow. You're a hero indeed." He praises his companion for their hard work. "Everywhere you go, you leave behind something wonderful."

The Traveler blushes and looks away, "Thank you, I just did... what I had to. And what I thought was the right thing at the moment." With a soft voice, they replied.

The Duke chuckles, admiring the Traveler, "But I hope you're not planning to leave me behind too someday." He jokingly says.

Quickly, the Traveler looks at him with a frown. "I would never do such thing!" They protested and pouted.

"Oh look, there's a Pari over there." Changing the topic, Wriothesley pointed out as he noticed Jarjar, one of the Pari in the area.

"Ah, that's Jarjar." The Traveler walks up to the Pari, leading the way for Wriothesley. "Hello, friend. It's been a while." With a smile, they greeted the Avian creature.

"Oh, it's you Traveler. Do you want to play games with me again?" Jarjar, the Pari asked. "Wait, who...?" The Pari takes notice of Wriothesley, looking at the Traveler with questioning eyes.

"This is Wriothesley, my traveling partner." The Traveler introduces with a joyful tone.

"Hello there." Wriothesley waves at the Pari, keeping his cool composure.

"Partners! How wonderful. Jarjar can prepare a game for you two to enjoy." The Pari excitedly flew around.

Wriothesley looks at their partner, wondering what kind of game the Pari is talking about.

"Jarjar likes to play race games. It was fun to complete his challenges." The Traveler giggles while sharing their experience with the Duke.

"Racing, huh? Well, I'll be looking forward to that." Wriothesley crosses his arms and nods with a smirk.

"Come to think of it, Jarjar kinda looks like you." Wriothesley said while they watched the Pari fly away.

"Eh?" The Traveler blinks, they didn't expect such comment from the Duke.

"Well, your hair is light like their body. Plus, you have the same eye color." Wriothesley stares at their partner while explaining his idea. "Only yours look lovelier to me, of course." He smiles as he compliments the Traveler.

As their heart skipped a beat, the Traveler couldn't help but look away once more. "Geez, that was unexpected." Wriothesley laughs, he knew he would get this type of answer. "I adore your eyes as much as you adore mine, hmph!" Playfully, the Traveler complimented him in return.

"What's this glowing piece of wood?" Wriothesley asked as they continued walking around the Gavireh Lajavard.

"That's a Fravashi tree. Spirits of old Pari used to lay here." The Traveler explains the mystical aura around the place. "I've put them all to rest so they can go in peace."

Wriothesley feels a sense of peace as the Traveler tells him the story behind the tree. "That sounds like a good ending."

As they continue walking around...

"You're telling me... we'll jump down into this thing?" Wriothesley asked, looking down at the glowing entrance.

The Traveler nods. "Are you scared?" They jokingly asked.

"Absolutely..." Wriothesley slowly moves his hand towards the Traveler. "...not!" Without warning, he grabs them and jumps towards the hole.

Together, they both fell into the glowing entrance. And before they knew it, a bright light blinded them for a moment.

The next thing they know, they've been transported to a whole new place.

"Where are we?" Wriothesley asked while looking around.

"We're at the Gaokerena. This giant lotus flower... is where the last Dendro archon kept Egeria's consciousness." The Traveler tells Wriothesley yet another story about the world's history.

Slowly, the Traveler walks away, creating distance between them and the Duke.

"This is where the divine bird, Simurgh, drank Egeria's fluids - causing the creation of the Pari race." The Traveler glances back at Wriothesley and reaches their hand out.

Wriothesley takes a moment before stepping forward. He was admiring the Traveler's beauty from a distance.

"Egeria sure had a lot of ties with this place in Sumeru." Wriothesley replies, finally moving forward.

The Traveler nods in agreement. "Yeah," They smiled as the Duke stood next to them. "Beautiful place though, right?"

Wriothesley smiles back, "Indeed."

(NOTE: If you notice any inconsistencies in the lore, please feel free to correct me. I don't remember everything in order and I rely on the Genshin Wiki to refresh my memory.)

