#beatitudine

[ragazzoarcano]

“Scegli la felicità e poi guarda cosa succede.

Scegli l’estasi, e guarda cosa succede.

Scegli di essere beato, e guarda cosa succede.

La tua vita cambierà immediatamente e vedrai miracoli accadere intorno a te… perché ora hai creato l’effetto e le cause dovranno seguire.

Sembra una magia.”

— Osho

[cristianesimocattolico]

La grazia "gratum faciens"

La grazia gratum faciens, o santificante, è la grazia che ci rende graditi a Dio. Il suo effetto è quello di unirci alla comunione dei santi. La differenza con la grazia gratis data. Grazia operante e grazia cooperante. Grazia preveniente e susseguente. Continue reading La grazia “gratum faciens”

[mr-karlheinzstockhatso]

Tranquilla?

Parco Faunistico Le Cornelle, Valbrembo, Bergamo, Italia » 27 Novembre 2022 » YARD ACT - RICH

[sognosacro]

Ogni tot ho voglia di andare alle terme e fare una bella spa idratante, con i bagni di sale, i vapori profumati, la vasca calda, dei massaggi, una maschera facciale, una anche ai capelli.

Quindi lo faccio a casa, realizzo un clima conviviale di cura e benessere adatto a me, ma questo non collima il mio desiderio di andare ad una spa e affidarmi a qualcuno che si prende cura per il mio completo benessere.

Perció non conoscendo persone strafidate da cui potermi persino far vedere nuda e farmi toccare cosí in profondità, immagino che sarà il mio ragazzo ad adempiere a questo compito.

Ma sono single quindi mi recludo a una situazione di spa casalinga senza massaggio.

Olii tiepidi da massaggio. Sali profumati da bagno, fanghi per maschere facciali, fiori per la vasca da bagno, asciugamani morbidi e caldi. Vapore, tanto tiepido vapore. 1h così ammollo.

Questa è la mia immagine del bagno.

Nella versione concreta del progetto, per ora c'è la vasca da bagno, l'argilla per il corpo, il vapore se si accende la doccia bollente, l'incenso e il sale grosso con cui si puó fare una mistura con le erbe, o usare latte e miele o latte e olio per un bagno balsamico senza sapone.

Peró non mi appaga, mi sembra duro e spigoloso come se fossi appoggiata ad uno spigolo che mi punta dritto al cuore.

Forse perché non è rosa. Quel rosa baby quasi bianco. Come le rose selvatiche.

Una volta ho triturato una pietra di quarzo rosa e l ho mischiata al sale grosso e ci ho fatto il bagno perché ho sognato di avere un barattolo di sali da bagno con delle pietre di quarzo rosa.

Ma ora che ci penso si possono immergere delle pietre nella vasca e poi rimuoverle alla fine, molto più semplice.

Riempire un bagno di fiori rosa e quarzo rosa, incensi e candele profumante! Si questo mi sembra divertente. Anche del marrone insieme al rosa, tipo la cannella, non so

Bordeux!

Ok ora saltano alla mente altre idee.

[padrebaldo]

Perchè Gesù arrivò a Nord a Cesarea di Filippo ? La gente e i discepoli cosa pensano di Gesù: fa un sondaggio o è una rilettura missionaria ? Gesù si complimenta con Simone proclamandolo "Beato", perché ? Indica se stesso come roccia su cui edificare la chiesa o Pietro ? Perché su questa pietra le porte della morte o degli inferi non prevarranno ? Infine perché comanda il silenzio di non dire ad alcuno che egli era il Cristo ?

[nicksalius]

La religione autentica - Osho

Osho, uno dei maestri spirituali e di meditazione più amati e controversi del nostro tempo, ci invita a riflettere sulla natura della religione e sul suo rapporto con la politica, la società e l’individuo. Ci mette in guardia dal pericolo delle religioni organizzate, che sono fonte di oppressione, violenza e ignoranza. Ci esorta invece a scoprire la religione autentica, che è una ricerca…

[giovanna-dark]

Canto XXXIII

Dante e san Bernardo si trovano nell'Empireo, dove hanno sede Dio e i beati. San Bernardo rivolge la preghiera di lode alla Madonna: la più umile e nobile tra le creature. Bernardo la supplica di farsi portavoce delle preghiere di Dante. Maria accoglie pietosa la richiesta e volge il suo sguardo a Dio. La visione trascende le umane capacità espressive e la memoria ha serbato solo un labile ricordo di quell’esperienza mistica: le parole del poeta potranno solo cercare di restituire la dolcezza del sentimento provocato dalla contemplazione suprema

