#esrey's house

[the-shoemaker-report]

A Nation That Will Dwell in Solitude

In the past two issues, we wrote about the importance of waking up and getting out of bed at midnight. We focused on two tasks and their accompanying benefits: (1) by learning Torah after midnight, we draw down a thread of chesed throughout the day, and (2) by reciting Tikkun Chatzot, we help raise the Shechinah from the dirt, helping to merit in the rebuilding of the Holy Temple and ushering in the final redemption. In this issue, we will add a third important reason why we should wake up and get out of bed while it is still night.

We are all familiar with the story of Balak hiring the prophet Bilaam to curse the Nation of Yisrael. But every time Bilaam opened his mouth, he praised them instead of cursing them, for example (Bemidbar 23:9): כִּי־מֵרֹאשׁ צֻרִים אֶרְאֶנּוּ וּמִגְּבָעוֹת אֲשׁוּרֶנּוּ הֶן־עָם לְבָדָד יִשְׁכֹּן וּבַגּוֹיִם לֹא יִתְחַשָּׁב (For I see it from the top of the rocks, and from the hills I observe it. Behold! It is a nation that will dwell in solitude, and it will not be considered among the [other] nations). What is the meaning of ‘a nation that will dwell in solitude’? And why is this statement one of praise? Although introverts readily appreciate the benefit of being alone, a highly extroverted individual might actually dread it! So how is being alone something praiseworthy for everyone, for the entire nation?

Lamenting why so much suffering and tragedies befall the Jewish People, the Chofetz Chaim writes (Likutei Amarim 10): ולא יסתפק אדם במה שמתפלל השמונה-עשרה שלש פעמים בכל יום, אלא כמה פעמים ביום צריך לשפוך תפילות ובקשות בינו לבין עצמו כשהוא בביתו מעומקא דליבא .כי השלש תפילות הן אצלו כבר שגורות בפיו ואינו נותן לב להם כל כך; מה שאי כן אם יתבונן כל אדם בינו לבין עצמו ויעשה חשבון נפש על מצבו ומעמדו (A person should not be satisfied with the three times he prays the Shemoneh Esrei each day; rather, many times throughout the day he needs to pour out his prayers and requests, privately, by himself, when [for example] he’s in his house, from the depth of his heart, because his mouth is already accustomed to saying the three [formal] prayers, and as a result, he doesn’t pay attention to them all that much. But that’s not the case if everyone were to be introspective and do a cheshbon nefesh [personal examination] on his situation and his standing in life). He continues to explain that we are not answered in our three regular daily prayers because we don’t pour out of heart to Hashem when we pray. Instead, we’re praying like a machine. Plug it in, set the speed dial to ‘rapid’, push the ‘start’ button and away it goes. If we spoke to our friend or spouse that way, do you think they would be particularly interested in listening to what we had to say? Likewise, do you really think Hashem is any different in this regard?

The Chofetz Chaim is speaking about the need for everyone to spend time each day—even throughout the day—praying to Hashem in one’s own words, a practice known as hitbodedut [private, secluded prayer].

R' Nachman taught (Likutei Moharan II:25): הַהִתְבּוֹדְדוּת הוּא מַעֲלָה עֶלְיוֹנָה וּגְדוֹלָה מִן הַכֹּל דְּהַיְנוּ לִקְבֹּעַ לוֹ עַל־כָּל־פָּנִים שָׁעָה אוֹ יוֹתֵר לְהִתְבּוֹדֵד לְבַדּוֹ בְּאֵיזֶה חֶדֶר אוֹ בַּשָּׂדֶה וּלְפָרֵשׁ שִׂיחָתוֹ בֵּינוֹ לְבֵין קוֹנוֹ...שֶׁיְּקָרְבוֹ אֵלָיו לַעֲבוֹדָתוֹ בֶּאֱמֶת (The practice of doing hitbodedut is very exalted and greater than everything, i.e. to fix a time for oneself, at least one hour or more, to seclude oneself alone in some room or in the field, to lay out one’s conversation in private with one’s Creator…that he would be able to draw closer to Him and serve Him in truth). It doesn’t make any difference if we feel that we are already close to Hashem or if we feel that we are too far from Him to be of importance or if we can’t even open up our mouths to say anything, the main point is to spend time in solitude knowing that you’re sitting with Hashem. This in and of itself is very, very good. In fact, there is nothing greater than this.