CHAPTER LIST|| Tap here to view the list of chapters & FAQ ||

EXTRA: Eremite Wriothesley (my fanart!)

[gatabella]

Greta Garbo, c.1927

"When the door opened, I beheld this radiant creature. Even without the camera’s magical lens to enhance her looks, an aura of mystical loveliness enveloped her. To this day I blush to recall her first words to me: “Oh, you are quite beautiful, Mr. Guilaroff.” This was an era when such a word was never applied to men. A man might be handsome or elegant or good-looking, but never beautiful. Her words took me by surprise. As I felt my face flushing, I stammered a reply. “Me? Beautiful? I think you are very beautiful.” “How charming,” she said, and I took another look at her, equally astonished by her naturalness and the directness of her manner. I bent to kiss her cheek, the way one leans over to smell a rose, to catch its perfume. Accepting my kiss, she said, “Please come in. I need your help.” I was terribly taken with her extraordinary beauty: She was so different from anyone I had ever met. She looked sad even when she smiled, and this only added to the aura of mystery that surrounded her. I can think of only one way to express this most striking phenomenon: She looked as if she was sadly happy. When I said something amusing, her eyebrows knit together and she smiled, all the while looking infinitely vulnerable. It was her most touching quality."

-Sydney Guilaroff, Crowning glory: reflections of Hollywood's favorite confidant

[johnnyyumaisarebel]

my love

beyond description

your multilayered majesty

moving as a mystic maiden

the enormity of my adoration

more than i could say

in words or in my part of speech

when you penetrate my senses

marvel your endemic traits

selfless both in thoughts and actions

you sincere in self effacing

lovelier than any rose

your bearing almost supernatural

your eyes betray your wilder side

but in a most romantic way

a lady of a time in place

more delicate and pure

and how you pour your loving cup

free from any expectations

simply gifted from your center

you hold me in unearned esteem

celebrate my small successes

patiently and lovingly

wait for serendipity

life is brilliant in your aura

luxuriating in your grace

even now the word eludes me

a simple thing to tell you why

i come to you in gratitude

for the colors of your being

the one i needed

my love

my love

my love

[bourniebna]

[Commentary | Fanfiction]

Smitten with the Glimpse of You

Synopsis: Wally West being the self-identity (and spirit animal) of every NTT Raven admirer. "Moral" of the Story: To all the straight girlies out there, find yourself a man who would look at you bundled in a blanket the way Wally looks at Raven here.

✵~✵

“How come we were not recruited for the team?!? How come I wasn’t recruited?”

Roy Harper - or rather Speedy - exclaimed accusingly at Robin, the leader of the New Teen Titans. His displeasure was backed up by Garth, Lilith, and even Mal Duncan, who were all having their hands on their hips and a betrayed look, like the kids who were left out of the coolest party in town while their supposed besties were invited and didn’t even bother to tell them about it.

“Sorry, kids, but it wasn’t my call, actually,” Robin shrugged in defeat, not having the answer himself.

And it was true that the reform of Teen Titans had not been initiated by Robin or Wonder Girl, and especially not by him - Kid Flash. It was unexpectedly the deed of an otherworldly girl named Raven, who was a half-demoness desperately trying to stop her own demon father Trigon the Terrible in his wrathful path; who all by herself sought out and brought together the members in a strategic order; who even thought as far ahead as arranging the construction of their base with Silas Stone as soon as the team was formed.

Who purposely sowed the seed of infatuation in the lost heart of Wally West.

Subconsciously, he clenched his hands. Zatanna’s words still rang in his head like the blasted alarm clock he had woken up to yesterday morning. After such revelation, Wally had thought that he had been done with her for good. Yet, in the end, he still couldn’t outrun his lingering adoration for her.

How could he anyway, to a girl whose inner strength was so great? To whom Wallace West was the last hope?

Wally allowed himself to steal a glance at the possessor of his mind, engulfed completely by her majestic royal blue cloak. The only signs of her being the one under all those layers of fabric were her delicate fingers peeking out to hold the god-knows-what book that Gar just bought and her all the more delicate, cold shoulders that he had grown so familiar with.