[dominousworld]

LA BEATITUDINE DELLA COSCIENZA

LA BEATITUDINE DELLA COSCIENZA

di Luca Rudra Vincenzini मध्यविकासाच्चिदानन्दलाभः madhyavikāsāccidānandalābhaḥ “[Attraverso] il dispiegamento (espansione/dischiudimento, vikāsāt) del centro (madhya) si ottiene (lābhaḥ) la beatitudine della coscienza (cidānanda)”, Pratyabhijñāhṛdayam, Kṣemarāja (Rudra). La mente è: coscienza, percezione, comprensione, identificazione, creazione e distruzione. Il perno di tutte le funzioni…

[alixdelin]

 via  Gridllr.com   —  a grid of your Likes!

"Goditi la coscienza di beatitudine illimitata qui e ora. La tua realtà si trova molto oltre le tue percezioni sensoriali e i tuoi confini." Amit Ray by Photolegend ******************* "Enjoy the consciousness of unlimited bliss here and now. Your reality lies far beyond your sensory perceptions and boundaries." Amit Ray by Photolegend

[ragazzoarcano]

“Per l’ultima volta vi dico: rivolgete tutta la vostra attenzione a voi stesso, mettete le catene ai vostri sensi e cercate la beatitudine non già nelle passioni, ma nel vostro cuore. La fonte della beatitudine non è fuori, ma dentro di noi.”

— Lev Tolstoj

[cristianesimocattolico]

L’essenza della grazia

La grazia non è una semplice benevolenza da parte di Dio, ma è creatrice di una qualità nuova nell’anima. In san Tommaso è chiaro che la grazia rende possibile la deificazione, cioè l’elevazione dell’uomo alla vita divina. Una realtà negata da Lutero. Continue reading L’essenza della grazia

[elperegrinodedios]

Non ti dedicherò poesie perchè sei tu il poema e, non ti racconterò storie, perchè tu sei la mia che ancora sto vivendo. Io vorrei dipingerti ma ormai ho solo colori un poco sbiaditi e spenti. E allora ti scriverò e seppure saranno scarabocchi saprai tradurli e anche se li cancellerai tu saprai che sei sempre l'unica pergamena sulla quale io desidero stendere la mia mano. Così viaggiare e sognare, poi vivere emozionarsi e godere di tale beatitudine. Ecco si, ti scriverò come ho sempre desiderato e ti amerò come ti ho sempre amato.

In amore sei tu a scegliere la misura.

#dedicato

lan ✍️

[sognosacro]

Quando speravo di averti a fianco non sapevo che sarei rimasta sola per così tanto.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

La Dolce Vita - John Shelby/Cosima Changretta (OFC).

Bit more John n' Cosima for you, you beautiful people! I'm really feeling inspired in my writing of late, so yeah, you get to enjoy lots of work flying out of the DDD press! :D

Words - 2,214

Warnings - Each part will be adult only content, from swearing to eventual smut and violence. Minors DNI.

Part IV - Beatitudine

Cosima Shelby. By night, when out on the town with her husband, she was the quintessential gangster’s wife. Furs, pearls, diamonds; the young woman simply oozed glamour as she dripped in luxury. By day, she was much removed from such an image. On holiday, she was even more casual.  

“Don’t you blame me if you get sore feet, Sima. Ain’t gonna be my fault.”  

He might have given her a soft warning over her lack of shoes, but seeing his wife so carefree as she walked the cobblestone side streets of Cortona, the little Tuscan village she had been born in twenty-three years ago that coming autumn, all John could do was smile. 

Her hair was pinned up, only a few strands floating free at the nape of her neck, her face smothered in olive oil. “What are ya, a fucking salad?” he’d laughed after catching her rubbing her face in the kitchen staple, Cosima insisting that it was marvellous for the skin.  

“Angelo, ciao!” she called, arriving at the tiny bistro she’d been raving about since they arrived the night before, the owner opening his arms and greeting her warmly. 

“Benventua, Cosima! Stai bene?” 

She beamed, “Si, si.” From the tiny bit of Italian John knew, he gathered that Angelo had welcomed her and asked after her health, joining them and being offered a hand by the tall, potbellied man who shook it warmly. “Angelo, this is John, my husband.” 

