#canticle of all creatures

[frnndlcs]

Cântico das Criaturas, Miguel Gomes, 2006

[sapphim]

Monstrous Wardens Masterpost

A great big collection of text from the Dragon Age games and novels about darkspawn, Grey Wardens, and the Calling, to fuel everyone's monstrous wardens headcanons.

This has actually been sitting in my drafts for like half a year now bc I thought I really should scrounge around for more quotes from Last Flight, Awakening, and Legacy. That... didn't happen, and there's really no sense in holding off longer. If I ever do get around to it, I'll pull more quotes to add. But I consider this complete as is. enjoy~

—

The Song

The Old Gods will call to you, From their ancient prisons they will sing. Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts, On blacken'd wings does deceit take flight, The First of My children, lost to night.

—Canticle of Silence 3:6, Dissonant Verse

     “The Old Gods beckon, as they always have.” The Architect turned and paced to the other side of the cell. The shadows cast on the walls by the glowstone danced ominously. “That is what you hear. To my people, it is a call that we cannot ignore. It whispers to our blood and compels us to seek the Old Gods out. We search and search for their prisons, and when we find one, we touch the face of perfection and thus desecrate it forever.”

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 6

     So close. We nearly reached him. Made it down to what looked like a dwarven thaig where the song was actually audible, real and thrumming through the air, not just in our heads. It rattled through the lyrium pillars and shook the earth beneath our feet to its dreadful tempo.

—[DAI] Note: Ancient Warden Logbook

     There were creatures in that land. Dark things that lurked in the corners. Cole couldn’t see them, and didn’t want to. He worried that they could see him, however. […]      And worse, there was the music. He didn’t know what it was, but it seemed to come from far, far off. It called to him, but not in a pleasant way— it had an urgency that sped his heart and made his blood burn. The dark creatures, the lurkers, they listened to it. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he could feel them out there, craning their necks, raising taloned hands toward that call.

—Dragon Age: Asunder, chapter 9

     As the griffon began to climb through the clouds that followed the Blight, Isseya heard a faint, strange melody seep into her mind. She had no sense of it as actual sound; rather, it seemed to come from within, almost as if she were humming the tune to herself.      She could never have imagined such a song, though. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard. Aching and ethereal, it seemed to pull her toward a memory of nostalgic bliss that she had somehow lost—but that she would do anything to recover. Anything at all. […]      “What was it?” the elf asked, shaken. […]      “The Archdemon.” […]      For the rest of their ride back to Antiva City, Isseya sat small and quiet on Blacktalon’s back, unable to reconcile the horrors of the darkspawn with the sweetness of their song.

—Dragon Age: Last Flight, chapter 3

The Chorus

     The faint sounds of movement ahead got more frequent, and along with them, they began to hear a strange humming. It was deep and alien, a reverberating sound that they felt in their chests and that made their skin crawl. […]      The deep humming was coming from [the creature. It] was moaning softly, almost chanting, and this moan built upon the sounds of many others behind it in the shadows. They hummed in unison, a hushed and deadly whisper the creatures spoke as one. […]      All of them walked as calmly as the first, shambling toward them while moaning and hissing softly. The sound was loud now, reverberating around them like a physical force. […]      They watched the darkspawn advance, their weapons held at the ready. Even with their prey cornered, the creatures did not accelerate. Their hum became louder, reached a hungry, fever pitch.

—Dragon Age: The Stolen Throne, chapter 14

     Were they digging? He had the impression that the masses of them were all engaged in some sort of industry, all united in moving great portions of the rock out of the cavern and expanding it even further. Yet there were no sounds of tools crashing against stone, no hammering sounds or grunts of exertion. All he could hear was a rhythmic groan, a keening pitch that it seemed each of the darkspawn contributed to. The sound of it made his skin crawl, and he realized that the chorus in the distance responded to it. Like a cat that arched its back to meet a brushing hand it became ecstatic; it surged and almost overwhelmed his senses.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 6

The Senses

     They were more than simply skilled at fighting darkspawn; they knew them intimately. They sensed their presence, sometimes even gleaned their intent.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 4

     He could feel the darkspawn out there now. Genevieve was right. It just took some time to become acclimated. They were at the edge of his consciousness, lurking in the shadows far out of sight. It was that same feeling when someone was standing behind you, and you didn’t hear them or sense them in any way; you just knew.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 5

     Bregan closed his eyes and carefully reached out with his senses. There were darkspawn all around him. Not in the same room, perhaps, but nearby. He could feel them tickling at the edge of his mind. As always, the sensation came with a feeling of foulness, as if a poison had seeped under his skin.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 2

     “There is a taint that is within the darkspawn […] A darkness that pervades us, compels us, drives us to rail against the light. It is in our blood and corrupts the very world around us.” The creature gestured toward Bregan with a withered, taloned hand. “It is also within your blood. It is what makes you what you are, what you sense in us and we in you.”

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 2

Anders: Hmm. Hawke: What's wrong? Anders: I think [the Grey Wardens are] nearby. Anders: Or it could be darkspawn.

—Dragon Age II

     The hunter had a sensitivity to the taint that went far beyond any tracking ability he might have learned during his time with the Ash Warriors. He was always the first to sense the approach of darkspawn, and he could discern between the various breeds by their scent alone. Some of the Grey Wardens even used to claim that Kell could do the same with them, sense who was who from afar just as if they were darkspawn. If so, the hunter never commented on it.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 11

     She felt Bregan out there, felt him just the same as she felt the darkspawn. Every now and again she would turn a corner in the tunnels and would feel her brother’s presence on the edge of her senses, almost as if his scent had been carried to her somehow on an invisible wind.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 15

The Dreams

Alistair: Oh… and then there were the nightmares. Duncan said it was part of how we sense the darkspawn. We tap into their… well, I don't know what you'd call it. Their “group mind.” Alistair: And when we sleep, it's even worse. You learn to block it out after a while, but at first it's hard. It's supposed to be worse for those who Join during a Blight. How is it for you? Warden: Nightmares… yes, I know what you mean. Alistair: Some people never have much trouble, but that's rare. Others have trouble sleeping their entire life. They're just more sensitive, I suppose. Alistair: Everyone ends up the same, though. Once you reach a certain age, the real nightmares come. That's how a Grey Warden knows his time has come.