Those fingers whose touch heals, both the body and the mind.

Those shoulders whose loveliness could only be overshadowed by the subtly hopeful gleam in her grey eyes whenever they looked his way.

Wally was more observant than he let on. And right now, he wished that he could also see her face, basking in the calmness of her defined features and tracing the depth of her distant, melancholy sight. She was always so shy, so humble; always shielding herself from the world in the comfort of her robe.

Oh, but he knew her.

He had held her slim figure so many times when she was in danger. He had felt her soft curves against him whenever she needed some consolation. For Heaven’s sake, he knew her face - one as sweet as the mystical moonlight. Not even the thickest of cloaks could bury away the grace in her stance.

Why couldn’t she realise that she was so adorable?

And a smile found its way to the lips of the smitten speedster.

✵~✵

Author's Note: Me too, Wally. Me too.

[eatmangoesnekkid]

I have zero stress in my life, with exception that sometimes I do too much to pump up my skinny arms at the gym. This is not hubris or fantasy. I have a lover who honors that I only do what I love, not one day a week, but all days. But this is not about my lover because true love never begins or ends with a lover. This is about my devotion to love.  I feel that  we get too caught up in the acquisition of love, being chosen by someone and looking for what we can get in return, rather than doing the work to simply embody love as principle, evolving into the kind of person who is actually capable of loving another human soul well, first beginning with ourselves (our cells). Love also includes how we love animals and nature. It's all divine energy accumulating in our cells. I studied love. I studied love as a creative outlet. I studied strangers and couples of all sexualities and ethnicities whom energies resonated as loving. I would study their interactions and banter and fall in love with what I saw. I read simple books on love like Thich Nnat Hahn's "Teachings on Love" over and over again at least 30 times. I listened to songs that only felt like love. I discovered ways to unlock the tension around my heart/breasts and pelvis so that my body could release the archaic contractions and open up wide. I would bathe like love. As a result, it was only a natural next step that I would became a passionate lover. A passionate lover instinctively attracts more truthful love. When we have love, we have creative energy in our lives that we can utilize to help us to create heaven on earth. With more love energy embodied, life will start to feel really good for no reason at all. My way of loving and being in union was re-calibrated from the violent template I saw modeled in my home and community after a terrible breakup, breakdown, and breakthrough into one where loving is habit and self-love is principle. I am consistently spoiled with beautiful things, awakened to the presence of beauty in everyday life most days. I am encouraged to care for myself and do nothing at all, anytime, any day, at any hour. My body is nourished and easily orgasmic to the breeze of a gentle inhale.  It is no longer through the spirit of struggle, lack, tension, hustle, and deadlines, but from living the intimate, sensuous, tantric, magnetic arts that I birth a series of bestseller books that will burst hearts into mystical, sensuous, transformative, dewy pieces. I started to visualize a slow regenerative way of life 15 years ago, one that would include travels, naps, and time and space to cook homemade food without rushing, a real life where I adored being offline with ease far more than online. I would talk to nature and ask for guidance and just allow my body to hold a little more of the vision every day as if I was pregnant. I was! I also asked the holy spirit of love to utilize me; to utilize my mind and heightened intuition; to utilize this pelvis, hips, feet, cylindrical breasts, and heart and enhance my flow of energy; to utilize my tongue and warm mouth to sing beauty and write from loveliness; and even these hair follicles to amplify expanded possibilities for us all. Our mission is only valid when it includes evolving and expanding the light, universe energy, and possibilities within other people.  I stopped needing to possess this body; I know I cannot be contained by it. I can only serve as a conduit and create some deliciousness from its amplified attributes (as a result) of being utilized by Source energy. Most days my body is more a conduit of divine energy than something that I need to claim full ownership over.  We become conduits. This is how God uses us and how we help one another evolve and heal. Even our open-hearted nude bodies can be greatly healing for others. Life loves to fan the flames of our sweltering visions, warmest beliefs, swollen perceptions, and deepest desire frequencies. When you begin to own your mind and what's living in it, you shake loose your potencies. Your potencies are your divine energy. When you access the divine energy of love, your body gets softer. You now feel like love. The pitch/tone of your voice shifts; you now speak like love. You gait ascends; You now walk like love. Your scent evolves; you now smell like love. Your taste buds elevate; you now eat like love. Your relationship to your body, spine, and breathing transforms; you now fuck like love. You are love. Love has always been a noun, you see.