“Ahhh, she is a married woman now! Welcome, John! Let me bring my wife out to meet you. Hey, Lucia! Cosima is here!” Every summer since her birth, the Changretta’s had returned to their home village, the family known well in Cortona. They were then joined by a woman of radiant good looks, wrapping Cosima in her arms, greeting John with the same warmth before they were shown to a table out in the small courtyard at the rear of the establishment. 

He had decided that after having no honeymoon at all, not even a blissful, post-marriage period that could be considered as such, they’d have it now he and his new bride were finally in that state of sublime happiness. Who cared that it happened to be five months on? They’d set sail for Italy from Plymouth just over a week ago, after John had dropped the children off in Small Heath, all under Polly’s care for the month and a half he and Cosima would be away.  

Taking a menu, he looked down at it in pure puzzlement, looking at his wife for assistance. She covered his hand with hers, ordering for them both. “I ordered a few things we can share, and a bottle of the best Chianti you will ever drink. Remind me to come back before we leave so I can buy a few bottles to bring home.”  

He wasn’t much of a wine fan, not being particularly cultured, but he had to agree that upon taking a first sip, it was of incredible, full-bodied flavour. Relaxing in the sunshine, just him and his wife, he felt like a completely different person. He’d never been on holiday before, save a few weekends away at Brean and Skegness as a child. The beauty of Italy was something he had never experienced beyond listening to his wife speak of the place she held so dear, and being there, he could see why. 

“Should we retire out here one day?” 

His question out of complete thin air made her laugh softly, hardly able to imagine that far in the future. “I think that’d be lovely. Blooming hell, I can’t imagine us as a little old couple, shuffling around.” 

“I can,” he smiled, knitting his fingers together behind his head as he closed his eyes to the warm sunshine beaming onto his face. “You’ll be beautiful, still, and continue to throw plates at me an’ all, just much slower.”  

“I might have to move onto smaller things when my joints ache,” she mused, her smile widening her pretty lips. “Egg cups, saucers, things like that.”  

The laughter they shared filled the space, John reaching for her, pulling her onto his lap. “I dunno what it is about you. You’re like two different people, and I fucking love both of ‘em.”  

Her heart skipped like a newborn spring lamb. “You’ve never told me that before.”  

He arched an eyebrow, her heart somersaulting again at his male beauty. “Well, I’m telling you now. And I don’t need to hear you say it to me, either. Don’t feel like you have to.” 

“But I lo-" 

“Ah, ah! Nope!” 

“But John, I-” 

“Nope!” He cracked an eye open, grinning at her pinched-up lips, Cosima leaning in until her nose touched his. “Stop it.” 

“I love you, you dickhead.”  

“Charming, ain’t ya?” he snorted, still laughing.  

She shrugged. “I have my moments.” 

“Ar, ya do, bab. Charming, and with proper dirty feet, too.” He reached down her leg, grabbing her ankle and examining the sole of her foot. “Look at ‘em! Blacker than a coal miner’s arse!”  

“I plan on having a bath once we get back, I’ll have you know. That tub is huge, too. Easily big enough for two.”  

Her wink had him laughing. “Gonna see how much water we can splash out onto the floor?” She nodded enthusiastically, leaning to kiss him. He eventually put her down, their food brought out shortly after, both very contently full as they strolled back to the guest house they were staying in for the near complete duration of their holiday.  

For the last week, they were travelling to Rome, but the three preceding it were being spent in the quiet surroundings of the small lake house set at the foot of the hills, the people who owned it living at the main residence and letting them come and go as they pleased.  

“Give us one of them mucky hooves, then,” John spoke, sitting at the opposing end of the big, claw footed bathtub, objecting the smell of the lavender bath salts Cosima had sprinkled in very liberally, but not the fact he got to share the hot water with her.  

He received a heel to the chest for his remark, snorting laughing at the look on her face as she sat mildly aghast. “Hooves, John? I have beautiful feet, I keep them all nice and soft, toenails always painted, too.”  

“I know, I’ve seen all the bits of dead skin you leave all over the pumice, you mucky wench.” Her other foot found its way between his legs, John shifting back. “Oi, less of your violence, woman. I’ve got plans for where I’m gonna put that.” he winked, Cosima bobbing her tongue out as her foot retreated from its press against his cock, John lathering the soap in his hands. “So, did your mom and dad mean for you to be born out here? Wanting the kids to all be Italian by birth, was it?” 