—Dragon Age: Origins

     The dream, when it came, was similar to the hundreds of dreams Fiona had suffered since she’d become a Grey Warden. Before, however, it had always felt as if she was looking on the dream from afar, hazy and easy to forget. Now it was crystal clear.      Fiona stood on a battlefield littered with dead men. All of them were soldiers in heavy armor, knights wearing the griffon standard of the order. Each had been brutally slaughtered. The smell of blood and decay hung thick and cloying in the air, the buzzing sound of flies nipping at her senses.      Overhead, the sky filled with an endless, roiling black cloud. It looked like ink spreading slowly in water, a great stain that blotted out the horizon. She had been told about this. The first sign of the Blight, said the Grey Wardens, is found in the clouds. When the mighty dragon rises, its corruption touches the world and spreads.      She was alone on that field of corpses. All alone. The wind picked up, a sickly breeze that carried with it the stench of carrion. A gloom fell upon her, and she stumbled as she watched something rise from out of the field of bodies nearby. It was enormous. A great, black thing that was as cold and terrible as anything she could have imagined.      Fear pulsed through her. Her heart raced, and she looked away. She didn’t want to see it. She threw her hands up in front of her eyes not to see it. Yet still she felt it coming. Her foot caught between two corpses and made her fall back on top of them. Dead flesh pressed against her and still she covered her eyes. Still she felt the darkness surging ever closer to her.      It was coming. And it was coming for her.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 14

The Calling

Hawke: You don't look well, Bethany. Are you injured? Bethany: Injured? I have the darkspawn taint forever in my veins, barely held in check by the Wardens' rituals. Bethany: I will never be well again.

—Dragon Age II

     At first, it was just a whisper. A creak in the door hinge I could put off oiling. But soon, all I could hear was the music. It was there when I swung my staff and wiped the sweat from my brow. It lingered in Lyam's laughter and stalked my dreams. I can't explain the sound—the song—but I knew. It's a poison that grows in the mind, then consumes the body.

—[DAI: The Descent] Codex Entry: Warden Ailsa's Diary

     It scratches at my thoughts, the music almost a voice, at once unearthly and beautiful. I found myself humming it aloud a few days past. Where once it intruded, it now feels a natural part of my mind's course. It coils around memories I hold dear—training with Ser Keller, riding in the moonlight, my mother's face the last time I saw her—and inserts itself into them, so that I could almost swear that music, that sense of a presence watching and calling, had always been a part of what I remember.

—[DAI] Codex Entry: Regarding the Calling

     She had seen enough of the corruption to last a lifetime, and somewhere off in the far distance was that strange sound, the beautiful whispering.      She didn’t want to listen to it, but couldn’t help herself. She closed her eyes and tried to pick out what the whisper was saying. Was it a song? Was it a name? It almost seemed that it was calling out to her, stroking her soul ever so softly. . . .

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 14

     The humming sound, however, was stronger even than before. It was no longer something muted and distant; it was everywhere. It was behind the walls and under the floor; it filled the shadows and caressed his skin. There was a terrible beauty to it now, an awful yearning that pulsated within the sound, a tugging that pulled at the edge of his consciousness and yet frightened and nauseated him at the same time.      The humming had eclipsed any sense he had of the darkspawn. Any attempt he made to reach out with his mind to sense where the creatures were found only a wall of beautiful sound instead. Like a weed, it had insinuated itself into his consciousness, blocking out anything useful.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 6

     The far-off chorus had become a powerful symphony, a great swell of beautiful music that no longer pounded to get inside his head but instead tickled at the edges of his thoughts. It was far easier to ignore, but now he found it distracting. He found himself losing his train of thought whenever he listened.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 10

     The taint fogged her thoughts a little more with each passing morning. Her diary, once a detailed chronicle of every day’s thoughts, went neglected for weeks, sometimes months. She was losing her mind.      She wasn’t the only one, of course. It had gotten harder to tell the reality of the Blight from the horrors of her dreams. Sometimes she wasn’t sure which one she walked through, or which one she fought in. The elf had learned to recognize the confusion that sometimes passed over other senior Wardens’ faces. They, too, heard the Archdemon’s song echoing through their heads, a trifle louder every night. They, too, fought to block it out and to hide the signs from their comrades…

—Dragon Age: Last Flight, chapter 21

     My body is breaking down. The fingernails were the first to go. I started to itch all over, and when I scratched, they peeled back. Clumps of hair fell away. Then clumps of flesh.      I hear a song in my head. It's deafening. The most beautiful thing I've ever heard. But I don't hear it with my ears. It's in my brain. A blissful sound. This must be the call for which the darkspawn yearn, what causes them to dig so feverishly.      I'd still rather die. Suppose that's something.

—[DAI] Codex Entry: To Be Corrupted

     His skin itched terribly underneath those bandages, but he resisted the urge to peel them off. The pain throughout his body was dull but insistent, as if his body protested against this unfamiliar movement. The sluggishness made him wary. There was a thickness to his blood, a deliberateness to his heartbeat that made him feel like something alien was crawling inside of him and sapping his strength.      […His arms] were half covered in dark blotches. At first, he wondered if that was some kind of injury, or perhaps a bloodstain. But then he noticed the texture of the skin within those discolored areas: rough and withered, just as darkspawn flesh was. […]      Every part of his skin that wasn’t covered by the greyed cloth bandages was corrupted. It was like a network of black mold working its way across his entire body, and everywhere it touched he could feel a hot buzzing underneath the flesh. It was difficult to look at.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 6

     The Architect stared into Utha’s eyes and nothing happened at first. Then black veins began to appear along her hand where the darkspawn touched her. They became darker and darker, the veins branching until her entire hand was criss-crossed with them. […]      Her flesh withered and curled, the air filling with the foul stench of decay. […]      The stain on her skin spread, crawling up her neck and covering her face. Her coppery hair began to grey, and then it became white. Her long braid twisted and curled behind her, like a match that was burning itself into a cinder. Her eyes shot open, blood red, and she opened her mouth in a soundless scream... and what wisps remained of her hair simply fell out.      And then it was done.

—Dragon Age: The Calling, chapter 16

Bonus entry that made me go "hey what the fuck"

     What I remember most is its tongue flapping against a row of spiky teeth. I'd heard emissaries possessed the ability to speak, but the words were unnatural. They twisted and lurched as they left the creature's mouth, accompanied with a spray of saliva.      "Have you ever experienced living flesh ground between your teeth?" it asked Mila before biting through her throat.

—[DAI: The Descent] Codex Entry: Darkspawn Emissary

[sandsvendor100]

Transmissive Number 00074:002.2

Time Space Cross-Section: O.W.D.