India Ame’ye, Author, Pictured

[geodetojoy]

hihihi my lovely friend!!!! im here to bestow asks from the mystical and mythical… ~random number generator~

29, 21, 31, 9, 10

have fun!! i love youuu [fades away into the ether]

hihihi my even lovelier friend!!!!

gonna answer in numerical order bc. yeah

9. What do you consider your biggest accomplishment?

in a way just. still being here tbh? but if we’re going with non-personal stuff ig that im on the path to being valedictorian lmao-

10. What is a fact about you that no one would believe?

i’ve lied to the police 👍

21. Who knows you the best?

mmm probably my one irl-ish friend (we’ve only talked online since i moved)

29. Favorite song lyrics right now?

ain’t no way im pickin just one sorry

-“WHEN YOU WAKE UP NEXT TO HIIIM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIIGHT WITH YOUR HEAD IN YOUR HANDS YOURE NOTHING MORE THAN HIS WIIIFE” (good luck, babe! by chappel roan)

-“i take my whiskey neeeeeaaaat my coffee black and my bed at threeee youre to sweet for meeeee” (too sweet by hozier)

-“im working laaaaate ‘cuz im a singerrrrr” (espresso by sabrina carpenter)

-“where is that large automobile????” (once in a lifetime by talking heads)

-“you are kind, and that’s enough.

you’re a diamond in the rough!

and you are the power, the power in me!!” (the power in me from twisted)

-“the question is then is whether tis nobler in the mind to be well-liked but ineffectual or moral but maligned” (also gonna be my senior quote :P) (twisted title song)

-“one day you’re going to die

and there’s probably nothing after!!!!” (momento mori: the most important thing in the world by will wood)

-“THIS PROGRAM MUST BE RUN BY AN ADMINISTRATOR! YOU DONT HAVE THE PERMISSION SO ILL- SEE YA LATER!!” (donotreadme.wav by charlie slimecicle :DDD)

-“don’t you dare look at me that wayyyy i don’t need reminder of how you don’t feel the same!” (from the start by good kid, but specifically the slimecicle cover version)

31. Describe yourself with three singers.

oooo this one’s funnnn

1. NOAHFINNCE. easily

2. Jack Stauber/ Jack Staubers Micropop

3. Tom Lehrer

4. Hatsune Miku

THIS WAS SO FUNNN TY LY <333

[radical-revolution]

'Spirituality means waking up.

Most people, even though they don't know it, are asleep. They're born asleep, they live asleep, they marry in their sleep, they breed children in their sleep, they die in their sleep without ever waking up.

They never understand the loveliness and the beauty of this thing that we call human existence.

You know all mystics-Catholic,Christian, non-Christian, no matter what their theology, no matter what their religion--are unanimous on one thing: that all is well, all is well. Though everything is a mess, all is well.

Strange paradox, to be sure. But, tragically, most people never get to see that all is well because they are asleep. They are having a nightmare.'

— Anthony de Mello

[hieromonkcharbel]

Beauty and Hesychia

"In the dazzling flesh of divinity, you have shown natural beauty to be even more beautiful O blessed Virgin, we bless the One whom you bore."