“That’s exactly it, yes,” she began, finger combing her hair idly. “Only Luca and I are, though. Angel came earlier than expected, so he was a baby in arms already when he took his first breath of homeland air. Papa always said he wanted us to be all born in the same place, but wasn’t too sad that Angel was born in England. He was just glad he survived, coming a month early.”  

He noticed that over the last few months, he could speak of her family and not notice the dark storm of contemptuous fury begin swirling within her. Simply, there was none left, or if there was, she was doing well to hide it. He did hope it was the former. “I know that worry,” he spoke, working the soap suds between her dainty toes, the deep red polish flawless. “Oliver was five weeks early, fucking tiny little thing, he was. Bloody made up for it in noise ever since, though.”  

“Hasn’t he just,” she beamed, thinking of the absolute chaos that was her eldest stepchild. “I’m not going to say I don’t miss him and his siblings, but blinking hell, I love the quiet!” 

John laughed, picking up the cutthroat razor to the side of the tub and nodding at her leg.  

“Promise you won’t cut me?” she asked, watching her husband frown comically. 

“Do it every day to me own face, darlin’. Ain’t gonna even nick the skin.” Taking the soap again, he lathered her leg while resting her foot on his shoulder, slowly gliding the blade against the short hair regrowth. “I wonder what our kids’ll be like,” he mused, rinsing the razor. “It’d be nice if the first one was conceived over here, eh?”  

“Feisty, I predict, if our temperaments are anything to go by.” 

He snorted softly. “You’re worse than me.” Immediately she scowled, John placing a loving kiss against the side of her foot.  

“And you’re a fucking wind-up merchant!” she attested, watching as he rinsed her leg and then started the routine again on the left one.  

“Ahh, ya wouldn’t love me if I didn’t have a bit of bite.” he remarked, snapping his teeth at her, hands working the soap over her leg. That was true enough, she thought. A boring, placid man was not for her. She quite enjoyed that his spark matched hers in illumination. Once he was finished returning her legs to silky smooth glory, he made his intention to be between them very clear, her hands travelling over the lithe muscles that flexed across his shoulders as he caught her lips in a kiss. 

If there was a better way to spend the late afternoon, she was yet to hear it.  

Their kisses swirled slow like honey, steam rising in the figurative and literal all around them, John feeling his skin break out into goose pimples at the pattered exploration of her fingertips. Deep groans rumbled his throat when she moved her kisses to the side of his neck, a soft bite eliciting a shiver, his hand moving between her legs to stroke until she was purring with desire.  

Reaching beneath her, he lifted her body, sitting back on his heels, bouncing her on his cock, hands grasping her shoulders before smoothing down her back sensually, sharing kisses gilded in embers and sugar, feeling drunk on her.   

“God, you feel so fucking good,” she moaned, her head tipping back, his lips gliding torridly over her throat. “I love you.”   

Despite telling her he didn’t require her to say it back, John knew in that moment he’d never tire of it, hearing his beautiful wife declare her love for him. “I love you too, sweetheart. So much.” His words punctuated her fluttered gasps as the head of his cock scraped deliciously against her sweet spots, rutting her deep, hands running down her slender back. 

The rise and fall of their bodies was akin the cresting of gentle waves upon a sea, Cosima absolutely blown away by the intimacy, the divinity of it. This was the kind of sex she thought only existed in novels, too perfectly passionate to extend to reality, her reality too, no less.   

How could he be this perfect? And to think, she had once hated him with the kind of torridness that was now only reserved for how he made her feel when he was balls deep inside of her. The all-encompassing heat of him and the moment they shared shook her to her very foundations, her bones sizzling in utter ecstasy as she rocked against him, his strong hands stroking paths of sweeping tingles over her soft skin. 

Her walls throbbed with the sweetest flush of pleasure, his cock evoking swells of molten bliss, Cosima grinding down on him faster, her nerves in symphony, the sounds of her bum pounding off his thighs filling the bathroom. 

“Right, gotta get outta this bath, love,” he spoke, clutching her tightly in his arms. “Bloody foot is going to sleep!” Tightening his arms around her, he stood up from the water, carefully climbing out of the tub and carrying her to the wall. It was a favourite of his, standing up sex, reminding him of the first time he’d had her like that back in the kitchen of their cottage.  

John Shelby; he truly was all about the nostalgia. 