Transmat Classification: Canticle

And So Came The One And Only Seymour Babyboy

So Young, So Old, Preparing To Enact His Final Ploy

At The Rimmed World Edge Of The Monkey's Space

The Torussed Cuts Of The Times And Place

At The End Of The Days, All Things Said And Told

He Rounded Up All Cosigns, Be They Yong Or Ould

Even Poor Archibold, Filthy, Thick With Grime

Freshened Up With One Big Scoop Of Lime

Together They Moved, Bolders Crashing Down

Carving Through The Forest, Burdensome Clown

Until They Met Their Graceful Little Jungle Guide

Whow, What A Guy, Honestly, He's Such A Ride

Great Big Feathered Beast - Name Of Marvin

With That Creature They Struck A Bargain

Eye For Eye, Life For Life, Debt For Debt

Little Baby Seymour's Conditions Met

Reading Through His Great Big Book Of Shapes

Babyboy Seymour Goes Marching To Meet The Apes

To The Jungle Where All Tapirs Do Belong

To Make Right All That Is Strange And Wrong

[angeltreasure]

Minor request, but please pray my plant becomes healthy again?

Canticle of the Sun

Most high, all powerful, all good Lord! All praise is yours, all glory, all honor, and all blessing. To you, alone, Most High, do they belong. No mortal lips are worthy to pronounce your name.

Be praised, my Lord, through all your creatures, especially through my lord Brother Sun, who brings the day; and you give light through him. And he is beautiful and radiant in all his splendor! Of you, Most High, he bears the likeness.

Be praised, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars; in the heavens you have made them, precious and beautiful.

Be praised, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air, and clouds and storms, and all the weather, through which you give your creatures sustenance.

Be praised, My Lord, through Sister Water; she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure.

Be praised, my Lord, through Brother Fire, through whom you brighten the night. He is beautiful and cheerful, and powerful and strong.

Be praised, my Lord, through our sister Mother Earth, who feeds us and rules us, and produces various fruits with colored flowers and herbs.

Be praised, my Lord, through those who forgive for love of you; through those who endure sickness and trial. Happy those who endure in peace, for by you, Most High, they will be crowned.

Be praised, my Lord, through our Sister Bodily Death, from whose embrace no living person can escape. Woe to those who die in mortal sin! Happy those she finds doing your most holy will. The second death can do no harm to them.

Praise and bless my Lord, and give thanks, and serve him with great humility.

[thunderandroses]

St Francis of Assisi Prayer

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Canticle of the Creatures

All praise be yours, My Lord

and awaken in us a renewed commitment

through all that you have made.

to care for the earth and each other.

Inspire leaders with openness to listen to those most affected by climate change

so that our common home may be healed and restored

and all people, and generations to come, may delight in it.

And first my lord Brother Sun, who brings the day

How beautiful is he, how radiant in all his splendor!

Of you, Most High, he bears the likeness.

All praise be yours, my Lord, through Sister Moon and Stars;

In the heavens you have made them, bright and precious and fair.

All praise be yours, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air...

All praise be yours, my Lord, through Sister Water,

So useful, lowly, precious and pure.

All praise be yours, my Lord, through Brother Fire,

through whom you brighten up the night...

All praise be yours, my Lord, through Sister Earth, our mother,

Who feeds us...and produces various fruits

With colored flowers and herbs...

Praise and bless my Lord, and give him thanks,

And serve him with great humility.

Amen 🌹

[fachefaucheux]

WriteFest! // Days 4-14 + Genre Musings and Inat

So, I’m behind.

As of this morning, I’m at 45k. Which is great! Awesome! That is objectively an asston of words. Probably half a novel, if I was a normal person who wrote normal word count stories. Unfortunately, I’m supposed to be closing in on 75k. So…not great. But seeing as how we’ve all been living through A Hell Of A Time, especially last week, I’m not going to beat myself up over it too much. I’ve only had one day where I skipped writing entirely. (At least in terms of drafting…I did edit a full chapter that day, which is probably why I wrote nothing, because editing is the absolute worst.) And one day off over 2 weeks is…uh, hopefully not our future vision of a leisurely and unproductive pace, lol.

One thing I’ve noticed about myself as a writer is that I’m pretty damn inconsistent. Or, well, not just as a writer, but just on the whole. I’ve never been the kind of person who can stick to a “do something every day at the same time for the same amount of time” scheme. Of course, I have some sort of routine — humans are creatures of habit, we all fall into some kind of pattern. Mine is just very “vibes based”, so to speak. Some days, I’ll fall into the writing zone and barf up 10k worth of nonsense. Other days, I’m feeling the research side of things, or just feel like reading someone else’s work to get a fresh perspective. (I am never vibing with editing. Editing is always torture. But that’s for another post.)

I’ve never been able to follow a rulebook. I am a hopeless contrarian, oftentimes to my own detriment. In Serbia, there’s a sort of…hmm, cultural mindset, maybe? It’s called inat. Sometimes it gets translated as spitefulness, other times as stubbornness or perseverance. 

Your friends, your family, everyone tells you that doing something is a bad idea. But now you want to do it even more than when you asked for their advice, because what do they know? That’s inat. Some judgmental person tells you you’ll never be good at something, so then you throw out everything else in your life and grind at that one thing until you’re objectively skilled, just because that asshole told you you’d never make it. That’s also inat. It’s that “fuck you, I’ll do what I want” spirit, sometimes taken to unhelpful ends.

My Serbian language teacher once asked me why I was keeping my watchband held together with a band-aid instead of going to the shop she’d recommended to get a replacement, and I shrugged and said, “well, you know, I’ve been busy lately.” She smiled and shook her finger at me and said, “I see, you’re becoming a real Serbian now. Soon you’ll be skipping your lessons and telling me “the only thing I have to do in life is die!”

To be frank, she called my bluff pretty well. And maybe that’s why I didn’t have too many problems adjusting during my year in Belgrade. Because I’d been following inat long before I acquired my weird fixation on the Balkans.

This leads me to the genre problem.

I’ve always come at genre from the perspective that it exists more for the reader than the writer — a way of lumping together vaguely similar story elements and types so that readers can find the kinds of books they want to read. And I’m well aware of its connection to marketing, as much as I despise marketing with every fiber of my being. You drill down to the exact core of readers who you want to enjoy your book, you write for them, then you sell it to them. Or something. Like I said, I hate marketing, so I haven’t invested much time into it. (Probably because someone once told me it was important, and I was like, fuck you! I’ll ignore it. Inat in action.)

I wandered into both Canticle and the Niv/Yule story arc (which I really need to find a proper title for, instead of just shamelessly stealing a bunch of song titles and lyrics…) not from the perspective of “I want to write x genre of story”, but more from the perspective of “these two idiots would make for a fun couple, I wonder how they get from point A to point B?”. Most of the other elements — magic, angels/demons, whatever my passing historical fixation was at the time — came along for the ride because I just thought they were neat and fun. Which makes for an interesting story (or so I’ve been told), but not one that fits into the best genre boxes.

