#Saint Anthony East

[ourstaturestouchtheskies]

taylor swift lyrics x colors x textiles in art – blue

Tim McGraw – Taylor Swift // Portrait of Marie-Joseph Peyre – Marie-Suzanne Giroust 💙 Tim McGraw – Taylor Swift // Lady in the Boudoir – Gustav Holweg-Glantschnigg 💙 A Place in This World – Taylor Swift // Portrait of Prince William Henry, Duke of Gloucester – Jean-Étienne Liotard 💙 Dear John – Speak Now // Young Woman in a Blue Dress – Jacopo Negretti 💙 State of Grace – Red // Portrait of Mrs. Matthew Tilghman and her Daughter – John Hesselius 💙 Red – Red // An Unknown Man – Joseph Highmore 💙 All Too Well – Red // Portrait of a Man with a Quilted Sleeve – Titian 💙 Everything Has Changed – Red // Portrait of the Marquis de Saint-Paul – Jean-Baptiste Greuze 💙 Starlight – Red // Mrs. Richard Brown – John Hesselius 💙 Run – Red // Judith with the Head of Holofernes – Felice Ficherelli 💙 This Love – 1989 // Fair Rosamund – John William Waterhouse 💙 Delicate – Reputation // Miss Elizabeth Ingram – Joshua Reynolds 💙 Gorgeous – Reputation // Marguerite Hessein, Lady of Rambouillet de la Sablière – workshop of Henri and Charles Beaubrun 💙 Dancing with Our Hands Tied – Reputation // George Albert, Prince of East Frisia – Johann Conrad Eichler

Cruel Summer – Lover // Peter August Friedrich von Koskull – Michael Ludwig Claus 💙 Lover – Lover // Lady Oxenden – Joseph Wright of Derby 💙 Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince – Lover // Portrait of Ivan Ivanovich Betskoi – Alexander Roslin 💙 Paper Rings – Lover // Young Woman in a Blue Dress – Jacopo Negretti 💙 London Boy – Lover // Queen Henrietta Maria with Sir Jeffrey Hudson – Anthony van Dyck 💙 Afterglow – Lover // Portrait of Prince Dmitry Mikhailovich Golitsyn – Fyodor Rokotov 💙 Christmas Tree Farm – Christmas Tree Farm // Portrait of Mary Ruthven, Lady van Dyck – Anthony van Dyck 💙 invisible string – folklore // Two Altar Wings with the Visitation of Mary – unknown artist 💙 invisible string – folklore // Portrait of Madame de Pompadour – François Boucher 💙 peace – folklore // Fair Rosamund – John William Waterhouse 💙 hoax – folklore // Portrait of Charles le Normant du Coudray – Jean-Baptiste Perronneau 💙 coney island – evermore // Portrait of the Marquis de Saint-Paul – Jean-Baptiste Greuze 💙 Carolina – Carolina // Mrs. Daniel Sargent – John Singleton Copley 💙 Bejeweled – Midnights // Elsa Elisabeth Brahe – David Klöcker Ehrenstrahl 💙 The Great War – Midnights // Portrait of Françoise Marie de Bourbon – attributed to François de Troy 💙 Hits Different – Midnights // Mrs. Benjamin Pickman – John Singleton Copley

[queerliblib]

Any recs for East and SE Asian protags/focused writing? Any and all genres welcome!

just answered a similar ask the other day! it was very WLW focused though, so here are some queer of other varieties works that fit:

The Membranes by Chi Ta-Wei

Nuclear Family by Joseph Han

Afterparties by Anthony Veasna So

Beijing Comrades by Bei Tong

Ghost Town by Kevin Chen

For Today I am a Boy by Kim Fu

Burden of Ashes by Justin Chin

The Genesis of Misery by Neon Yang

Saints of Storm & Sorrow by Gabriella Buba

we’ve also got a whole section of Manga if that’s your jam

[mybeingthere]

Kim Lim (1936-1997, Singaporean/British)

In 1954, Kim Lim left Singapore for Britain with the aim of studying art and becoming an artist. In London, she enrolled at St. Martin’s School of Fine Art and later at the Slade School of Fine Art, studying printmaking and sculpture with equal enthusiasm—two approaches that formed the basis of her work in the four decades that followed. During those formative school years, Lim studied under Anthony Caro and befriended other artists like Tess Jaray and Julia Farrer. She was particularly fascinated by the work of Brancusi, a shared affinity with William Turnbull, who became her husband in 1960. Lim began exhibiting work relatively soon after finishing her studies, with her first solo exhibition at Axiom Gallery in 1966 where she displayed early, colourful works such as Borneo II and Candy (as seen in the studio shot below), acquired the year after it was made by the Arts Council Collection. She exhibited regularly through the 1970s and 1980s with Nicola Jacobs Gallery.

Much of Lim’s early work can be characterised by her engagement with materials such as wood and bronze. Her printmaking practice was equally pervasive and prominent from the beginning. Works such as Abacus I and II (1959), two sister relief sculptures, modelled after the ancient Chinese calculation tool, employ a poverty of material and reveal Lim’s ability to transform fundamental shapes and concepts with an elegant gesture. Made of plaster shapes hung on wire within a rectangular wooden frame, these works eschew “high art” material for simplicity of form. Both works are now in the collections of the Singapore National Gallery and M+ in Hong Kong, respectively. Lim extracted inspiration from her own personal journey from the East to West, with the vernacular of those artists she admired from the West such as Giacometti. Importantly, Lim looked outside the “canon” of art as well. A keen observer of nature and of natural forces, she would echo the sinuous curves of a vast desert plain, the waves of a silent sea breeze, and other experiential moments of life in her work. The strength of a Gingko tree’s trunk, for example, as seen in the 1989 sculpture titled after this living fossil, in which a monolith of rose aurora marble fluted and carved by hand rests on a Portland stone base.

Lim’s 1970s work is marked by a deeper experimentation into concepts of “form, space, rhythm and light”. Her series Intervals, which refers to both sculptural and paper works, employs negative space with equal detail as it does with ideas of density and volume. The year 1979 would prove be a watershed moment for the artist, culminating in a mid-career survey show at The Roundhouse where Lim would exhibit works from every period in a non-linear and non-chronological method, partly in response to the venue itself, a circular gallery space. This was also the year that Lim moved toward an embracing of stone and marble mediums, materials that would remain present in her practice until her untimely passing in 1997.

Continue reading https://www.turnbullstudiokimlim.com/kim-lim

[orangepeelshortbreadcookies]

Thieves Of Dusk

by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies

Relationships: Sophie Beckett/Benedict Bridgerton

Characters: Benedict Bridgerton, Sophie Beckett

Summary: Freshly christened, yet-already-bored-out-of-his-mind nobleman Benedict Bridgerton is roused back to life by his encounter with a curious, enchanting figure at twilight.

OR

The Evil Bridgerton AU nobody asked for

Tags: The Villainous Viscount AU, Benophie meetcute but they're both kind of evil, the Bridgertons are nouveau riche, East Asian!Sophie, BiWoc Sophie, villains doing bad things and having fun with it!, Smoking, Chaos, Love At First Sight

Gliding out of the lively event inside the Mayfair Auction House, Benedict Bridgerton made his way outside, disappearing into the shadow cast by the building and twilight. He snuck to a vacant corner between two giant stuccos, leaned back against the wall, trying to mend his fraying nerves.

It’s alright. He told himself. You’re alright. It was getting rather stuffed in there. The socialising, the drinking, the parading. The presence of art and relics played only second fiddle to the oppressive atmosphere of quiet, vicious competition, mixing with the joyful flow of coins and banknotes. Nowhere, Benedict discovered, was the contempt between the titled and the moneyed for one another magnified quite like the way it was in an auction house.

And he was one of them now. Moneyed and then titled. Well, at least his eldest brother was. Anthony, or as he had been known for the past three years, Viscount Bridgerton, bought his title with an exorbitant amount, the likes of which usually bankrupted a well-off man, but made only a small dent in their family’s fortune. Not only was this move considered, privately, a social spit on the face to the sensitive high society of Britain, Anthony also had the audacity to take a piss on his initial offence by holding half of the Lords in debt, and the other half in his employment.

Benedict was the backup Viscount, at least temporarily. His brother had been hard at work procreating.

Meanwhile, Benedict was sent out into the world, presenting himself as a respectable gentleman of Mayfair society. On the other hand, his job also consisted of being Anthony’s errand boy, running things his brother had neither the appetite or taste for. Things like acquiring a new painting for their drawing room. What kind of painting, Anthony did not say. An expensive one was not a particularly helpful description.

So now, here he was at an auction house, pockets heavy with funds, attempting to bid on an expensive artwork that would fit their drawing room, out of all the other expensive paintings, excluding the ones that could only reach the pricey range.