Of the Athonite Life it is said: "Sacred matter, that which is given to God, is replete with divine grace. The souls of the saints fly and flutter about, luminous and full of light. The relics of the saints perpetually emit the same uncreated and scintillating light; and indescribable and uncreated fragrance pours from their tombs. Everything around is filled by the beauty of their contrition and the fragrance of heaven." Yet, if such is so for the monk, then such must also be true for every person filled with grace and part of the Body of Christ. "True beauty is captivating; it pours forth love. Furthermore it teaches man to love goodness, offering and sacrifice." One's entire sojourn and journey along the Christian way proves to be a theological initiation - an initiation into the life of the Divine. "It molds a person like a deifying womb and nurtures him for a new life. One comes to believe in the Incarnation of the Logos of God and in the deification (theosis) of that which He assumed. One comes to live and believe that God is love and perplexing beauty, that the unveiling of His love is a revelation of beauty, and that His beauty is an offering, freely given from the bounty of His goodness. With this great beauty He refashioned our human substance by His Incarnation, Passion and Resurrection." From out of the withering, fleeting prison of our sin, we pass through the hour of judgment which breaks us down and resurrects us, toward enduring beauty and the freedom of inexpressible loveliness and the maturity of stillness. What we learn from the monk is that all men can be saved and become participants in the divine beauty through participation in the Lord's sufferings, through life-bearing mortification. To this end, Archimandrite Vasileios offers us the following reflection:

The monk’s life is beautiful because it is associated with that awesome hour of judgment and liberation. The monk’s life is a life of repentance and in the final analysis, is also a life of Transfiguration. It is the life of asceticism, labor, pain, endurance and tears. For this reason, it is crowned with divine and mystical consolation, and the beauty of spontaneity, truth and stillness. It is a life of philokalia, the love of beauty.

The monk pursues his love of beauty through his asceticism. He is an artist who grapples not with mere paints, sounds, or words, but struggles instead with his own entire being. He fashions himself. He asked to be given totally to God, to be fashion and by Him so that he can say willingly: “Not my will but Thine be done.“ When this happens, everything is given to him in that hour when he least expects it. His whole life bears the seal of that hour of crucifixion and resurrection. All his life becomes that hour of judgment from which springs the beauty of freely given salvation and the maturity of everlasting hesychia.

Then he either speaks, or writes, or builds, or chooses to remain silent with a comfort and a source of strength which are different. This is because Someone else is functioning instead of him. Someone else is speaking and writing, building or remaining silent.

Every hour becomes his sacrifice, his self-offering and thus the emergence as well of a perplexing beauty. Each of his trials becomes a blessing and so he remains silent and grateful. His entire self becomes a wound; his entire self becomes a spring of rejoicing. He lives Good Friday and the Resurrection at the same time. Every day he dies and every day he is resurrected. He does not live life as mere biological existence, but rather feels it breaking forth from the tomb at every hour to conquer death. Everything is a divine gift and a wonderful revelation. As the Lord said: "Do not be anxious about how you are to speak or what you are to say in that hour." In that hour, which is eternity, everything is given to him most vividly.

The true and genuine monk, the authentic monk, puts on no pretenses of being something he is not, because he is true. He moves and behaves unaffectedly. His entire being radiates the beauty that is within him. Better put, through his trials and endurance, divine beauty is revealed. His youth passes, he grows old but is rejuvenated. He becomes a "good" old man, a peaceful old man, in short, a monk. There is a comfort and a light which is not created light. There is a youth which is eternal, a humor which blossoms upon the tough branch of asceticism, and a life which ascends from the tomb. Such a monk, since he is liberated, plays in the morning of the Resurrection like a carefree child upon the sandy beach of the sea, upon the same seashore on which walks the resurrected Christ. He is tranquil because the Lord has mortified Hades with the lightning flash of His divinity.

A Beauty exists which abolishes death; a Stillness (hesychia) exists which abounds with eternal blessedness and splendor for all of us.

Archimandrite Vasileios

Abbot of Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos

Beauty and Hesychia in the Athonite Life

[thequietabsolute]

It isn't mysticism. Goethe simply wouldn't stop at the boundaries drawn by the inductive method. He let his imagination pass over into objects. An artist sometimes tries to see how close he can come to being a river or a star, playing at becoming one or the other entering into the forms of the phenomena painted or described. Someone has even written of an astronomer keeping droves of stars, the cattle of his mind, in the meadows of space.