Take Canticle, for example. It’s really in some sort of genre black hole. There’s not enough historical immersion for it to be a true historical story, but at the same time, historical circumstance (the aftermath of the English Civil War, Louis XIV’s court, modernizing Europe) plays a big role in the themes and attitudes in it. It’s got some of the elements of your usual epic fantasy — empires and kingdoms and armies and the world in peril — but, uh, it’s not very action-forward, seeing as how most of what the reader sees are not the battles themselves but the aftermath in the infirmary. 

Even when it comes to romance, it’s not quite there. I’ve always thought of it as a romance at its core, because my only driving force when I first started drafting it was answering the question of “how did Gen and Mirk get together?”, but it doesn’t really follow the standard romance plot beats. The uncomfortable position I usually find myself in when discussing the story with other writers or workshopping chapters is that it doesn’t have enough romance for the romantasy readers/writers, and not enough fantasy action/too much relationship nonsense for the general fantasy readers/writers.

So, what am I supposed to do with it when it does come time to do the dreaded marketing? Or the even more dreaded editing? I suppose I could cut and edit to make it fit neater into one or two specific genre boxes, but, well. I feel that would kill the spirit of the story that the small band of readers (for whom I am eternally grateful) seems to find appealing. At the end of the day, I’m probably going to bank more on trope-based tagging and advertising guiding the sort of readers who’d appreciate it to the story. (Also, inat. You want me to make this fit into your genre requirements? Fuck you! I do what I want! Even if it means no one reads the damn thing!)

It’s hard for me to identify the genre of the story, but the dynamics are clear. The slow burn, it is glacial. The grumpy x sunshine is on point. And hurt/comfort? You want that? Canticle has it for…uh…centuries, lol. And, to be honest, I tend to look for dynamics/tropes in the books I read more than I do genre. I’ll read a contemporary or a sci-fi or a western, anything to get another dose of that black cat x golden retriever dynamic that I find so appealing (and can’t seem to keep out of anything I write). 

Anyway, enough blathering! And back to chipping away at my word count deficit! Since, you know, speaking of black cat x golden retriever…I’ve got another chapter of Mushroom Picking Season to write. 

[amaryllis-sagitta]

[Old reposts] Succession of the Evanuris and symbolic eras in the elvhen history

Looking up the Evanuris mythos, I was wondering about family relationships between the Evanuris assumed in the Dalish lore. I don’t find it very likely that these were actual blood bonds. I would blame this on the origin myth tropes, where the first inhabitants of the world tend to be depicted through blood relations.

But what if this order of kinship depicts some actual relationship between the Evanuris? I will test the following assumption: the Evanuris assumed power in “generations” of succession, each of them adding to the elvhen society or changing it, in parallel to the Dalish myths and given divine attributes of the Evanuris.

Succession of the Dalish Creators goes as follows:

1st gen: Elgar’nan and Mythal,

2nd gen: Dirthamen and Falon’Din, the former couple’s “first children”,

3rd gen: Andruil and Sylaise as sisters, either daughters of EG&M, or daughters of the Earth itself; June either as their brother, or as Sylaise’s husband,

4th gen: Ghilan’nain, ascended by Andruil’s favour,

Fen’Harel: known as “kin to the Creators”, but placed outside their line of succession. A suggested direct relationship between Fen’Harel and Mythal would likely place him in the 3rd gen of the Evanuris, as a wayward “son” of Mythal’s legacy, but definitely not a “first child”.

I believe we can find traces of the main course of elvhen history through the Creators’ respective domains - due to the Evanuris converting themselves into an origin myth, and ascribing their names to the earliest eras of the society’s development.

Elgar’nan was told to be the first among the gods, born from the Sun and Earth themselves. He is best known for having defeated the Sun when it got envious of all the creatures of the Earth. 

Elgar'nan had defeated his father, the sun, and all was covered in darkness. Pleased with himself, Elgar'nan sought to console his mother, the earth, by replacing all that the sun had destroyed. But the earth knew that without the sun, nothing could grow. She whispered to Elgar'nan this truth, and pleaded with him to release his father, but Elgar'nan’s pride was great, and his vengeance was terrible, and he refused. (Codex: Mythal; The Great Protector)

Mythal allegedly “walked out of the sea of the earth’s tears” and convinced Elgar’nan to negotiate with the Sun.

Humbled, Elgar'nan went to the place where the sun was buried and spoke to him. Elgar'nan said he would release the sun if the sun promised to be gentle and to return to the earth each night. The sun, feeling remorse at what he had done, agreed. 

Tinfoil guess: in the age named after Elgar’nan and Mythal, the world became inhabitable. This is reflected by their success in mitigating Sun’s anger, establishing a day and night cycle, and bringing the creatures of the Earth back. Only the Canticle of Threnodies from the Chant of Light goes further back in cosmology than this, suggesting that spirits of the Fade appeared before the material world, and before the creatures of will/ soul. 

Furthermore, Trespasser DLC suggests that Elgar’nan and Mythal had something to do with an onslaught on the Titans and dwarves:

War? I don’t remember any legends about our people fighting the dwarves. Though I remember my Keeper telling a story about how the dwarves fear the sun because of Elgar'nan’s fire. A metaphor for the elves of Arlathan driving the dwarves underground? The Qunari like metaphors. I should share that. (Codex: Torn Notebook in the Deep Roads, Section 2, Trespasser DLC)

Hail Mythal, adjudicator and savior! She has struck down the pillars of the earth and rendered their demesne unto the People! Praise her name forever! (Codex: Veilfire Runes in the Deep Roads, Trespasser DLC).

The official reckoning of Thedas dates the first contact between the elves and the dwarves around -4601 Ancient, which is also 3000 years after the founding of Arlathan. Let’s leave it for a while.

Falon’Din is told to be the first one who freely crossed what Dalish myths interpreted as the Veil. But the situation is more complex. A tale of a wounded animal suggests that Falon’Din’s journey is relevant to boundaries of life, but not necessarily the temporal boundaries. As we know, the Elvhen were effectively immortal:

"Play with us,” said Dirthamen.  “Alas,” spoke the deer, “I cannot. I am old, and although I wish to go to my rest, my legs can no longer carry me.”  Taking pity on the deer, Falon'Din gathered her up into his arms and carried her to her rest beyond the Veil. Dirthamen tried to follow them, but the shifting grey paths beyond the Veil would not let him. (Codex: Dirthamen: The Keeper of Secrets)

What Falon’Din really did was release the deer from the body:

When Dirthamen found Falon'Din, he found also the deer, who once again was light on her feet, for her spirit was released from her weakened body.