The experience was so horrendous, so overwhelming that Benedict had to excuse himself in the middle of it to catch his breath. It was not that he was incompetent. He liked society, for the most part. He liked playing the role of a charmer. He had learned to like subtly manipulating the conversation and quietly instigating shit. It was only--

All this art was sitting right there and he had to pay for them?

The Bridgerton siblings did not come from money. They were born within the halls of a fledgling gambling hell, eight labours of love between an ostracised noble lady and the owner of said gambling hell, a former bruiser who she had eloped with, and who was now dead. Anthony certainly could not have risen to the position he did today purely by running that establishment in a respectable, honest manner. Edmund had been, and Violet was as close to saints as mortals could get, yet they had given birth to a collection of unnaturally talented liars, cheats, brutes, swindlers and murderers.

And Benedict loved his siblings even more for it. Every single one of those seven fuckers.

He eyed the side of the building. The ledge above him, where a nimble chimney sweeper was scaling, looked promising. He could imagine it now. In five minutes, he would return inside. Perhaps he should chat up Lord Bhandari and then attract the House’s director into their conversation. Maybe he would pretend to be drunk off his ass and stir up some chaos. But that might be found out by Anthony, and Benedict was too old and too bored to receive another scolding from their eldest brother. He could try to get the director himself drunk? Which approach then? The man was conservative enough at whist, preferring to serve as accessory to the egos of bigger, more powerful players. With the right kind of bait… A man like that would not miss a chance to amass, especially on art, even more so if he only needed to spend but little for vast returns. What if he heard of an obscure blackmarket offer from a raw, undiscovered talent, who also had the misfortune of being gravely ill and desperately poor? Which tales of greatness and/or of woes could he bullshit up so the honourable Auction House’s director would forget about his keys, long enough…

His fingers twitched at his sides in excitement. Nighttime. Craft knife. Tubular case. Fuck! He tightened his hands into fists. Steel yourself! He took three deep breaths. One. Two. Three. Calm down, Benedict. We’re going legit now. Think legal thoughts.

Tucking a hand into his breast pocket, Benedict pulled out his cigarette box, entrusting the vice to fog up his racing mind.

Just after his first inhale, as the warm chemicals were only starting their invasion of Benedict’s veins, soundlessly, a figure landed in front of him, not so far away. It took him a few seconds to recognise the chimney sweeper he had observed not long earlier. The smoke of his cigarette was making his vision extra ghostly.

It was when they looked up and met Benedict’s mildly intrigued gaze, that his breath was knocked out of his chest, for they were the most enchanting creature he had ever laid eyes on.

It sounded rather absurd, as he could hardly make out any particular features under their ragged, dirty, ill-fitting clothes, including the dark stripe of cloth covering the top half of their face. All he could tell was that they were small in stature, they moved so gracefully and lightly as if gravity was of no concern at all. Around their waist and half-hidden, was a curiously intricate-looking chain, whose metallic shine Benedict was fairly certain came from silver. A strangely fine item, utterly out-of-place on a drab chimney-sweeper’s costume. 

The stranger was smiling while looking at him, their eyes imprinted an exhilarating thrill and unadulterated joy into his soul. 

And they were coming his way.

‘Good evening,’ he uttered, trying to sound smooth, briefly forgetting that he was still holding a cigarette in his mouth. With swift motion, the stranger caught the tube between their fingers before it could reach the ground.

Well, that was embarrassing. Benedict thought, blushing. I must look like a bloody idiot.

Fortunately for him, the expression his new company showed him leaned more toward amusement than mockery. More… flirtatious than mockery. Their eyes on him, still smiling, they brought the cigarette to their lips, giving it a greedy whiff, then releasing the vapours in a blissful exhale.

They had very kissable lips, Benedict remarked mentally, plump and soft, framed by elegant lines of the cheeks and chin.He suspected there was a woman under that disguise. Or a very young, very pretty man. Suddenly feeling shy, he averted his eyes from their mouth, drawing his attention back to the little torch they had stolen from him. They were quick, he must admit. Too bad Benedict was no slowpoke himself. 

The cigarette had returned to him before they noticed it. 

Taking his time, Benedict took another whiff, carefully closing his mouth around where theirs were, seeking their taste. Meanwhile, his gaze fixated on the object of his fascination, watching as the eyes of the dust-covered little pixie grew wide and their lips trembled in surprise. As if they were taken aback by his boldness, by his indirect kiss, or had just come to the realisation that flirting with him was a reckless impulse on their part.

Very interesting.

Benedict could rationale, from personal experience, that their presence here, at this auction house, meant no good deed. 

‘Who are you?’ He asked.

The stranger grinned, delighted in their own mystery. The tip of their tongue caught between their teeth in a mischievous manner, and Benedict resisted the urge to press his own tongue against the spot.

‘Guess.’ Their voice was raspy and strained, perhaps a disguise attempt. The excitement and curiosity were not hidden, however. He could hear it.

There, as they stood between day and night and between social bubbles, as cigarette smoke billowed gently between the two of them. It was as if they existed out of time, Benedict and this vibrant phantom. Their identities were protected by half-lights, by the mute, blinded nature of elevated, civilised Mayfair streets and by criminality, against the eyes of the world and each other.

Using his left hand, slowly, openly, giving the stranger the time to react, to change their mind, Benedict took a hold of their right hand, pulling their bodies closer together. Little bursts of lightning shot up his fingertips where their skins touched, expanding all over his body. Carefully, with his thumb drawing little invisible circles, he memorised and processed the stories written on the skin of the adorable enigma with his touch. Their hand was small. He did not know any adult males with such small hands. A bump on the first joint of the middle finger. A writer’s callus. So they were educated and right-handed. Many noble ladies slathered their hands with lotions and filed their skin down to within an inch of their lives to soothe these bumps away, ashamed that the hardened skin would mar the perfectly pampered appearance. Their skin was cracked, dry and callused. These were most probably resulted from manual labour. Not a prominent weapon user. The little surface of their palm and along their fingers were riddled with little nicks, cuts and burn marks. 

Benedict noticed the contrast between his smooth palm and the mysterious marvel’s roughened one, and felt the whisper of a murderous rage getting louder inside him. What happened? Whatever, whoever occupied this beautiful creature’s life so much that they had no time to take care of themself? A good criminal ought to maintain a tailored, professional appearance. He flipped their hand over to inspect the back. More burn scars. Were they a black smith? They certainly did not carry themself like one. And why would an intellectual put one’s self through the dangers of blacksmithing? No clear impressions or calluses on the knuckles, the exact opposite of how his younger brother, Colin’s hands looked. His siren certainly did not possess the punch of an experienced bruiser.

He leaned down, surreptitiously studying what he could perceive of their profile. At this distance, he could see how their left shoulder was tense, weighed down by something they were carrying up their sleeve. No trace of cosmetics on their cheek. No shaving scars. Most definitely not a man. It would not lessen his attraction to this person in any way were they of one sex or another. More information about one's opponent, however, was always better than less.

She, he half-decided that they could be a she, smelled of the city. Not of perfumed leather and pruned gardens, not of the Mayfair part, no. Her natural scent was buried underneath layers of smoke, his cigarette among them. She smelled of darkened alleyways, of sweat and metal, and the garden. The scent was not conventionally pleasant, and it would have taken an ass kicking his skull off for him to expect something more arranged, considering what she might be doing and what he knew himself of the profession. But her smell did give him a calming effect. It reminded him of Covent Gardens, of their gambling hall, of his wild, chaotic and utterly free childhood. Few where he was now would look at the area and consider it an optimal place to raise children. Anthony would not. Neither would Daphne. But Benedict had always recalled their harsher times with fondness.  

‘I got nothing.’ He grinned against her face, delighted in feeling her shiver and the heat emanating from her cheek. He decided to keep all that he learned in those short seconds to himself instead. Retreating back to where he was against the wall, he put out the cigarette, put the stub into his pocket, then lit a new one. Milking the tension for all its worth. ‘Except for that you smell like a ghost. Well done.’ He was, had been, a cardsharp after all.

She looked frozen for a few seconds, registering his remark, unsure if it was a compliment or a snide. And based on the way her mouth dropped into a pout, on how she yanked the cigarette away from his shit-eating grin, and on how she smoked it in the most petulant manner afterward, he could see that she came to no satisfactory conclusion.

‘My turn.’ He offered his own hand to her. ‘Who am I?’  

The stranger took his hand and stared down at it. The brim of her cap, the mask over her eyes and the dim light made it impossible to glimpse her expression. What would she learn of him? Would she see the faded, chequered cuts of his fingers and deduce his upbringing in a gambling hell? Would she notice the old indentations of ropes and strings and discover his once-familiarity with them? Or would his recent lack of action already put a pristine mask on all of his past, and that would lead her to conclude that he was no more than a pampered aristocrat, who had never lifted anything heavier than a champagne flute in his life, pretending to play it tough? Would that perception be more charming? Was it a personality type she would prefer?