… The imaginative soul works in that way, and why should poetry refuse to be knowledge? For Shelley, Adonais in death became part of the loveliness he had made more lovely. So according to Goethe the blue of the sky was the theory. There was a thought in blue. The blue became blue when human vision received it. A wonderful man like my late friend Humboldt was overawed by rational orthodoxy, and because he was a poet this probably cost him his life. Isn't it enough to be a poor naked forked creature without also being a poor naked forked spirit? Must the imagination be asked to give up its own full and free connection with the universe — the universe as Goethe spoke of it? As the living garment of God?

— Saul Bellow, from Humboldt’s Gift

page 362.

[drinkerofsoma]

"The Rock of Doom", Edward Burne-Jones (1888) left "The Doom Fulfilled", Edward Burne-Jones (1888) right It doesn’t take long for one to notice that the depiction of tragic females was a fairly common subject in the Pre-Raphaelite Movement [1]. Present here in the above works of Burne-Jones is the pitiable Andromeda, born of royal blood, she was the daughter of the Aethiopian King Cepheus and his consort Cassiopeia. It is said that in age’s past, her mother had once boasted about Andromeda’s beauty, suggesting it be one that surpassed that of the Nereids. Such a claim was an offense to both their father Nereus and their lord Poseidon, prompting the divinity to unleash the serpentine foe, Cetus, unto the kingdom’s shores. With this tragedy befalling upon his lands, the king sought the advice of an oracle, only to receive an answer quite grave. In order to quell the rage of the Gods and rid themselves of the menacing beast, his daughter had to be sacrificed! As it was his duty, Cepheus put the safety of his kingdom first and thus offered young Andromeda to be consumed by Cetus.

Chained to a rock at the edge of the shore, awaiting her doom, the gallant Perseus chances upon the maiden:

"Now hovering there, he seemed to hear a sound Unlike the sea-bird's cry, and looking round, He saw a figure standing motionless Beneath the cliff, midway 'twixt ness and ness, And as the wind lull'd heard that cry again, That sounded like the wail of one in pain; Wondering thereat, and seeking marvels new He lighted down, and toward the place he drew, And made invisible by Pallas' aid, He came within the scarped cliff's purple shade, And found a woman standing lonely there, Naked, except for tresses of her hair That o'er her white limbs by the breeze were wound, And brazen chains her weary arms that bound Unto the sea-beat overhanging rock, As though her golden-crowned head to mock. But nigh her feet upon the sand there lay Rich raiment that had covered her that day, Worthy to be the ransom of a king, Unworthy round such loveliness to cling. . . . Then unseen Perseus stole anigh the maid, And love upon his heart a soft hand laid, And tender pity rent it for her pain; Not yet an eager cry could he refrain, As now, transformed by that piteous sight, Grown like unto a God for pride and might, Down on the sand the mystic cap he cast And stood before her with flushed face at last, And grey eyes glittering with his great desire Beneath his hair, that like a harmless fire Blown by the wind shone in her hopeless eyes. But she, all rigid with her first surprise, Ceasing her wailing as she heard his cry, Stared at him, dumb with fear and misery, Shrunk closer yet unto the rocky place And writhed her bound hands as to hide her face; But sudden love his heart did so constrain, With open mouth he strove to speak in vain And from his heart the hot tears 'gan to rise; But she midst fear beheld his kind grey eyes, and then, as hope came glimmering through her dread, In a weak voice he scare could hearm she said," O Death! If though hast risen from the sea, Sent by the gods to end this misery, I thank them that thou comest in this form, Who rather thought to see a hideous worm Come trailing up the sands from out the deep." — "The Doom of King Acrisius," I. 269-70