Tinfoil guess: in the era of Falon’Din and Dirthamen, the People established a way to enter and leave (semi-?) material bodies at will. Dirthamen, in turn, “gave each creature a secret”. 

Now, things will get philosophical. Falon’Din and Dirthamen are viewed as complementary yet inseparable. This reflects a basic dualistic view on the mind and body. My speculation is that whereas Falon’Din taught how to use the body - the vessel, the part of the self exposed to the environment, Dirthamen watched over secrets of the inner world. (It is a complex topic to what extent this internal world, within the metaphysical framework of Thedas, is built of spirit, soul, a mix of both, what spirit and soul mean in the first place - I had Plans™ in this regard but covering it will require a lot of effort.) The most important take-out from this is that Falon’Din and Dirthamen represent the discovery of incarnation. Indirectly, this hypothesis speaks in favour of metaphysical succession between primal spirits and the elvhen. Extensive exploration within the frames of physical experience began.

Returning to the timeline of Thedas: could it be that destruction of the titans was a step to prepare Thedas for a mass incarnation? Could it be that, for about 3000 years, Arlathan only existed in the Fade, as the Eternal City/ Golden City without a material aspect, with spirits occasionally peeking in but otherwise having no interest in the physical world? That’s high tinfoil right here and I can’t handle it for the moment.

Moving on to Andruil. She is known as The Huntress, and the patron of the best known elven moral code.

In the era of Andruil, the People are described akin to a prehistoric society of gatherers.

When the People were young, we wandered the forests without purpose. We drank from streams and ate the berries and nuts that we could find. We did not hunt, for we had no bows. We wore nothing, for we had no knowledge of spinning or needlecraft. We shivered in the cold nights, and went hungry though the winters, when all the world was covered in ice and snow. Then Sylaise the Hearthkeeper came, and gave us fire and taught us how to feed it with wood. June taught us to fashion bows and arrows and knives, so that we could hunt. We learned to cook the flesh of the creatures we hunted over Sylaise’s fire, and we learned to clothe ourselves in their furs and skins. And the People were no longer cold and hungry. (Codex: June: God of the Craft)

In the age of Sylaise and June, the People became skilled hunters. 

That Andruil, June and Sylaise are put together nonetheless, might suggest that “physical” elvhen developed technology quite rapidly:

It is Sylaise who gave us fire and taught us how to use it. It is Sylaise who showed us how to heal with herbs and with magic, and how to ease the passage of infants into this world. And again, it is Sylaise who showed us how to spin the fibers of plants into thread and rope. (Codex: Sylaise: The Hearthkeeper)

Finally, Ghilan’nain, whose domain after ascension becomes navigation, finding one’s way on the journey - both physically, while traveling in aravels, and morally, as a tribute to Andruil’s moral code. In the age of Ghilan’nain, the People could have been improving their means of transportation and expanding across Thedas. Also, could her gift in creating monsters be an allusion to cattle farming, and a hint at the transition into the Thedosian equivalent of the Neolithic revolution?

It’s weird in as much as this progression suggests that the elvhen were on a very mundane path of technological advancement and expansion. That something pulled them to stay in the world and organize themselves into a society there, instead of making the Fade their hub and their point of return.

At any rate, I hope this makes any sense as a hint at a shift between some sort of Fade-based existence, mass incarnation and a clumsy transitional period when the elvhen were getting used to physical reality, towards an advanced, mostly mundane society that had to compete with other entities of the earth.

[raisinchallah]

2, 4, 12!

2. Did you reread anything? What?

i dont think i reread anything this year i feel like over the past couple years ive been trying to get back into reading again after depression and school causing a link between reading and tortuous assignments leading me to not really read much for years i have not felt like i had a ton of books i want to go back to yet cuz most of the books id want to reread are still too fresh in my mind tho i have wanted to reread canticle for leibowitz for a long time..

4. Did you discover any new authors that you love this year?

hmm i actually didnt really have a specific author phase this year i havent read many books by the same author at all but i do really wanna check out monica ojeda's second book that just got translated into english jawbone was a very interesting read

12. Any books that disappointed you?

our wives under the sea oooh i really went from the highest highs (discovering someone wrote a book that seemingly combined a bunch of my favorite things and could have been the book ive been waiting for for so long with weird transformations and creepy ocean shit and gay people) to the lowest lows (reading the book and hating it) literally interminably dull and spent more time worrying about the boring social problems of middle class gay people with no gay friends who also dont like their friends that much and feeling sad ur disconnecting from ur marriage instead of focusing on the wife undergoing unknown transformations into a weird sea creature in the tub like oh ok sorry i expected this to be about the weird shit under the ocean and sinister scientific organizations and mysterious disappearances and is instead like sci fi metaphor for a break up thats also just a regular break up ok :( the writing also was simply not that good the only time i was like wow thats a really well put together sentence it was revealed it was actually just a quote from moby dick lol so i ended up reading moby dick after i finished the book anyways still searching for my dream book about women undergoing bizarre transformations under the ocean both books that purported to be about that have sucked :( (starfish by peter watts and this one)

[v-e-l-v-e-t-g-o-l-d-m-i-n-e]

I kept forgetting to make a post about it, but I finished the novel Taltos - and therefore The Lives of the Mayfair Witches series - last week.

I’ve been meaning to post it, so, full comment under the cut for spoilers for this book and for the whole series.

In some ways, Taltos was easier to read than the others, and in other ways it was harder. The themes are not so dense on this one. It’s less dark and disturbing, although these elements are still very much present in the narrative.

You know, the first time I read Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis it seemed to me that Anne was shoving two very different stories together in the same book (and later on she confirmed that she did, in fact, very much did this); Taltos sort of feelis like that, too.

And to be fair, yeah, Lasher was a taltos and therefore the Taltos lore is present through this book series since the beginning but. While I do think the lore about this species is interesting, I still think they’re an odd fit with the witches, and this doesn’t always work together.

Mona and her pregnancy... damn, all her family ok with this thirteen year old getting pregnant from her 50-year old cousin’s husbands and ‘blaming’ her for it made me so, so mad but I was not surprised since it’s the Mayfairs were speaking about so, very typical for them.

I was a bit disappointed that the whole Talamasca thing ended up being like three rogue dudes. But I have to say that Marklin and Tommy’s executions were terrifying. They commited crimes and yes, they should have payed for these crimes, but what the Talamasca members decided to do with them... the humans in this series really can be so much worse than any of the supernatural creatures.

Ash’s story was interesting, the whole Taltos canon too, but at this time I was already a bit weary of it all lmao so maybe I didn’t appreciate it as much as a I could have.