His heart pounded like a top thoroughbred in a race at the featherlight grazings of her finger all over his palm. Their close proximity did not help slow the rhythm. He almost wanted to pull back, to retreat, to put the hand she was holding into a glove, into his pocket, behind his back, to hide himself away from her gaze.

Benedict had no idea how he wanted to come off to this person, and it terrified him. 

‘Hmmm’, she started with a hum, releasing a puff of smoke. ‘Very healthy, vigorous male. Yet a turbulent life, your life, full of ups and downs.’ He pondered that statement and shrugged to himself.He supposed there were some degrees of truth to that.  ‘A chaotic professional life, indeed. Greedy man, you have not been able to commit to anything, have you?’

‘I prefer the term jack-of-all-trades.’

‘You have close, meaningful relationships with people around you.’ He smirked. ‘A mind of many ideas, can rarely keep his feet on the ground.’ He winced.

‘I don’t believe you saw all of that on my hand.’ He complained, on the defence. ‘Are you a witch?’

She looked back up at him, smiling. ‘It’s just palm-reading. Nursemaids’ hobby.’ Quietly, he tucked that information away, wondering if she realised she had given another clue about her identity. ‘Why, are you going to report me? If you do, considering I am telling you your fortune, I would include a forewarning as part of my fees.’ She tried to keep her voice playful, but he sensed true anxiety in her voice, in the way she subtly gripped his hand.

‘No,’ he swore. ‘I will not report you.’ And meant it. ‘Never.’

He heard her breath a sigh of relief, drawing his hand slightly closer to her chest. She trusted him. They’ve only just met, but she trusted him. And to Benedict’s surprise, he trusted her too. This stranger whose name he did not know and whose face he could not even see fully.

He gestured to the hand that she was holding again. ‘What else do you see?’

‘You are,’ she continued, slower this time. ‘A romantic soul. Artistic. A poet. There is so much love inside you.’ He quickly took the cigarette back from her, using it to mask his bashfulness. Benedict Bridgerton did not feel bashful. Unless when he was high. He leaned closer, attempting to decipher the comprehensive archive of his life and character, written in a foreign language between the lines of his palm. A language that she was apparently reading with ease.

‘You also possess great charm.’ She sketched a line from between his index and middle finger to the base of his pinkie. ‘Others can’t help being drawn to you.’

He smiled. ‘I think you are just describing my face now. It’s up here.’

She looked up, mouth open, fully prepared to give him another sarcastic remark. No words managed to escape her. Lost in her diligent inspection of his hand, she did not realise the gap between them had grown smaller. Their eyes met, closer this time.

And then they were kissing. With her hands still closed around his, he pulled her closer to him, before sliding that hand away from her grasp, making a lingering trip up her neck, then resting upon her cheek. Her newly freed hands clutched at his lapels, while her body enthusiastically pressed him even further against the wall. Benedict’s other arm, the one holding the cigarette, snaked around her waist. His pinkie looped a few twice around her silver chain.

With her breath and lips, she put the moon on his tongue. He swallowed it, and it lit up his insides. Feeling her response, he trusted  a celestial body resided in her too. It ignited her bones, and he knew he put it there.

When Benedict nipped at the edge of her mask, intending on removing it with his teeth, his silver mystery was startled out of their trance. She pushed against him, took a few steps back, and readjusted her mask till it sat firmly again across her face. Where he toyed with the chain on her waist left a mark on his hand. Neither of them noticed it.

‘I must go.’ She said quietly. They were pulled back to their existence inside time.

‘What are you doing here?’ He asked, feeling fundamentally altered.

‘Guess.’ Her smile reflected his own melancholy. Then that feeling made room for a blossoming of brewing mischief.

He did not answer. Not with words, anyway.

He gave her back his cigarette. A challenge. An inquiry. 

Show me.

He was damn excited to see what she would do.

‘Thank you’, she whispered, so softly Benedict could not make out her voice. Then the twilight nymph, one of the many names he would later refer to the stranger, retreated back a few steps and revealed briefly to Benedict the strange, elegant mechanism attached to her left wrist. She took one last drag of the cigarette, reigniting the dim glow, then inserted it into the mechanism.

Then, she almost levitated up the walls of Mayfair Auction House, tiptoeing from balcony to balcony like a sparrow. Aiming her arm with what Benedict just then realised was a kind of small, personalised crossbow, at an open window on the third floor, she shot the cigarette into the room. Then elegantly, she landed back on their feet, gave Benedict a little bow, and ran away.

Just as he started to take off after her, the explosion that came almost immediately halted him.

Reeling from the shock, Benedict lost track of his target in the smoke and the commotion. Furthermore, he was waylaid by the spectacle of the stranger’s handiwork. Sparks of gold and silver lit up the fancy building like a goddamn birthday cake. The air reeked of sulphur. Pediments and balconies fell over each other like flaming dominos. A symphony of confused worries growing steadily into horrified screamings, swelling in and out of the building. He could make out the desperate, ineffective authority of the director, ordering his employees to protect the auctioned lots.

It was fucking magnificent.

Yet just as swiftly, the Metropolitan Police rolled to the scene. From his vantage point, Benedict watched them making quick work of disbanding the gathering crowd of peasants. The vision of the Auction House’s door getting knocked down was not unlike the collapse of the Gates of Hell. Dust and smoke flared. An ash-covered entanglement of limbs, screams and chaos clawed its way out. Glamorous nobles, horror-stricken, losing all their dignity, climbing over each other to escape.

The police’s efforts to escort the guests to safety were met with earnest cooporation. All one could feel was relief. No one bothered questioning why only half of the servants assigned to work there that day made it out of the building.  

The auctioned pieces were carried into the police wagon in an orderly manner, before substantial fire damages could get to them. The process was further assisted by the director’s and his esteemed visitors’ hefty vocal demands and to some degree, warnings of the value of the item, how the lifelong servitude of the person carrying it would be inadequate compensation.

For once, to his dismay, their city’s police proved to be annoyingly competent. Even their unreliability is unreliable. Benedict thought irritably. Left on his own and out of sight, he made a surreptitious scan of the area, searching and then erasing any sort of trails that might lead to his darling firestarter, his fun was thought spoiled.

Until thirty minutes later, a second group of police arrived to assess the situation and attempt rescue, having been waylaid by an angry, drunken scuffle and then a swarm of curious civilians. They were struck dumb to discover the group of perfectly alive, albeit shaken and soot-covered Lords, Ladies and wealthy Misters outside the building. Their assistance was apparently not needed. The auctioned properties were reported by the house director, to be on their way to the station with the first responders.

‘We are the first responders.’ The constable said, growing more alarmed by the syllables. The Auction House’s director processed this knowledge, he turned white, then red, then white again, slowly understanding that the valiant officers, who had bravely and generously rescued his valuable collections, were none other than the thieves themselves. Benedict watched the man growing ill many times over in seconds with immense, yet hidden, amusement.

For his part, Benedict remained charming, confused and absolutely useless during his interview with the real  police. Only after he returned to the safety of his apartments, that he allowed himself to break into a smirk, which grew into a wide grin, then hysterical, uncontrollable laughter.

‘Oh, you brilliant creature.’ He was wheezing. ‘That was good.’

Benedict Bridgerton was completely, utterly, smitten.

I will find you. He swore to himself, determined to unmask his silver siren.

[luc3]

WIND.S (French Folks Traditions)

By observing the wind at certain times, we can know which one will dominate during the year. In this area, the Palm Sunday wind is the most widespread indicator, but it is not the only one.

In Côte d'Or, it is the one that blows during the Elevation of the mass of the first Sunday of Lent, unless it is "corrected" by that of Palm Sunday.

Often, the personified winds also engage in battle.

In the Marne, according to tradition the winds begin to fight on the day of the Conversion of Saint Paul (January 25) and cease their fight on Saint Blaise (February 3). The wind that wins the victory will be the one that blows that day: it will dominate throughout the year.

In the Vosges, it is said that the four winds fight at the Conversion of Saint Paul and that the first to blow at sunrise will be the dominant wind of the year to come.

Each region being exposed to different winds, beliefs often crystallize on those that farmers observe at home. For example, in Puy-de-Dôme, the east wind is only supposed to blow very rarely and not for more than three hours at a time.

A woman from the Gospel of the Cattails (15th century) declares that in Savoy, to ward off a storm, you must make a fire with four oak sticks crossed in the wind and draw a cross on them. (a lot of crosses, definitely.)

Marine winds :

In Finistère it is usual to clean a chapel which will be chosen and to pour the collected dust in the direction of the wind that we want to see blow.

In the 16th century, the sorcerers' wind ropes were mentioned, which had three enchanted knots. The first to be unknot gets a gentle wind. The second a strong wind and the third, a storm.

Often, Saint Anthony is invoked with insults when the sea is calm, or the moss of the boats must whip each other to bring in the winds.

-

Omens :

Still in the Gospel of the Cattail it is also said that when "you hear a strong wind, know that it is a sign of betrayal, or bad news."