Smitten, the virile hero approaches Cepheus and Cassiopeia for their daughter’s hand in exchange for slaying the vile beast, before venturing forth to conquer it: "He beheld the sea, And saw a huge wave rising mightily Above the smaller breakers of the shore, Which in its green breast for a minute bore A nameless horror, that it cast aland And left, a huge mass on the oozing sand, That scarcely seemed a living thing to be, Until at last those twain it seemed to see, And gathering up its strange limbs, towards them passed. And therewithal a dismal trumpet-blast Rang from the tower, and from the distant town The wind in answer brought loud wails adown. Then Perseus gently put the maid from him, Who sank down shivering in her every limb, Silent despite herself for fear and woe, As down the beach he ran to meet the foe. But he, beholding Jove's son drawing near, A great black fold against him did uprear, Maned with grey tufts of hair, as some old tree Hung round with moss, in lands where vapours be; From his bare skull his red eyes glowed like flame And from his open mouth a sound there came, Strident and hideous, that still louder grew As that rare sight of one in arms he knew: But godlike, fearless, burning with desire, The adamant jaws and lidless eyes of fire Did Perseus mock, and lightly leapt aside As forward did the torture-chamber glide Of his huge head, and ere the beast could turn, One moment bright did blue-edged Herpe burn, The next was quenched in the black flow of blood; Then in confused folds the hero stood, His bright face shadowed by the jaws of death, His hair blown backward by the poisonous breath; But all that passed, like lightning-lighted street In the dark night, as the blue blade did meet The wrinkled neck, and with no faltering stroke, Like a God's hand the fell enchantment broke, And then again in place of crash and roar, He heard the shallow breakers on the shore, And o'er his head the sea-gull's plaintive cry, Careless as Gods for who might live or die." — "The Doom of King Acrisius" I. 274-75 With the death of the serpent, the twain finally became one. Many a child born of their union, ultimately bearing a lineage that begets the great Heracles himself! Notes: [1]: Not always were these woman mythological figures, see Rossetti’s unfinished piece “Found” (1859). 

Links to text: The Doom of King Acrisius: http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/morris/poems/doom.html

Metamorphoses (the original source material): https://ovid.lib.virginia.edu/trans/Ovhome.htm#askline "See how the creature comes parting the waves, with surging breast, like a fast ship, with pointed prow, ploughing the water, driven by the sweat-covered muscles of her crew. It was as far from the rock as a Balearic sling can send a lead shot through the air, when suddenly the young hero, pushing his feet hard against the earth, shot high among the clouds. When the shadow of a man appeared on the water' surface, the creature raged against the shadow it had seen. As Jupiter's eagle, when it sees a snake, in an open field, showing its livid body to the sun, takes it from behind, and fixes its eager talons in the scaly neck, lest it twists back its cruel fangs, so the descendant of Inachus hurling himself headlong, in swift flight, through empty space, attacked the creature's back, and, as it roared, buried his sword, to the end of the curved blade, in the right side of its neck. Hurt by the deep wound, now it reared high in the air, now it dived underwater, or turned now, like a fierce wild boar, when the dogs scare him, and the pack is baying around him. Perseus evades the eager jaws on swift wings, and strikes with his curved sword wherever the monster is exposed, now at the back encrusted with barnacles, now at the sides of the body, now where the tail is slenderest, ending fishlike. The beast vomits seawater mixed with purplish blood. The pinions grow heavy, soaked with spray. Not daring to trust his drenched wings any further, he sees a rock whose highest point stands above quiet water, hidden by rough seas. Resting there, and holding on to the topmost pinnacle with his left hand, he drives his sword in three or four times, repeatedly. The shores, and the high places of the gods, fill with the clamor of applause. Cassiope and Cepheus rejoice, and greet their son-in-law, acknowledging him as the pillar of their house, and their deliverer. Released from her chains, the girl comes forward, the prize and the cause of his efforts. He washes his hands, after the victory, in seawater drawn for him, and, so that Medusa's head, covered with its snakes, is not bruised by the harsh sand, he makes the ground soft with leaves, and spreads out plants from below the waves, and places the head of that daughter of Phorcyson them. The fresh plants, still living inside, and absorbent, respond to the influence of the Gorgon's head, and harden at its touch, acquiring a new rigidity in branches and fronds. And the ocean nymphs try out this wonder on more plants, and are delighted that the same thing happens at its touch, and repeat it by scattering the seeds from the plants through the waves. Even now corals have the same nature, hardening at a touch of air, and what was alive, under the water, above water is turned to stone." — Metamorphosis 4.706-752 For more information on Burne-Jones himself, here is a fantastic documentary: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmO3ZO9TGgA&feature=youtu.be

[littleghostytarot]

Be careful when you ask questions to your cards because some decks care more to give the truth that will hit you hard vs being evasive.