I have said before that is hard to root for Michael these days and I still stand by it but I think it’s interesting how packed with sadness both his and Rowan’s narration are. I couldn’t find the quotation I was looking for from Michael, but Rowan is all but suicidal at the end of the book:

I liked that this book deals with the things that bothered me in the Lasher novel - that it didn’t feel fair that their whole species was wiped out and considered unworthy of existence. And of course after seeing Ash with her own eyes and therefore realizing that she killed her own daughter, her innocent daughter who came back to save her only to be shot to death, of course it would shatter Rowan. The book actually doesn’t really gives closure to her grief and depression, and I don’t remember enough of her arc in Blood Canticle to judge if this gets dealt it at some time.

I do like how, as soon as Mona realized she was pregnant with a Taltos, she started to see Rowan and Michael as enemies because she would not allow her daughter to be killed, the way Rowan killed her own child.

Morrigan is interesting too, and her escaping with Ash feels inevitable as an ending. It feels hopeful, despite everything else.

I missed the witches lore in this book. Hardly anything about the ancestors, hardly anything even about the current ones except for Mona/Mary Jane/Rowan, and it was sorely missed.

Overall I’m glad to have read these books. I’m even glad it took this long since these are such heavy books, so it’s better I didn’t read them as a teen. The first book remains the best of all the bunch, but the whole series is better than what people have told me over the years lol

[dragon-age-codex-entries]

Codex entry: Lyrium (Origins)

“More than half the wealth of Orzammar comes from a single, extremely rare substance: Lyrium. The Chantry believes it to be the "Waters of the Fade" mentioned in the Canticle of Threnodies, the very stuff of creation itself, from whence the Maker fashioned the world. Only a handful of Mining Caste families hazard extracting the ore, finding veins in the Stone quite literally by ear. For in its raw form, lyrium sings, and the discerning can hear the sound even through solid rock.

Even though dwarves have a natural resistance, raw lyrium is dangerous for all but the most experienced of the Mining Caste to handle. Even for dwarves, exposure to the unprocessed mineral can cause deafness or memory loss. For humans and elves, direct contact with lyrium ore produces nausea, blistering of the skin, and dementia. Mages cannot even approach unprocessed lyrium. Doing so is invariably fatal.

Despite its dangers, lyrium is the single most valuable mineral currently known. In the Tevinter Imperium, it has been known to command a higher price than diamond. The dwarves sell very little of the processed mineral to the surface, giving the greater portion of what they mine to their own smiths, who use it in the forging of all truly superior dwarven weapons and armor. What processed lyrium is sold on the surface goes only to the Chantry, who strictly control the supply. From the Chantry, it is dispensed both to the templars, who make use of it in tracking and fighting maleficarum, and to the Circle.

In the hands of the Circle, lyrium reaches its fullest potential. Their Formari craftsmen transform it into an array of useful items from the practical, such as magically hardened stone for construction, to the legendary silver armor of King Calenhad.

When mixed into liquid and ingested, lyrium allows mages to enter the Fade when fully aware, unlike all others who reach it only when dreaming. Such potions can also be used to aid in the casting of especially taxing spells, for a short time granting a mage far greater power than he normally wields.

Lyrium has its costs, however. Prolonged use becomes addictive, the cravings unbearable. Over time, templars grow disoriented, incapable of distinguishing memory from present, or dream from waking. They frequently become paranoid, as their worst memories and nightmares haunt their waking hours. Mages have additionally been known to suffer physical mutation: The magister lords of the Tevinter Imperium were widely reputed to have been so affected by their years of lyrium use that they could not be recognized by their own kin, nor even as creatures that had once been human.”

—From In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar, by Brother Genitivi

[eldermindless]

Ask List time! :D

3, 10, 20, 23, 41, 56, 67, 77, 93

feeling pretty fluid rn so

✴️thèmo

🌋lucifer

✨reviko

what color are your eyes?

body: light green

✨usually dark red. i get moods sometimes tho

✴️uhhhh yellow with black star pupils. or light blue with white pupils. i am shapeshifter so it depends

🌋every time i blink they switch:)) main red or gold or some swirly fucked up shit

how would you describe your style?

✨whimsical goth, grunge, celestial

🌋i like to dress as a prince, pirate and vampire hybrid

✴️not my responsibility. guess i would go for either techwear or victorian gothic. end up dressed with flannels, crop top and funky pants

how tall are you?

body:168cm/5'6

✨taller.

🌋definitely 6`9

✴️idgaf

describe your dream date

✨ghghg oh well. like a roadtrip to some pretty spot in nature and hanging out/dancing/singing/talking/napling/doing witchcraft there. like a picnic:3 preferably not sober lmao

🌋arson. burning down police station. pulling a scam. killing god. homoerotic swordfighting. fuck that, all activities homoerotic and with much flirting

✴️uhhh i like tea. pretty sure i am aro but if friend date id like to discuss philosophy/psychology/occult while drinking my tea on top of the roof. watching sunrise perhaps

top 10 favorite songs

phèmiec: 🌋✴️little clown, ✨made of death, ✨sweet, ✨🌋boom

✨lavender blood by fox academy

✨🌋far from home by august jones

✨creature by half alive

✨tartaros by ethos of iza

✨Scarborough fair/canticle by simon n grantfunkel

🌋devil says hi by dany lightyear

✨at the bottom of everything by bright eyes

✴️very few dancers by sons of illustrous fathers

🌋run from me by timber timbre

🌋my ordinary life by the living thombstones

the comfort of a laughing track by roar

✴️my axe by faesinth

✴️limbo by pearl/iykyk/tazzy

🌋✴️sui by maretu

✴️apotheosis by thquib

would you rather live in rural areas or the  suburbs?

🌋city center. unlike those motherfuckers, i enjoy going out

✨id like to live outside of town, but still. possible to get there. but no people around.

✴️either castle or woods

 what are your hobbies?

🌋commiting tax fraud, arson, scamming, general chaos, giving life advice, seducing beings, schemes, blood magic (feeding besties), parties, destruction, fighting, fucking, teasing.

✴️in mortal body i enjoy making tea, coffee, helping people out, psychology, analysis. i enjoy discussing the peculiar. also anything with good cinematography

✨tarot readings, witchcraft, poetry, anime. maybe psychology?? its complicated. fashion, making spaces cozy, talking with friends.

do you miss anyone right now?

✨ghghg. i think so. i shouldn't?? i rarely get emotionally attached so this whole shit is. terrifying. genuinely don't know whats the normal amount.

✴️huh revi is at it again. i do not miss anyone. miss when our coffee machine worked

🌋why would i miss anyone hmm nah im pretty sure i dont

last thing you ate?

body: some beef marinated in sweet chilli/teriyaki/soy sauce

🌋milfs pussy

✴️does tea count?