In certain regions (Brittany) high winds are signs of misfortune, but in others (Berry) of prolific harvests. "Year of high wind - Year of wheat".

In many places in central France, there is fear of the wind on August 9, which can destroy crops overnight.

In the Vosges, we fear the wind at night from January 11 to 12. If it comes from the East, the animals will die. If he comes from the South, the house will be full of sick people. If he comes from the West, there will be war, and if he comes from the North, the fields will be barren.

Gusts of Wind and Whirlwind :

In many places in France, Whirlwinds are a "bad" omen : either the Devil pursues a soul; either certain People of the Little People pursue several; either it is the souls of the damned who wander and seek to harm men; (etc)

Sometimes, even Sorcerers can find themselves caught in it against their will for not having obeyed the Demon's orders.

In most cases, to free those who are under the influence of such winds, it is necessary to plant a knife with a curved blade in the center of the whirlwind. Sometimes it is a fork; in all cases it must be a metal and sharp object. Often it is necessary to pronounce consecrated formulas and command the “Follet” to go away.

-

[Excerpts arranged by me from Sebillot & M.C Delmas.]

[pics @Pinterest]

[fluentisonus]

The churches of the town of Dunwich slowly falling into the sea one after another, as described in a topographical and historical description of the county of suffolk (1829):

"Gardner, in his historical account of Dunwich, observes, that one of the two carves of land, taxed in the reign of Edward the Confessor, was found to be swallowed up by the sea, at the time of the survey made by order of William the Conqueror. The church of Felix, and the cell of monks, were lost very early. In the first year of Edward the Third, the old port was rendered entirely useless, and before the twenty-third year of that king's reign, a great part of the town, with upwards of 400 houses, which paid rent to the fee-farm, with certain shops and windmills, were devoured by the sea. After this the church of St. Leonard was overthrown; and, in the fourteenth century, the churches of St. Martin and St. Nicholas were also destroyed by the waves. In 1540, the church of St. John Baptist was taken down; and in the same century the chapels of St. Anthony, St, Francis, and St. Catharine, were overthrown, with the South Gate and Gild Gate, and not one quarter of the town left standing. ... In the reign of Charles I, the foundation of the Temple buildings yielded to the irresistible force of the undermining surges, and in 1677 the sea reached the market-place. In 1680 all the buildings north of Maison Dieu lane were demolished, and in 1702 the sea extended its dominion to St. Peter's church, on which it was divested of the lead, timber, bells, and other materials, the walls only remaining, which tumbled over the cliff as the water undermined them; and the town hall suffered the same fate. In 1715 the gaol was undermined and in 1729 the farthest bounds of St. Peter's churchyard fell into the sea. In December 1740, the wind blowing very hard from the north-east, and continuing for several days, occasioned terrible devastations for a great part of the cliffs were washed away, with the remains of St. Nicholas's churchyard, as also the great road which formerly led into the town. ... All Saints, as observed before, is the only church of which any portion is still standing.*"

*All Saints Church has, since this account was written, entirely fallen into the sea.

[3rdeyeblaque]

On November 26th we venerate Elevated Ancestor & Hoodoo Saint Mama Sojourner Truth on the 140th anniversary of her passing 🕊

An abolitionist, Womens’ Rights activist, & itinerant evangelist, Mama Sojourner Truth truly lived up to her name as one of the fiercest, relentless, & unstoppable pro-abolitionist voices of the 19th Century.

Given the name, Isabella, at birth, Mama Truth was born around 1797 to Dutch-speaking enslaved parents on Colonel Ardinburgh Hurley's plantation in Ulster County, NY. The actual date of her birth remains unknown. At the age of 9 she was sold away from her parents. She was passed through the hands of several slavers across NY State before ending up with the Dumonts. As was the case for most enslaved folks in the rural North, Isabella was forcibly isolated from other slaves and suffered physical & sexual abuse at the hands of the Dumonts.

Alone in the nearby woods, she found peace. Here, she'd speak to Spirit/God. Inspired by her many conversations with Spirit, one day in 1826, she walked away from Dumont Farm to freedom. Although the journey tempted her to return to the Dumonts, she stayed the course after she was struck by a vision of a man she identified as Jesus, during which she felt "baptized in the Holy Spirit," and thus gained the strength & confidence to push on. Like countless Ancestors before her, Isabella called on Spirit & supernatural forces for the power to survive her conditions.

Eventually, she married & birthed 5 children. On July 4, 1827, the NY State Legislature emancipated the enslaved, including Isabella & her children. Yet the Dumont family who "owned" her, refused to comply. Before dawn the next morning, with her youngest baby cradled in her arms, she sought refuge 5 miles away with an abolitionist family. During her time there, she converted to Pentecostal and joined their local Methodist church.

She later then moved again, this time with one of her eldest sons, Peter, in NYC wherein by day she worked as a live-in domestic. Here she found & joined a religious cult called, The Kingdom. It's leader, Matthias, beat Isabella and forced her to take on the heaviest workload. Soon thereafter she became a Pentecostal preacher. Her faith and preaching along with her life story as an emancipated slave drew the attentions of abolitionists & women's rights crusaders. Her speeches were not political by nature. They were based on her unique interpretation - as a woman and a former slave -of the Christian Bible.

On June 1st 1863, Sojourner Truth was born. Isabella took on this new name for herself as she headed East to, “exhort the people to embrace Jesus, and refrain from sin". She lived in a utopian community called, The Northampton Association for Education & Industry, which was devoted to transcending class, race, & gender. She preached at camp meetings for a few years before the community was dissolved. Even though the community lasted less than five years, many highly influential & reform-minded individuals visited the Northampton community; including prolific abolitionist leaders such as Frederick Douglass & William Lloyd Garrison.

Through these connections, she began to speak at public events on behalf of slave abolition and women’s rights. Eventually, this compelled her infamous 1851,“Ar’nt I A Woman” speech at a Women’s Rights Convention in Akron, OH. This was a significant moment in the sociopolitical climate of the country at the time because, for the first time for most, "slave" became equated to women & "woman" became equated to Black. She became increasingly involved on the issue of Women's suffrage, but eventually separated her voice from leaders such as Susan B. Anthony & Elizabeth Cady Stanton one they asserted that they would not support the Black vote if Women were not also granted the same right.

In 1857, Mama Truth purchased a house with the help of friends in a small Spiritualist community called, Harmonia, near Battle Creek, MI. Here she lived thriving the years of supporting hwrself thrift paid speaking events, selling photographs of herself, publishing her book titled, "Narrative of Sojourner Truth" which was written by an amanuensis, as she was illiterate.

Once the Civil War began, Mama Truth pushed for the inclusion of Blacks in the Union Army, which was not intitially the case. She then poured her energy into gathering food & clothing supplies for the underserved volunteer regiments of Black Union soldiers. This is when the plight freed slaves captured her attention, as many of whom were living in refugee camps in Washington D.C.. Mama Truth embarked on a round-trip journey from her home near Battle Creek,MI to D.C. to meet with President Abraham Lincoln to discuss the conditions of the freedmen refugees in D.C. & across the North.

After the Civil War, she championed the idea of a colony for freed slaves out West where they could galvanize their desires to become self-reliant. Mama Truth garnered numerous signatures for her petition urging the U.S. Government to provide land for this endeavor. Although she presented this petition to then President Ulysses S. Grant, her mission never materialized. Nevertheless, in the Fall of 1879, a large migration of Southern freedmen ventured westward to start begin life anew. Mama Truth saw this as God's Divine Plan for our people. Despite her old age, Mama Truth traveled to Kansas to help them. Four years later, Mama Sojourner Truth passed away at her home near Battle Creek, MI. She was believed to be 86.

"How came Jesus into the world? Through God who created him and woman who bore him. Man, where is your part? But the women are coming up blessed by God and few of the men are coming up with them. But man is in a tight place, the poor slave is on him, woman is coming on him, and he is surely between a hawk an' a buzzard." - Sojourner Truth @ the 1851 Ohio Women's Convention.

We pour libations & give 💐 today as we celebrate Mama Truth her selfless service and pioneering vision for the freedom & self-determination of our people. May her life be a reminder of: the power of stillness & deep meditation, to lead with Spirit, & the grit of perseverance that's alive in our blood.

Offering suggestions: woodland soil, water, Pentecostal prayers/ scripture, read/share her speeches & written words.

‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️

[alatismeni-theitsa]

I found this amazing post about Buddha, and how his story became venerated in Christianity through the "saint Ioasaph"!

As the Theologian Academic John Sanidopoulos put it: "Though there are similarities between the tale of Joasaph with that of Buddha, this does not negate the historicity of either figure, but only shows a similarity in the origin of the tales. Though it is true the early story of Joasaph is colored with imagery from the life of Buddha, the latter part of the story is similarly colored by the life of St. Thomas the Apostle and St. Anthony the Great. And the theology of the story is influenced by John of Damascus, and the entirety of the "Apology" of the Athenian Philosopher Aristeides is contained within. The lives of Barlaam and Joasaph are primarily told as a literary tale with the seeming purpose of catechizing those of the Far East with a familiar tale. This was often done by ancient writers to steer a story of what may have elements of truth towards a higher didactical purpose."