Regarding the best time and place for hitbodedut, we read in Likutei Eitzot, Hitbodedut 7: עִקַּר הַהִתְבּוֹדְדוּת הוּא בַּלַּיְלָה שֶׁאָז הַכֹּל יְשֵׁנִים וְגַם טוֹב שֶׁיִּהְיֶה הַמָּקוֹם חוּץ מֵהָעִיר שֶׁיֵּלֵךְ בְּדֶרֶךְ יְחִידִי דְּהַיְנוּ בְּמָקוֹם שֶׁאֵין בְּנֵי אָדָם הוֹלְכִים שָׁם אֲפִלּוּ בַּיּוֹם (The essence of hitbodedut is at night because then everyone is asleep, and it is also good that he should be in a place outside the city, that he walk to a solitary place, i.e. a place where even by day people don’t go). The reasons for this are because the quietness of night is the best time for obtaining clarity about oneself because the cares of the world are decreased. Although these parameters are optimal if one is able to fulfill them, they should never prevent someone from spending his hour of hitbodedut during the day in a room of his house if that works for him. The main point is to spend one interrupted hour alone with Hashem, each and every day. Once you get used to this hour, it should become the best hour of your day.

But what is the real purpose of hitbodedut? Is it to tell Hashem all the things we need or want in life, to make our requests known to Him—“I need a good spouse. I need a nice apartment. I need a high paying job. I need…”? No. That’s the purpose (in part) of the Shemoneh Esrei. The purpose of hitbodedut is something completely different. Simply put, it is to work on oneself, to fix one’s deficiencies and faults, to achieve self-nullification, thus becoming part of the necessary reality. Let’s explain.

Two kinds of realities exist: necessary reality and dependent reality. Hashem, of course, is the ultimate and only necessary reality. Everything created in all the worlds is just a dependent reality. None of it must exist. All of it came into existence by the Creator who spoke it into existence, as it is written (Tehillim 33:6, 9): בִּדְבַר יְיָ שָׁמַיִם נַעֲשׂוּ וּבְרוּחַ פִּיו כׇּל־צְבָאָם...כִּי הוּא אָמַר וַיֶּהִי הוּא־צִוָּה וַיַּעֲמֹד (By the word of Hashem heaven was made, and by the breath of His mouth, all of their host…He spoke and it was, He commanded and it stands). The moment Hashem created the soul of Adam ha‑Rishon to have free will to choose and to do His will, reality changed. All of the created worlds acquired a certain aspect of the necessary reality, i.e. all the upper and lower worlds need to exist in order for Hashem’s purpose to be fulfilled. And what is that purpose? It is to return and be encompassed in one’s Source, in the only true, independent necessary reality. This is all explained in detail by R' Nachman in L.M. 52, but here’s a short summary: וְעַל־כֵּן אָז דַּיְקָא כְּשֶׁעוֹשִׂין רְצוֹנוֹ נִכְלָל הָעוֹלָם בִּבְחִינַת מְחֻיַּב הַמְּצִיאוּת כַּנַּ"ל כִּי כָּל מַה שֶּׁעוֹשִׂין רְצוֹנוֹ יוֹתֵר הֵם נִכְלָלִין בְּיוֹתֵר עִם כָּל הָעוֹלָמוֹת הַתְּלוּיִים בָּהֶם בְּחִיּוּב הַמְּצִיאוּת (Therefore, it is specifically then, when we [the inheritors of the mission and soul of Adam ha‑Rishon, i.e. Yisrael] do His will, that the world is included in an aspect of the necessary reality, for the more we do His will, the more we are included together with the worlds which are dependent upon them, in the necessary reality).