✨blood probably

[tergridguy]

CJ 12.2

Tourach is joining his hymn on the locked list. I have at times felt that Tourach has underperformed here, but I think that perception is distorted by my experience playing Tourach in commander where the play pattern is considerably more explosive.

Besides the fact that I think he's good for many reasons, like Tarrian's Journal, Tourach is a card I have played with a lot in multiple formats and feel comfortable with. Being able to cast a kicked Tourach is a major payoff of being in mono black and protection from white is undoubtedly the best color protection as it wards off the best removal while allowing Tourach to block or attack past key initiative creatures such as White Plume Adventurer. My other experiments with protection from white, such as Order of the Ebon Hand and Marauding Knight, are still somewhat in consideration, but with Tourach available to fill that role I doubt they will make the final list.

Adding the effect in density was a reaction to an initiative heavy local meta that has since diversified, and I can't spare too many dead cards against non-white decks like combo or dredge. Tourach is, like Fell Specter and Bandit's Talent, the whole package; he's a payoff, he discards, he has a relevant body, he's even tricky to remove sometimes.

Tourach's Canticle, a card I have fallen in and out of love with(it's a 4 mana mind rot, but that thoughtsieze effect is unrestricted! It's not every day you can pick out lands) is officially ruled out. Too expensive and dead against a hellbent opponent. 2 spells is enough for one ego. That goes for you too, Tinybones

[globalworship]

St. Francis and the Wolf (art)

Francis and the Wolf by John August Swanson, 2002 Serigraph with 48 color printings 26" x 18", 225 prints

All information below from the artist's website, where you can also purchase this serigraph. https://johnaugustswanson.com/catalog/francis-and-the-wolf/

+++

Description

The central panel shows Francis sitting with the wolf lying at his feet. They are surrounded by dense forest and other wild creatures. Bordering the top and bottom of the main scene are ten miniatures depicting key stories in Francis’ life. These emphasize his celebration of God’s creation and his compassion and care for all living things. Four miniature panels on each side refer to the beauty and wonder of creation as expressed in Francis’s “Canticle of Brother Sun.”

This artwork developed from Swanson’s series depicting the life of Francis of Assisi. The villagers of Gubbio, Italy expressed their deep concern to Brother Francis about a wolf that preyed on their livestock and threatened travelers. Francis entered the woods and convinced the wolf to live in peace with all creation.

Artist’s Notes

In my crayon sgraffito painting (1985), Francis sits and listens to the wolf’s own story of fear in the face of the villagers’ cruelty. I see Francis as a minstrel singing to the wolf. Nature understands the song of Francis, which echoes in the stories and songs of all people, like the Native American, Greek (Orpheus), and Hebrew (David). These stories and songs honor the Creator and move people to care for all creation.

This serigraph has been carefully developed, embellished, and enriched during its printing. The process of building the 48 color printings over a period of seven months resulted in a serigraph edition that I believe to be among my best.

The wolf is like our shadow–the dark side we deny in ourselves and in our society. Until we are ready to embrace and speak to the wolf within us, it remains destructive. Francis enlightened us by approaching the menacing wolf and treating him with kindness. One exercises full creativity only when the complete self is accepted, including the shadows.

-John August Swanson July, 2002

+++

In this fascinating 5-and-a-half-minute video, John talks about this serigraph and story.

+++

See more art about St. Francis, by John August Swanson, in my previous blog post at https://globalworship.tumblr.com/post/188198423730/francis-of-assissi-painting-by-john-august

[concupiscience]

The Canticle of the Sun

Most High, all-powerful, good Lord, Yours are the praises, the glory, the honor, and all blessings.

To You alone, Most High, do they belong, and no man is worthy to mention Your name.

Praised be You, my Lord, with all your creatures; especially Brother Sun, who is the day, and through whom You give us light.

And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendor, and bears a likeness to You, Most High One.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars; in heaven You formed them clear and precious and beautiful.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Brother Wind, and through the air, cloudy and serene, and every kind of weather through which You give sustenance to Your creatures.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Water, which is very useful and humble and precious and chaste.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Brother Fire, through whom You light the night; and he is beautiful and playful and robust and strong.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Mother Earth, who sustains us and governs us and who produces varied fruits with colored flowers and herbs.

Praised be You, my Lord, through those who give pardon for Your love, and bear infirmity and tribulation.

Blessed are those who endure in peace for by You, Most High, they shall be crowned.

Praised be You, my Lord, through our Sister Bodily Death, from whom no living man can escape.

Woe to those who die in mortal sin. Blessed are those whom death will find in Your most holy will, for the second death shall do them no harm.

Praise and bless my Lord, and give Him thanks, and serve Him with great humility. Amen.

-St. Francis of Assisi

[philmccarterofm]

The Franciscan Way I Came to Know God in Creation, Mission, and Relational Love

In the summer of 2021 I had the privilege of being a member of the first class to experience the Brothers Walking Together stage of formation. It had only been three weeks since I had taken my first vows and I was still riding high from that experience. I was ready to go into the world as a professed Franciscan Friar (even if I was just simply professed) habit and all, with three knots hanging from my side and sandals on my feet. I had thought on vacation about how exciting mission was going to be. I daydreamed about what it was going to be like down at the border in Mexico, and how I was going to do all these wonderful things for the migrants once I got there. I was so full of myself. Before my classmates and I were sent out to our various ministry sites we had a month-long orientation to prepare us for some of the things we would encounter on mission. It was then that my large balloon sized ego began to deflate. We spent our last week of orientation with St. Francis Builds. A lay-led, parish based mission group that organizes weekly trips to impoverished places throughout North and Central America. That particular summer they went to Maunabo, Puerto Rico to help repair two houses that were still damaged from hurricane Maria in 2017, and we joined them for the experience. 

On our first day of work we took a bus up into the hills where the two houses we were repairing were located. I was immediately blown away by the beauty of the island. The hills were covered with vegetation and colored in every shade of green possible. Everything looked perfect, as if every tree, plant, and flower on that hill was exactly where it was supposed to be. I never imagined that my eyes would ever see something that beautiful, and I was overwhelmed in that moment. I remembered a conversation I had with one of my classmates Br. Tyler Grudi during postulancy. We were sitting in the woods behind the property of St. Camillus talking about a class we had earlier in the day about the Canticle of the Creatures. While speaking on this topic Br. Tyler said, “it is like God is an artist and creation is his work of art, the same way he emptied himself into Christ, he emptied himself into creation”. Sitting on that bus, riding up that hill in Puerto Rico, I finally understood what he was trying to communicate. God can not be reduced to some great spiritual force who sets things into motion and watches how they work out, nor can God be reduced to simply a creator who creates out of an eternal curiosity of his own power. Dr. Frankenstein was a creator, but showed no love for his creation. God can not be likened to a mad scientist who created an untamed wilderness. God is more like a passionate artist who carefully planned every aspect of his artwork, and through an immense love, brought his art to life. God did not just admire his creation, he loved it so deeply and intensely that he entered into it, becoming a creature himself. The hills in Puerto Rico were screaming this to me that day, giving me another insight to the nature of God. I was still filled with wonder when we arrived at our worksite.  