[thepastisalreadywritten]

SAINT OF THE DAY (January 17)

On his January 17 feast day, both Eastern and Western Catholics celebrate the life and legacy of St. Anthony of Egypt, the founder of Christian monasticism whose radical approach to discipleship permanently impacted the Church.

In Egypt's Coptic Catholic and Orthodox Churches, which have a special devotion to the native saint, his feast day is celebrated on January 30.

Anthony was born around 251 to wealthy parents who owned land in the present-day Faiyum region near Cairo.

During this time, the Catholic Church was rapidly spreading its influence throughout the vast expanses of the Roman empire, while the empire remained officially pagan and did not legally recognize the new religion.

In the course of his remarkable and extraordinarily long life, Anthony would live to see Emperor Constantine's establishment of Christianity as the official religion of the Roman empire.

Anthony himself, however, would establish something more lasting – by becoming the spiritual father of the monastic communities that have existed throughout the subsequent history of the Church.

Around the year 270, two great burdens came upon Anthony simultaneously: the deaths of both his parents, and his inheritance of their possessions and property.

These simultaneous occurrences prompted Anthony to reevaluate his entire life in light of the principles of the Gospel — which proposed both the redemptive possibilities of his personal loss and the spiritual danger of his financial gains.

Attending church one day, he heard – as if for the first time – Jesus' exhortation to another rich young man in the Biblical narrative:

“If you wish to be perfect, go sell your possessions and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”

Anthony told his disciples in later years that it was as though Christ has spoken those words to him directly.

He duly followed the advice of selling everything he owned and donating the proceeds, setting aside a portion to provide for his sister.

Although organized monasticism did not yet exist, it was not unknown for Christians to abstain from marriage, divest themselves of possessions to some extent, and live a life focused on prayer and fasting.

Anthony's sister would eventually join a group of consecrated virgins.

Anthony himself, however, sought a more comprehensive vision of Christian asceticism.

He found it among the hermits of the Egyptian desert, individuals who chose to withdraw physically and culturally from the surrounding society in order to devote themselves more fully to God.

But these individuals' radical way of life had not yet become an organized movement.

After studying with one of these hermits, Anthony made his own sustained attempt to live alone in a secluded desert location, depending on the charity of a few patrons who would provide him with enough food to survive.

This first period as a hermit lasted between 13 and 15 years.

Like many saints both before and after him, Anthony became engaged in a type of spiritual combat against unseen forces seeking to remove him from the way of perfection he had chosen.

These conflicts took their toll on Anthony in many respects.

When he was around 33 years old, a group of his patrons found him in serious condition and took him back to a local church to recover.

This setback did not dissuade Anthony from his goal of seeking God intensely, and he soon redoubled his efforts by moving to a mountain on the east bank of the Nile river.

There, he lived in an abandoned fort, once again subsisting on the charity of those who implored his prayers on their behalf.

He attracted not only these benefactors but a group of inquirers seeking to follow after his example.

In the first years of the fourth century, when he was about 54, Anthony emerged from his solitude to provide guidance to the growing community of hermits that had become established in his vicinity.

Although Anthony had not sought to form such a community, his decision to become its spiritual father – or “Abbot” – marked the beginning of monasticism as it is known today.

Anthony himself would live out this monastic calling for another four decades, providing spiritual and practical advice to disciples who would ensure the movement's continued existence.

According to Anthony's biographer, St. Athanasius, Emperor Constantine himself eventually wrote to the Abbot, seeking advice on the administration of an empire that was now officially Christian.

“Do not be astonished if an emperor writes to us, for he is a man,” Anthony told the other monks. “But rather, wonder that God wrote the Law for men and has spoken to us through his own Son.”

Anthony wrote back to Constantine, advising him “not to think much of the present but rather to remember the judgment that is coming, and to know that Christ alone was the true and Eternal King.”

St. Anthony may have been up to 105 years old when he died, sometime between 350 and 356.

In keeping with his instructions, two of his disciples buried his body secretly in an unmarked grave.

[tyforthevnm]

L.S. Dunes have announced a North American summer tour

“Beat the heat and trip out with LSD this summer!” encourages drummer Tucker Rule of L.S. Dunes’ newly-announced live dates…

May 9, 2023 Words: Emily Carter Photo: Nick Demarais

As well as playing several dates on the upcoming Sad Summer Fest, L.S. Dunes have announced their own headline run.

The band – guitarists Frank Iero and Travis Stever, vocalist Anthony Green, bassist Tim Payne and drummer Tucker Rule – will be hitting the road across North America in July and August, kicking things off after Sad Summer at Toronto’s The Opera House and wrapping up at The Garden Amphitheatre in Garden Grove, California.

“Lost Souls!” begins Tucker. “Beat the heat and trip out with LSD this summer! Comin’ to a city near you!”

Tickets go on general sale at 12pm local time this Friday, May 12.

Catch L.S. Dunes at the following:

May

28 Atlantic City, NY – Adjacent Music Festival

July

6 Jacksonville, FL – Sad Summer Fest 7 Clearwater, FL – Sad Summer Fest 9 Nashville, TN – The Basement East 11 Portsmouth, VA – Sad Summer Fest 12 Baltimore, MD – Sad Summer Fest 13 Toronto, CAN – The Opera House 15 Providence, RI – The Strand 17 New York NY – Irving Plaza 20 Pittsburgh, PA – Mr. Smalls Theatre 21 Cincinnati, OH – Bogart's 22 Detroit, MI – Saint Andrew's Hall 24 Milwaukee, WI – The Rave Bar 25 Des Moines, IA – Wooly's 26 Omaha, NE – The Waiting Room 28 Fort Collins, CO – Washington's 30 Boise, ID – Knitting Factory

August

1 Portland, OR – Crystal Ballroom 2 Seattle, WA – The Showbox 6 Los Angeles, CA – The Fonda Theatre 9 San Francisco, CA – The Fillmore 11 Garden Grove, CA – The Garden Amphitheatre

[cromwelll]

Happiness is a Full Bookshelf 😊📚

My goal is to collect every Penguin Classic that has a black spine and cover, white title, and orange author name because they’re sooo aesthetically pleasing to me. My fun challenge of collecting/amassing them is by finding them exclusively through secondhand purchases (resale shops, ebay, garage sales, used bookstores, etc.) Then I only have to shell out $0-$7 each instead of $10-$30 each!

Penguin Classics

A Doll's House and Other Plays by Henrick Ibsen

A Nietzsche Reader by Fredrich Nietzsche

A Study in Scarlet by Arthur Conan Dolye

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

Agnes Grey by Anne Brontë

All My Sons by Arthur Miller

Angel of Repose by Wallace Stegner

Awakening and Selected Stories by Kate Chopin**

BUtterfield 8 by John O'Hara

Caleb Williams by William Godwin

Call of the Wild, White Fang, and Other Stories by Jack London*

Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer*

Charlotte Temple and Lucy Temple by Susanna Rowson

Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons

Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels

Complete Stories by Dorothy Parker

Confessions by Saint Augustine

Conjure Tales and Stories of the Color Line by Charles W. Chestnut

Consolation of Philosophy by Ancius Boethius

Crucible by Arthur Miller

Daisy Miller by Henry James

East of Eden by John Steinbeck

Effi Briest by Theodor Fontane

Essays and Aphorisms by Arthur Schopenhauer

Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton

Eugene Onegin by Alexander Pushkin

Excellent Women by Barbara Pym

Framley Parsonage by Anthony Trollope

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley**

Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck**

Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift

Hard Times by Charles Dickens

Hedda Gabler and Other Plays by Henrik Ibsen

History of The Peloponnesian War by Thucydides

Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë*

Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman*

Letters of Abélard and Héloïse

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis

Major Barbara by George Bernard Shaw

Man and Superman by George Bernard Shaw

Mansfield Park by Jane Austen

Mary Barton by Elizabeth Gaskell

Memoirs by William Tecumseh Sherman

Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka*

Middlemarch by Geroge Eliot

Moll Flanders by Daniel Defoe

My Antonia by Willa Cather

Mysteries by Knut Hamsun

Narrative of the Lige of Frederick Douglas, an American Slave by Frederick Douglas