Today I asked my newer deck The Fox Universe Tarot about “Who taught me to hate myself?”

The answer:

XV - The Sage // Community

0 - The Newborn // Growth

To me, the answer came clearly as “the community around me, the people who were suppose to know better, struggling under the veil of their own illusions, with their hearts out, and a clawed for the world around them, yes, they saw you in your little loveliness, a baby, new and unknowing. They tried to pick you up, but with their heart in one hand, and a claw made of the other, there was no room for you there. Other hands tried, but they were just as scattered, through death, through preoccupation, uneven, and reluctant, yes. They could not hold you as you needed.”

When we ask questions like this of ourselves, of our lives, it’s important to follow it up with empowering ourselves.

“How have I worked to detangle this notion?”

The answer:

V - The Mystic // Sprituality

VI - The Betrothed // Relationship

IV - The Stranger // Character

Ah, see? That’s how you soothe yourself. And how powerful that it’s the 3 major arcana grouped around important early journey concepts. Typically in the Rider Waite those correlate to The Hierophant, The Lovers, and The Emperor , but in this deck it’s a little different and equally special. You see, I cared and saved myself through spirituality, through never stopping going through hands and hands till there was equality, and especially, I did it from the innate qualities that made me /me/ from birth. Those qualities got burried, but i dug them out from my shadow, from the flowers on my crown and hand I found the nuggets of clarity, wisdom, and love there was in the impermanent people in my life, and the snake with me since birth continued to watch me, loving me, and accepting me as I took this path one step at a time.

Be gentle with yourselves everyone, seek truth with self-compassion and tenderness.

[sigh-the-kraken]

Old fellow-loiterer, whither wouldst thou go? The lonely eve is ours, When tides of richer fragrance ooze and flow From heavy-lidded flowers.

With solemn hampered pace proceeding by The dewy garden-bed, Like some old priest in antique finery, Stiff cope and jewelled head;

Thy sanctuary lamps are lit at dusk, Where leafy aisles are dim; The bat's shrill piccolo, the swinging musk Blend with the beetle's hymn.

Aye something paramount and priestly too, Some cynic mystery, Lurks in the dull skin its dismal hue, The bright ascetic eye;

Thou seem'st the heir of centuries, hatched out With aeons on thy track; The dust of ages compasses about Thy lean and shrivelled back.

Thy heaving throat, thy sick repulsive glance Still awes thy foes around; The eager hound starts back and looks askance, And whining paws the ground.

Yet thou hast forfeited thy ancient ban, Thy mystical control; We know thee now to be the friend of man, A simple homely soul;

And when we deemed thee curiously wise, Still chewing venomed paste, Thou didst but crush the limbs of juicy flies With calm and critic taste.

By the grey stone half sunk in mossy mould, Beside the stiff boxhedge, Thou slumberest, when the dawn with fingers Plucks at the low cloud's edge.

O royal life! in some cool cave all day, Dreaming old dreams, to lie, Or peering up to see the larkspur sway Above thee in the sky;

Or wandering when the sunset airs are cool Beside the elm-tree's foot, To splash and sink in some sequestered pool, Amid the cresses' root.

Abhorred, despised, the sad wind o'er thee sings; Thou hast no friend to fear, Yet fashioned in the secret mint of things And hidden to be here.

Man dreams of loveliness, and bids it be; To truth his eye is dim. Thou wert, because the spirit dreamed of thee, And thou art born of him.

-A.C. Benson

If this reaches 1 note, I will draw a frog.

If this reaches 10 notes, I will draw a bigger frog.

You can figure out the math from there