Winding his arms beneath her thighs, he grasped her bum to keep her spread as he began to roll his hips against her, every last inch of his cock slipping into the sumptuous, saturated hug of her cunt, but slow. So slow. 

Each thrust had ecstasy sizzling through her veins, her cries feral, the physical of what she felt demonstrated by her nails imbedding in his back, tearing down, leaving raspberry swellings across his pale freckle-flecked skin, John thriving on her reaction to the sublimity of his fuck. 

It felt sharp-edged as it gathered within her, the coil tightening before it snapped, consuming bliss throbbing through her entire body as he spilled into her deeply, grunting with exertion, the culmination a sweep of liquid velvet pouring through them, ebbing away slowly, leaving them shattered, yet dreamy with satisfaction.   

Not that either could know it so soon, but it also left them parents to a brand-new Shelby, too. 

[nicksalius]

Un'effimera parodia del misticismo - Alan Watts

Guardati un po’ intorno … Cosa vedi? Cos’è che di primo acchito, direi pressoché invariabilmente, ti colpisce? Per quanto mi riguarda rilevo quasi subito un’uniformità indistinta di comportamenti, che si riflettono in gusti, quindi scelte, sia di natura culturale che più concreta, diciamo pure economica. Constato, per dirla in modo molto semplice, un accentuato e dilagante conformismo. Denoto…

[ec-chi-mo-si]

Ho bisogno di cambiare. Forse questa è l'unica cosa che so al momento. E' tornato il buio, è tornato prepotentemente, come non mai e non so come affrontarlo. Sinceramente non so cosa sia andato storto nella mia vita, in quale momento o in quali momenti mi sono perso. Non è la prima volta che mi accade, ho avuto i miei periodi no ma non sono mai stati così visibili, esposti al mondo. C'è un mondo di rabbia dentro me che ho sempre saputo gestire ma ultimamente no, basta veramente un cazzo e come una bomba sono pronto ad esplodere. Questo mi fa tremendamente paura, anche perché non importa chi ci sia dall'altro lato e si ritroverà a beccarsi tutto il mio odio. Odio, odio per cosa? Questo ancora devo capirlo. Nella mia vita ho sofferto si, come tutti e meno di molti ma questo non può e non dovrebbe giustificare nulla. Sono bloccato, non riesco a vivere, e quando poi lo faccio e torno alla normalità è sempre peggio, ogni volta fa un po' più male. Forse la parte peggiore è vivere quegli attimi di felicità che mi mancano perché sono un ingordo, ho bisogno di sentirmi pieno, a volte anche un po' apprezzato ma allo stesso tempo non sono capace di gestirlo. Ho imparato che non sono mai contento di nulla, non mi basta mai e quindi come si fa? Come posso sopraffare questo mio modo di essere? Sono sempre in conflitto con me stesso, come se ci fossero due personalità che a volte convivono nello stesso momento e questo crea un conflitto enorme, vado in tilt. Spesso penso che l'unica soluzione sia quella di isolarmi, di mandare tutti via, le persone sono sempre state bene senza di me, possono continuare a farlo per il resto della loro vita. Ma della mia che ne sarà, deve davvero finire così? Deve essere davvero "un solo attimo di beatitudine può forse colmare una vita intera?". Non sono pronto a questo, non sono pronto a vivere un futuro misero fatto di solitudine, ne ho già vissuta tanta, ad un certo punto deve arrivare il mio momento no? Forse il mio momento è già arrivato e l'ho perso? Ed ora che si fa? Come supero tutta la tristezza che sento in ogni centimetro della mia pelle? Tutta questa tristezza che a volte non ha fatto parte della mia vita per alcuni attimi. Ci si abitua mai a stare male? Dobbiamo davvero vivere una vita di merda quando potremmo essere felici? Non lo so, ho perso il libretto delle istruzioni di questa vita. Ho perso tanto e sto continuando a perdere, sto continuando a perdermi. Aspetto un po' di luce in questa oscurità, una mano che forse mi tiri su anche se so che dipende tutto da me. Da me, appunto, questo è il problema più grande. Ho sempre provato a fare tutto da solo nella mia vita e questo è il risultato, un "uomo" a pezzi che distrugge tutto ciò che tocca. In fondo volevo solo una vita, una famiglia, una casa e dei figli, ed invece eccomi qui, io e i miei demoni a pensare su come farla finita. Ho bisogno di cambiare, ma per cambiare devo cambiare me, non so se ci riuscirò.