Nichomachean Ethics by Aristotle*

Nineteenth-Century American Poetry

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen

Odyssey by Homer**

On Liberty and the Subjection of Women by John Suart Mill

On the Road by Jack Kerouac

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey

Passing by Nella Larsen

Personal Memoirs by Ulysses S. Grant

Portable Sixties Reader

Portrait of a Lady by Henry James

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Pygmalion by Bernard Shaw

Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne**

Seize the Day by Saul Bellow

Silas Marner by George Eliot

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

Song of Roland

Summer by Edith Wharton

Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

The Adventures of Augie March by Saul Bellow

The Aeneid by Virgil

The Ancien Régime and the Revolution by Alexis de Tocqueville

The Bhagavad Gita

The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas

The Death of Ivan Ilyich and Other Stories by Leo Tolstoy

The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio

The Epic of Gilgamesh

The Guide by R.K. Narayan

The Habor by Ernest Poole

The Hound of Baskerville by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

The Iliad by Homer

The Interesting Narrative and Other Writings by Olaudah Equiano

The Lais of Marie de France

The Marquise of O—and Other Stories by Heinrich Von Keist

The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot

The Odyssey by Homer

The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli*

The Prose Edda by Snorri Sturlson

The Return of the Native by Thomas Hardy

The Song of the Lark by Willa Cather

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Other Stories by Robert Louis Stevenson

The Turn of the Screw by Henry James

Three Theban Plays by Sophocles

To a God Unknown by John Steinbeck

Uncle Tom’s Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe

Utopia by Thomas More

Villette by Emily Brontë

A Vindication of the Rights of Women by Mary Wollstonecraft

Washington Square by Henry James

Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson

Woman in White by Wilkie Collins

Woodlanders by Thomas Hardy

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

Non-Penguin Classics

A Mercy by Toni Morrison

Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath**

Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote

Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank*

Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood**

House on Mango Street by Sander Cisneros

My Antonia by Willa Cather

Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger

The Last Man by Mary Shelley

The Song og Bernadette by Franz Werfel

The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien*

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

Collections, Compilations, Biographies, and Anthologies

100 Best-Loved Poems (American & British)

101 Great American Poems

A Book of Love Poetry

English Romantic Poetry (1996)

Final Harvest by Emily Dickinson

Five Metaphysical Poets

John Donne

George Herbert

Henry Vaughn

Richard Crashaw

Andrew Marvell

Four Great Comedies of the Restoration & 18th Century

Four Great Elizabethan Plays

Great Poems by American Women

Great American Short Stories (1985)

Heart of Darkness and Selected Short Fiction by Joseph Conrad

• “Youth”

• Heart of Darkness

• “Amy Foster”

• “The Secret Sharer

17. Louisa May: A Modern Biography by Martha Saxton

18. Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger

19. Possibilities of Poetry (1970)

20. Selected Poetry by D.H. Lawrence

21. Selected Writings by Gertrude Stein

22. Seven Gothic Tales by Isak Dinesen (Karen Blixen)

23. Short Shorts: An Anthology of the Shortest Stories (1983)

24. Short Story Masterpieces (American & British, 1982)

25. Six American Poets (Whitman, Dickinson, Stevens, Williams, Frost, Hughes)

26. Six Great Sherlock Holmes Stories by Arthur Conan Doyle

• “A Scandal in Bohemia”

• “The Red-headed League”

• “The Adventure of the Speckled Band”

• “The Adventure of the Engineer’s Thumb”

• “The Final Problem”

• “The Adventure of the Empty House”

27. Six Plays of Strindberg

28. Tales of Henry James by Henry James

• “The Aspern Papers”

• “The Pupil”

• “Brooksmith”

• “The Real Thing”

• “The Middle Years”

• “In the Cage”

• “The Beast in the Jungle”

• “The Jolly Corner”

29. Ten Plays by Euripides

30. The Essential Tales and Poems by Edgar Allan Poe

31. The Complete Plays of John M. Synge by John M. Synge

32. The Mammoth Book of Ghost Stories

33. The Underground Railroad by William Still

34. The Vintage Book of Contemporary American Poetry (1990)

35. The Yellow Wallpaper and Other Writings by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

36. The Novels by Samuel Beckett

• Molloy

• Malone Dies

•The Unnamable

37. Victorian Love Stories (1997)

Literary Criticism

38. Women & Fiction (1975)

39. Barchester Towers and The Warden by Anthony Trollope

On Poetry and Poets by T.S. Eliot

Speaking of Chaucer by E. Talbot Donaldson

Symbolism and American Literature by Charles Feidelson, Jr.

* = Started & didn’t finish (yet)/Read parts

** = Read ≥5 years ago

Strike-through = Read

Updated: June 17, 2024

Total count: 162

[hieromonkcharbel]

St. Marcarius the Great, January 15th

St. Marcarius the Great was truly a saint chosen by God from a very young age, perhaps even from his birth. He was born in the village of Shabsheer-Menuf, in the province of Giza south of Cairo, from good and righteous parents. His story is reflective of another found in the Holy Bible. His parents were Abraham and Sarah and they had no son. In a dream an angel of God told Abraham that he would have a son and his name would be known all over the earth. This son would be further blessed with a multitude of spiritual sons.

When Abraham's son was born, he was named "Marcarius" which means blessed. He was an obedient son in all things. At his parent's insistence and against his will he was forced into marriage. Feigning an illness, he asked to be allowed to go into the wilderness to seek a speedy recovery. While in the wilderness Marcarius prayed to the Lord Jesus Christ to be directed to do what was pleasing unto Him. His humbleness gave him the strength to be obedient in all things despite his personal desires.

While in the desert Marcarius had a vision in which he saw a beautiful winged Cherubim who took him to a high mountaintop. While at the height of the mountain, Marcarius was told, "God has given the desert to you and your spiritual sons for an inheritance." He was shown the vast expanse of the desert to the east and west, north and south. Following this he returned from the wilderness home to find that his virgin wife had departed. Although respective of the departure, Marcarius was now happy to lead the life in which he so ardently desired.

Shortly thereafter, his parents also departed and he gave all that they had left to the poor. At about the age of 30, he began his life of asceticism in a cell near his village. The people of the village admired his humbleness and purity and took him to the Bishop of Ashmoun who ordained Marcarius as a priest for them. Father Marcarius had not wished to become a priest. In his humility he could not refuse.

A certain young girl in the village became pregnant and accused Father Macarius of fathering her unborn child. The people without weighing the matter immediately sought him out and brought him back to the village. They beat and whipped Father Marcarius severely and hung huge black pots around his neck. He was forced to go before the village while they were mocking him and saying, "This monk seduced our daughter. Let him be hanged." With the merciless behavior shown to him he continued in humility.

When allowed to return to his cell, he gave a young man all the mats that he had made from the work of his hands. Father Marcarius instructed the young man to "Sell these mats and give the money to MY WIFE that she may eat." Father Macarius in thought had accepted this young woman as his wife without a single denial or bitter thought. He worked night and day making mats to send money to her. Humbleness was the mother of forgiveness in this saints soul.

At the time of the young girl's delivery, she suffered many days in labor. The unbearable pain motivated the girl into telling the truth regarding Father Macarius. She related to all that she had falsely accused this priest and that he had never so much as touched her. Having not been able to deliver until she confessed, the entire village was remorseful at their judgmental actions. When Father Macarius heard that the village was on route to seek his forgiveness he fled to the place where he would live the remainder of his holy life. His humble and forgiving natures were the clothes in which he would wear throughout his life.

This is how he came to the Desert of Scetis in the Valley of Nitron. He is known to have visited St. Anthony to seek his spiritual guidance in beginning his life in the desert. The prophecy foretold to him by his lifetime companion the cherub was about to be fulfilled. Many monks joined Father Marcarius in the desert, filling the wilderness with prayers and fasting. Countless cells and caves were filled with these men who desired to be in continual worship to the Lord Jesus Christ.

It is said that he dwelt in the Inner Desert, in the place of the Monastery of Sts Maximus and Domadius, which is now known as the Monastery of El-Baramous. As the monasteries rose in number this dry desert begin to flower and became known as "The Paradise of the Holy Fathers".

One day while meditating St. Macarius thought that perhaps there were no more righteous people in the world. A voice came from Heaven and said "In the City of Alexandria you will find two very righteous women." He took his staff and went to the city. He was guided to the home of the two women where he inquired of their life. One of them related to him, "There is no kinship between us and when we married these two brothers we asked them to leave us to be nuns but they refused. So we committed ourselves to spend our life fasting until evening and we pray diligently. When each of us had a son, whenever one of them would cry, any one of us would carry and nurse him even if he was not her own son. We are in one living arrangement, the unity of opinion is our model, and our husbands work as shepherds, we are poor and only have our daily bread and what is left over we give to the poor and needy." Rejoicing he bade them farewell. Reflecting upon the comfort of the Holy Spirit to all those who loved the Lord his soul was filled with compassion once again and he returned to his beloved desert.

Father Marcarius is known for his humble encounters with those whom followed him into the desert way of life. There was a certain monk who was leading other monks astray in his proclaiming that there was no resurrection of the dead. The bishop of the City of Osseem went to Father Marcarius and told him about the saying of this particular monk. Father Marcarius went and stayed with the erring monk until the monk returned to the correct and true beliefs concerning the resurrection of the dead.