Since there were two houses in need of repair, our mission group split into two smaller groups. One group would build a ramp connecting the first and second floor of a family’s home (they had not been able to access their second floor since the hurricane), and one group to install windows, lay new floor tiles, and  paint the house of the woman who organized all the relief efforts in her town after the hurricane hit. In her humility she waited until all the other houses were repaired before she allowed groups to work on her house. I spent most of the week with the group building the ramp.  Working along with us were two locals, skilled in construction work. They were the brains of the operation. Once work began the experience I had on the bus began to move further and further into the back of my mind. My focus was shifted to how hot and humid it was there, and how much of a labor intensive project this was going to be. Our task was to build a ramp, and to do that we would have to demolish the foundations of the old ramp, and dig a deep trench to install a new one. Once that was completed we would build a new concrete foundation and a new concrete ramp from the resources we had there on site. We spent our days that week in the hot sun swinging sledgehammers, digging holes, and mixing concrete by hand into little piles with our shovels. 

The work was hard and my body felt it. In my mind I went to the time when I worked in warehouses. We would spend 12 hour days in either very hot or very cold semi trailers stacking boxes from the floor to the ceiling. Our bosses pushed us to our limits everyday, and we spent every moment of downtime complaining about our situation. I spent years in those warehouses and when I was faced with this manual labor in Puerto Rico I easily slipped back into that mindset. Only this time, there was no one to gripe with during down time. To be perfectly honest, there was no one to gripe with at all. All the parishioners who were on the trip spent the days singing, dancing, and laughing. As soon as the work was done everyone lounged around with each other, playing games and sharing each other’s stories. It hit me by the second day that these people weren’t here because their province sent them there as a part of their formation. They were there because they loved working among the people of God, and they didn’t just love working, they loved working with each other. There wasn’t anywhere else in the world they wanted to be that week. They intentionally chose to be in that part of the world, in that particular part of the season, because the people of that little town deserved it. They didn’t do it to return to Maryland and pat themselves on the back. They had a deep, mysterious concern for a group of people who lived far away from them and that they would never see again. They recognized the dignity of people our country had long forgotten about. I was witnessing franciscan mission being done in a pure way, the way Francis would have done it. In the way Christ did it. I knew then that they possessed a wisdom I did not yet have, but I was deeply fascinated by what I was witnessing. 

On our last day, once all our work was completed, one of the local construction workers named Jose who helped us build the ramp invited us to his house for a meal. He lived up top a large hill, and his property was very humble. His house looked like an ongoing construction project with some parts of the building being unfinished. His yard had large mango trees and tall grass with chickens running around freely. He served us tamales and then introduced us to his daughter. She suffered from a physical disability and was bound to a wheelchair. In my own arrogance, looking at his house and his daughter, I felt sorry for him, and even felt a little more grateful for the things I was born with. I was a modern day, male religious, Mrs. Turpin, judging people harshly and thanking God for my blessings. While we were eating  Jose brought out a guitar and stood next to his daughter. He started to play a tune and a smile began to emerge on both their faces. I could tell he had done this a million times before. The love that father had for his child was felt by every living being on that hill that afternoon. When lunch was over, one of the parishioners went over to Jose and said  “my friend, you are a millionaire”. Jose looked him right in the eye and simply said, “I know”. They both shared a loving embrace, hugging each other tightly. Once again I was mesmerized.  

That experience was three years ago, and now as a student at the Franciscan Journey Institute, the Franciscan messages and lessons I encountered are becoming more clear. It was there that creation began to speak to me, revealing to me in itself the divine. God was shimmering all throughout those hills and it was the hills that revealed God to me. It is a beautiful example of how the created world praises and gives glory to God when it is unmolested by human interaction. When beings within creation are allowed to be what God created them to be, God shines out through them, calling all who gaze upon them to ponder God as well. For some reason riding through those hills helped realize that God emptied himself into creation. I could read all the books in the world about the Franciscan view of creation and still not comprehend it fully. I had to go out into creation and allow creation to reveal its divine message to me, because all of creation is calling out, wanting to be known. 

I also saw how deep rational love reveals the divine to us, because God is a trinity of deep relational love. Jose knew more about haecceitas than I ever will. He loved his daughter just as she was. I saw the love he had for her in his eyes and I know for certain he wouldn’t trade his daughter for any of the able bodied daughters in the entire world. He loved HIS daughter and she loved him back. Jose and his daughter love each other the way God loves, unconditionally. The love between them was so overflowing that afternoon it acted as a spirit of truth, revealing to me another glimpse into the true nature of God. Just as the Holy Spirit, formed from an over pouring of love between the Father and the Son, reveals all truth to us. We are created out of this love, and when we experience love, we experience God. 

[sororalice]

Canticle of the Sun

By St. Francis of Assisi

Most High, all-powerful, good Lord,

Yours are the praises, the glory, the honor, and all blessings.

To You alone, Most High, do they belong, and no man is worthy to mention Your name.

Praised be You, my Lord, with all your creatures; especially Brother Sun, who is the day, and through whom You give us light.

And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendor, and bears a likeness to You, Most High One.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars; in heaven You formed them clear and precious and beautiful.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Brother Wind, and through the air, cloudy and serene, and every kind of weather through which You give sustenance to Your creatures.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Water, which is very useful and humble and precious and chaste.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Brother Fire, through whom You light the night; and he is beautiful and playful and robust and strong.

Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Mother Earth, who sustains us and governs us and who produces varied fruits with colored flowers and herbs.

Praised be You, my Lord, through those who give pardon for Your love, and bear infirmity and tribulation.

Blessed are those who endure in peace, for by You, Most High, they shall be crowned.

Praised be You, my Lord, through our Sister Bodily Death, from whom no living man can escape.

Woe to those who die in mortal sin.

Blessed are those whom death will find in Your most holy will, for the second death shall do them no harm.

Praise and bless my Lord, and give Him thanks, and serve Him with great humility.

Amen.

Art: Jusepe de Ribera, “St. Francis of Assisi”, 1642