This is really an amazing and awesome truth! Even though the world and everything in it, including ourselves ‘start off’ as a dependent reality in that everything is created by Hashem and has no independent existence in and of itself, when the object and purpose of His creation actually perform the will of its Creator, then not only do all the worlds acquire a certain aspect of the necessary reality but, more importantly, the people who perform His will also acquire a certain aspect of the necessary reality. And it is a matter of degree. The more we do Hashem’s will, the more we are encompassed in His Oneness, and the more the world and everything in it, including ourselves, become part of this same necessary reality.

Now the logical question is: How do we actually achieve becoming encompassed in one’s Source so that we move from being a dependent reality to being a part of the necessary reality? R' Nachman explains (L.M. 52): אַךְ ��ִזְכּוֹת לָזֶה לְהִכָּלֵל בְּשָׁרְשׁוֹ דְּהַיְנוּ לַחֲזֹר וּלְהִכָּלֵל בְּאַחְדוּת הַשֵּׁם יִתְבָּרַךְ שֶׁהוּא מְחֻיַּב הַמְּצִיאוּת זֶה אִי אֶפְשָׁר לִזְכּוֹת כִּי־אִם עַל־יְדֵי בִּטּוּל שֶׁיְּבַטֵּל עַצְמוֹ לְגַמְרֵי עַד שֶׁיִּהְיֶה נִכְלָל בְּאַחְדוּתוֹ יִתְבָּרַךְ (However, to merit this, to be encompassed in one’s Source, i.e. to return and be encompassed in the Oneness of Hashem, may He be blessed, who is the necessary reality, is possible only through bitul [self-nullification]. A person needs to nullify himself completely to the point that he becomes encompassed in His Oneness, may He be blessed).

Self-nullification? That seems a bit drastic, if not kind of weird. What does it really mean? Bitul means to negate all of one’s negative character traits and all of one’s physical desires and lusts—anger, impatience, theft, stinginess, harboring grudges, jealousy, laziness, selfishness, stubbornness, ungratefulness, speaking negatively about others, self-justification, lying, lusting after food and drink, lewdness, feasting one’s eyes on that which is forbidden to look at, immodesty, desire for honor and prestige, love of money, arrogance, lack of emunah and bitachon, etc. But isn’t that impossible? R' Nachman assures us that it is very achievable, not just by the tzaddikim, but by all of us. How so? These are his holy words (L.M. 52): וְאִי אֶפְשָׁר לָבוֹא לִידֵי בִּטּוּל כִּי־אִם עַל־יְדֵי הִתְבּוֹדְדוּת (It is impossible to achieve bitul except through hitbodedut). This is the real reason for hitbodedut. It is the most powerful tool available for fixing ourselves. Reading self-help books, listening to lectures and inspirational talks, reading articles (like this one), or even talking to therapists may be fine and dandy, but that will not get us to the goal of our lives, which is to return to our Source and become encompassed in the Infinite for eternity.

But it seems so overwhelming! Perhaps, but that’s why we were given life in the first place, to achieve that which seems so impossible. After all, is anything truly impossible with G‑d? Can He not help us achieve the impossible if we really want it? But we have to be honest. We can’t go into hitbodedut and pretend. The moment we walk out into that field or close that door, we have to be real. We have to speak only truth. Nothing gets fixed without truth. We start with one negative trait and we keep talking to Hashem about it night after night until we negate it. It may take years of concerted effort, but all sincere effort will be rewarded. And when we nullify one negative trait, we move onto the next one, and so on, until we nullify them all. At that point there will be nothing left of us. We will have achieved complete bitul and become nothing, i.e. no-thing—even as Hashem is ‘No-thing’. This is how we prepare for becoming merged into the Eternal Infinite, to be fully encompassed in the necessary reality even as Hashem is the necessary reality.