As the abbot of his monastery, Abba Marcarius dealt with many problems and always solved them in a humbled manner. It was reported to him through the monks of the monastery that a particular monk had allowed a woman to enter his cell. Abba Macarius did not reprimand nor scold this monk. The monks continued to wait for the woman's return. Upon discovering her presence once again they reported their finding to Abba Macarius.

He entered the monk's cell and asked the others to wait outside. Upon hearing the approaching footsteps of others, the brother had hidden the women in a big trunk used for storing grain. When Abba Macarius entered he promptly sat upon the trunk knowing its hidden contents. He called the other monks to enter. They did not see the women in question and dared not to ask Abba Macarius the contents of the trunk he was sitting upon. When the others had left, Abba Macarius looked at the brother in question and said, "Brother, judge yourself before they judge you, because the true judgment comes only from God." As did our Lord and Savior, Abba Macarius concealed other people's sins.

As was the birth of this humble saint so is his departure date. The twenty-seventh day of the Blessed Month of Baramhat is also the Commemoration of the Crucifixion of the Lord Jesus Christ. I am sure this humble saint considers it with solemn humility to have his departure date overshadowed by the Commemoration of the Crucifixion. With the Holy Crucifixion foremost in everyone's mind, the Lord our God allowed Abba Macarius the Great's life to remain "clothed in humility" for all generations and all the years to come.

His "clothing in humility" led him to be remembered as "Epnevma-Tovoros" meaning "clothed WITH the Holy Spirit". "Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the Kingdom of God" (Matthew 5:3)

May we keep the humbleness of Abba Macarius and his total dependence upon God ever before us and may this great saint's blessings be with us all.

H.G. Bishop Youssef

Bishop, Coptic Orthodox Diocese of the Southern United States

[lumierecharity]

SAINT CHARBEL AND PRAYER OF THE HOLY ROSARY

Saint Charbel was a Maronite monk and priest who lived in Lebanon. The community in Lebanon remembers the holy man for his miraculous healings. Fr Charbel (Saint Charbel) - in his latter years a holy hermit - went to Almighty God from this life on 24th December 1898. 

St Charbel was buried outside the monastery in a grave adjacent to the church wall. In the records of the Monastery of St Maroun in Annaya, Fr (Saint) Charbel's superior wrote that because of what Charbel would accomplish after his death, he had no need to write about his life but was satisfied with stating that Charbel had kept his vows like an angel and not like a human. 

Starting from the time of his burial, St Charbel's tomb emanated a bright light. As a result, the tomb was opened on April 15th 1899, four months after St Charbel's death. The saint's body was found to be intact with no signs of change, a miraculous sign. 

In 1950, St Charbel's tomb at the Maronite monks' monastery high on a mountain in Lebanon was opened yet again, because a light had frequently been seen in the vicinity. To the astonishment of all the body of the priest who had been buried there for fifty-two years was as though he had been merely asleep that half a century. Even his clothing was intact.

Why this Wonder?

People began to pray to St Charbel to ask his intercession with God on their behalf. The monastery began to keep records of miracles performed through the intercession of Fr Charbel from 1950 onwards. There are over 26,000 miracles attributed to the intercession of St Charbel Makhlouf since 1898. 

Saint Pope Paul VI beatified Charbel

At the closing of the Second Vatican Council, on December 5, 1965, St Charbel was beatified by Saint Pope Paul VI, who said:

"Great is the gladness in heaven and earth today for the beatification of Charbel Makhlouf, monk and hermit of the Lebanese Maronite Order. Great is the joy of the East and West for this son of Lebanon, admirable flower of sanctity blooming on the stem of the ancient monastic traditions of the East, and venerated today by the Church of Rome ... the holy monk of Annaya is presented as one who reminds us of the indispensable roles of prayer, hidden virtues and penance ... A hermit from the Lebanese mountain is enrolled among the blessed ... a new, eminent member of monastic sanctity is enriching the entire Christian people by his example and his intercession ... In a world largely fascinated with riches and comfort, he helps us understand the paramount value of poverty, penance, and ascetism to liberate the soul in its ascent to God ..." [1]

Canonisation

St Charbel was canonised in 1977 by Saint Pope Paul VI. At the time, Bishop Francis Zayek wrote, "St Sharbel is called the second St Anthony of the Desert, the Perfume of Lebanon, the first Confessor of the East to be raised to the Altars according to the actual procedures of the Catholic Church, the honor of our Aramaic Antiochian Church, and the model of spiritual values and renewal. Sharbel is like a Cedar of Lebanon standing in eternal prayer, on top of a mountain." [2]

Pilgrimage

St Charbel's tomb has been a site for millions of pilgrimages ever since his burial. 

Preparation for Holy Mass

St Charbel used to spend half a day preparing to celebrate Mass, and half a day in thanksgiving. During the Holy Mass he offered the Eucharist to the Holy Trinity for the conversion of sinners.

History of Saint Charbel

History of St Charbel can be accessed at http://saintcharbel.net.au/history/

Some healings which are attributed to St Charbel

Some healings which are attributed to St Charbel can be accessed at https://epicpew.com/6-incredible-miracles-saint-charbel/

Prayer to Saint Charbel

Saint Sharbel, vessel of sweet perfume, pray for me. O merciful God, who honored Saint Sharbel through the working of great miracles, have mercy on me and grant me what I ask through his intercession. To You be glory forever, Amen. 

Rosary

One of St Charbel's spiritual practices we can imitate is prayer of the Holy Rosary. 

[1] Saint Charbel http://saintcharbel.net.au/history/

[2] Charbel Makhlouf 

HOW TO PRAY THE ROSARY

Visit the following link

THE ROSARY

THE ROSARY

On the cross the Creed is prayed:

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth. And in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord, Who was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried. He descended into hell. The third day He rose again from the dead. He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right Hand of God, the Father Almighty. From thence He shall come, to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic Church, the Communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting. Amen.

On the single beads the Our Father is prayed:

Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name;  Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, on earth as It is in heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.  And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

On the sets of beads, the Hail Mary is prayed:

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the Fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

At the end of each set of beads, the Glory Be is prayed:

Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end, Amen.

This is followed by the Fatima prayer:

O my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, and lead all souls to heaven, especially those most in need of Thy mercy. Amen.

Many people recite five to fifteen mysteries of the Holy Rosary each day:

The Joyful Mysteries (always recited on Mondays and Thursdays)

1. The Annunciation

2. The Visitation

3. The Nativity

4. The Presentation

5. The finding of the Child Jesus in the Temple

The Sorrowful Mysteries (always recited on Tuesdays and Fridays)

1. The Agony in the Garden

2. The Scourging at the Pillar

3. The Crowning with Thorns

4. The Carrying of the Cross

5. The Crucifixion and Death of Jesus on the Cross

The Glorious Mysteries (always recited on Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays)

1. The Resurrection

2. The Ascension

3. The Descent of the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles at Pentecost

4. The Assumption of Our Lady body and soul into Heaven

5. The Crowning of Our Lady as Queen of Heaven

At the end of the Rosary recite the Hail Holy Queen:

Hail Holy Queen, Mother of mercy, hail our life, our sweetness and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve. To thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this vale of tears. Turn then, most gracious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy towards us, and after this our exile, show unto us the blessed Fruit of thy womb, Jesus. O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary, pray for us now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.

Follow the Hail Holy Queen by:

Pray for us O Holy Mother of God

That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ

LET US PRAY

O God, Who by Thy Life, Death and Resurrection didst purchase for us the rewards of eternal salvation

Grant, we beseech thee, that, while meditating upon these mysteries of the most holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary

We may both imitate what they contain

And obtain what they promise through the same Christ our Lord

Amen.

JOIN ONLINE ROSARY AT

Link to online Rosary

With thanks to usccb.org, saintcharbel.net.au, epicpew.com, wikipedia.org, comepraytherosary.org and youtube

[twins2994]

Los Angeles Angels-Minnesota Twins Series Preview

9.9.24-Reid Detmers LHP (3-6) 5.87 ERA Vs. David Festa RHP (2-5) 4.75 ERA

9.10.24-Griffin Canning RHP (5-12) 5.02 ERA Vs. Pablo Lopez RHP (14-8) 4.05 ERA

9.11.24-Jack Kochanowicz RHP (2-4) 4.89 ERA Vs. Zebby Matthews RHP

The Angels At A Glance- The Angels have had another rough season and it's their first year without Shohei Ohtani. They went (10-17) in April and May then had a fifteen-win June. Not much has gone right since as the Halos sit in last place of the American League West. The Rangers took three out of four from the Angels in Arlington over the weekend. They close out the road trip with their annual series against the Twins at Target Field. Jo Adell is likely done for the season with an oblique injury. Anthony Rendon has been hurt on an off throughout the season. Mike Trout tore his ACL early in the season and only played in twenty-nine games. Zach Neto has been a bright spot with twenty homers and sixty-seven RBI. He has become the everyday shortstop. The Angels starting staff has a 4.81 ERA, which is third-worst in baseball. The Twins will miss Tyler Anderson, who is having a solid year with a 3.50 ERA. The Anaheim bullpen has been decent with a 4.00 ERA. Ben Joyce can bring it from an odd arm angle. He has a 2.08 ERA and nearly a strikeout per inning. He can hit 104 mph with his fastball.

The Twins At A Glance- The Twins offense has struggled this weekend as they only scored two runs against the Royals. The Royals swept them at Kauffman Stadium and the Twins return home for a big six-game homestand. Christian Vazquez was put on the paternity list and Jair Camargo was called up. I'm not sure if Camargo gets a start with three night games in this series. Carlos Correa found a new treatment for his foot and said he's feeling a lot better. Carlos Correa, Byron Buxton, Max Kepler, and Manny Margot are expected to face some Cedar Rapids pitchers this week at Target Field. Kody Funderburk is going on a rehab assignment in Columbus with the Saints. Carlos Santana missed Sunday's game with an illness. Christian Vazquez had three more hits on Sunday and is hitting .298 in the second half. The starting pitching hasn't been bad, but the lack of run support has caused Rocco Baldelli to overmanage the bullpen lately. Scott Blewett has allowed just one run over 10 2/3 innings of work.

What To Watch For- The Twins swept the Angels back in late-April in Anaheim during the twelve-game winning streak. The Twins took two of three from the Angels last September at Target Field. They clinched the division in the first game of that series from last year. Reid Detmers is (0-2) with a 6.41 ERA in four starts against the Twins. Griffin Canning gave up four runs over two innings in 2021 against the Twins. Pablo Lopez is (2-1) with a 4.76 ERA in four starts against the Angels. Anthony Rendon has two homers off him going back to their National League East days. David Festa, Zebby Matthews, and Jack Kochanowich have never faced their opponent before. The Twins have some winnable games coming up against the Angels and Reds this week at home.

-Chris Kreibich-

[novumtimes]

Parents bring dead daughter to hospital and claim she had flu | US News

Anthony Yonko (right) and Lisa Mitchell (left) have been charged in their 7-year-old daughter’s death (Pictures: Midwest City Police Department) The parents of a 7-year-old girl allegedly brought her malnourished and dead body to a hospital and claimed she had the flu. Cops responded after Anthony Yonko and Lisa Mitchell drove their child to Saint Anthony’s Midwest Hospital in Oklahoma on Friday morning, according to a probable cause affidavit obtained by Law & Crime. The girl was pronounced dead there not long after her arrival. She ‘had signs of rigor mortis and possible injuries internal and external’, medical staff told cops, per the affidavit. Anthony Yonko has been charged with one count of first-degree murder and one count each of torturing, death of a child by injuring, and maiming (Picture: Midwest City Police Department) The girl was ‘extremely malnourished’ and weighed just 25 pounds and was about 37 inches tall. Her weight was half of that of the average girl her age, which is 50 pounds, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Doctors said that ‘numerous amounts of black and dark red secretions came from the child’s mouth when pushing on her stomach area’, states the affidavit. When why his daughter was emaciated, Yonko allegedly said that she was ‘completely healthy’ and weighed 50 pounds four to five days before and could not explain why she was half that weight at the time of her death. The dad also claimed that he ‘feeds the child all the time’. The dad also claimed that his daughter and him slept in the same room the night before she died and that he woke up that morning to find that she was ‘not moving and was sick and needed to go to the hospital’. Lisa Mitchell has also been charged with one count of first-degree murder (Picture: Midwest City Police Department) He said that they had been giving their daughter ‘crackers and soup because she possibly had the flu’, the affidavit states. Yonko also admitted that they had not taken her to see a doctor since she was ‘much younger’. More Trending Read More Stories But the dad’s story changed several times in interviews with law enforcement. Eventually, Yonko said that his brother, who was living with them at the Vista Green apartments seven miles east of Oklahoma City, took them to the hospital. The brother told cops that Yonko was ‘freaking out’ on Friday morning and saying that they needed to get his daughter to the hospital. Yonko and Mitchell have each been charged with one count of first-degree murder, court records show. The dad has also been charged with a count each of torturing, death of a child by injuring, and maiming. The girl died days after a Minnesota father was sentenced to five years in prison for starving his 7-year-old daughter to death for almost a year until she succumbed on Christmas Day. Get in touch with our news team by emailing us at webnews@metro.co.uk. For more stories like this, check our news page. MORE : Dad’s heartbreaking last post before family’s boat capsizes and they’re lost at sea MORE : Family GP beat himself up to frame patient he wanted taken off the books MORE : Trump is gifted a Tesla Cybertruck with image of near-assassination by his son’s friend Get your need-to-know latest news, feel-good stories, analysis and more This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. Source link via The Novum Times

[weather-usa]

"‘Catastrophic Flooding’ in Vermont Triggers Water Rescues After 1-in-1,000-Year Rainfall Event"

Emergency responders sprang into action early Tuesday to rescue residents in flooded areas of northeast Vermont after a 1-in-1,000-year rainfall event caused a surge of dangerous floodwaters for the second time in a few weeks.

Climate and Average Weather Year Round in 14622 - Rochester NY:

Ten swift-water rescue teams carried out around two dozen rescues in Caledonia and Essex counties, some of the hardest-hit areas. Flash flood emergencies warning of "catastrophic flooding" were issued as the storm unleashed inches of rainfall in just a few hours.

Nearly 8 inches of rain fell in St. Johnsbury, Vermont, within 6 hours—an amount considered a 1-in-1,000-year event, so extreme it typically occurs only once every thousand years under normal conditions. A total of 8.41 inches fell there, marking one of the highest calendar day totals in state history, according to the National Weather Service in Vermont.

Extreme rainfall is becoming more common as fossil fuel pollution raises temperatures, increasing the atmosphere’s capacity to hold water vapor. Scientists are very confident that climate change is intensifying rainfall rates—how hard the rain is falling—and the total amount of rain a storm can produce.

Rescue teams remained in the area on Tuesday to respond to potential additional calls for help, as more rainfall was possible in the afternoon and evening, according to Vermont Emergency Management.

Floodwaters have washed out roads, leading to several state road closures.

A team was dispatched to survey the damage, which included significant structural and road damage, National Weather Service meteorologist Seth Kutikoff told the Associated Press.

“Unfortunately, some of these same areas were hit three weeks ago with serious flash flooding,” he said. “The integrity of some structures was already weakened.”

In Lyndonville, a town about 40 miles (64 kilometers) north of Montpelier, the state capital, Deryck Colburn was awakened by a neighbor pounding on his door. They live along a brook.

“I went down the road to her house, and there was no road. There was just a river,” he said.

Colburn described hearing the same surge of rushing water he had heard during flooding earlier in July, along with the unnerving sound of tumbling boulders carried by the water.

The nearby Passumpsic River rose 13 feet in four hours as floodwaters surged into it.

This is the third devastating flood event to hit Vermont in just over a year.

More than 100 people were rescued and at least one person died in early July after the remnants of Hurricane Beryl drenched the state.

Northeast Vermont and other parts of the state are also still recovering from extensive flooding just over a year ago. Last year’s flooding caused numerous road and bridge washouts, landslides, and mudslides, resulting in significant property damage and loss.

‘This Community Has Been Hurt’

The owners of Papa Tirozzi’s Bakery, Pizza, and Fish Shack believed they had already seen the worst of Mother Nature when their restaurant’s driveway was destroyed by the remnants of Beryl earlier this month. Weather Forecast For 55106-Saint-Paul-MN:

https://www.behance.net/gallery/200974745/Weather-Forecast-For-55106-Saint-Paul-MN

On Tuesday, they learned they were wrong.

“(Our driveway) was annihilated,” Nancy Tirozzi told CNN on Tuesday. “But now, it’s 20 times worse.”

Nancy and her husband, Anthony, rushed to their restaurant in St. Johnsbury, about two hours east of Burlington, as soon as they got an emergency weather warning around 4 a.m.

“We had no idea anything like this was gonna happen,” Nancy said, adding that the floodwaters were up to 5 feet deep outside the restaurant when they arrived. Once the waters receded, the couple began working tirelessly to clean up the mess.

“I can’t stop crying,” Nancy said. “It’s bad, it’s really, really bad. This community has been hurt.”

The property was too damaged to repair themselves, so the couple focused their energy on the inside of the building, sweeping out water and mud and ripping out the molding on the floor.

They hope to clean up enough to reopen in the next few days, but their hurried work might be for naught.

“When you’re not open, you can’t make money,” Nancy said. “But at this point, you can’t get to us. Our street is closed down,” she added.

See more:

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-19730

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-19731

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-19732

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-19733

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-19734

Nancy’s belief in her tight-knit community is what is pulling her through this moment of despair, along with the hope of soon supplying them with the food that brings them together.