May G‑d give us strength to be what we were destined to be, a nation that dwells in solitude (not because of government coercion, but voluntarily), each one of us becoming an expert at hitbodedut and achieving his true mission in life.

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 29: Fuse

Content Warning: Endwalker Spoilers

Here he found himself, once again.

The hidden compartment in his desk was open, and once more he had the page in his hand with a list of names. He hadn't added as many to it in recent times, definitely helped in part by being away for a while, and in part by circumstance, but it remained there, sitting in his desk, waiting to be handed over in secret when he most needed it.

But Esredes wasn't ovetaken by any feeling of positivity. He was not going to go upstairs with the list, only to hesitate as reality came back. He simply put it back in its place, and turned to pace through his house.

Kainen had mentioned Esredes would be fine as long as he followed the law, and that was certainly not it. Alphinoix, too, had made it clear with colorful language not to overstep his trust, as had those under him. The woman named Giselle quite sternly reminded him her reputation was at stake with his Tribunal counseling, and it didn't matter how many times Alvere shared a vulnerable moment with him or opened up to him for some reason- Esredes knew he'd revert right back to looking like he wanted to commit violence upon him if he knew this. Did he have any source on that? Only common sense and all his past experiences. Esredes always had an expiration date of sorts, and it was whenever he revealed too much of himself.

Here at the edge of fate once more, Esredes still had yet to move from the line, to either plunge off again or walk away with what he already had and be satisfied. Satisfaction didn't come as easy to the man as he liked to think, but neither did he have any luxury to simply dive off into anything. Word had been sent he would be needed in Thavnair urgently, and so he had gotten to packing right back up his bags in the same manner he had for Garlemald, but deployment wasn't until tomorrow. That meant he had more time- to wait, to consider, to stall, to be with Kainen and all the others and see if the bonds still held, or if he was simply blindsided by a good collection of moments meant to remind him of what could never truly exist.

Esredes closed a hand into a fist and pressed it lightly to the center of his chest, allowing his other hands' fingertips to trail lightly on the surface of the dining table. Always with the weight of things- first as a noble to uphold his house reputation, then to uphold the honor of the Temple Knights, and now so his people weren't seen as something to slaughter. He could escape to being just another soldier in the Alliance all he wanted, but how long would the world be in need of it this time before he must come back and make his choice?

Go into the light. Show you're the good person everyone thinks you are, fight for righteousness as we define it, not yourself. That's what those two had essentially told him, and Ferrant before them, and generally speaking, all the others who took a chance on him, whether they went back on it eventually or not, but here with the passage of time, Esredes still remained unsure that the light wouldn't eventually burn him, and that he would not turn into this unrecognizable creature for all he loved who could not dwell in the light, so shunned and hurt by it they had been. Had that not been what he'd already been sternly warned about?

Esredes drew in a sharp, lengthy breath, and shut his eyes. His heart continued beating in his chest, as it always did despite everything. Sure, unlike Alphinoix, Kainen wasn't really dangerous at the bottom line. This was the same man who he had to spend fifteen minutes explaining what a water balloon fight was to, it wasn't really in his blood even if he was an elite soldier. None of it mattered either way, though, for the Inquisitors were ready to pounce on him if needed despite their kindness, and Kainen gave to the law like any reasonable person.

The cycle went onward and onward- there would always be those who were kind to him on the other side or outside of everything who said the lines didn't matter to them, who believed in him as a person and told him he didn't need to hide in the shadows- but none of them could truly shake the deep and dark cloud of doubt in his heart. Who would ever have such a power after everything, and with how carefully each movement of the game had to be played on his part? Like a tightrope constantly under the feet, and airways closing off so you could no longer breath. He had sought out all sorts of powers in hopes of seeing if they could protect him so he could stop using the list- and the only one that might have been powerful enough was now dying.

And military commander or not, what could Kainen truly do? He could try to get his rank back, he could allow him a spot- but Esredes knew he couldn't stand up to the rest of Ishgard. None of his allies on the light side could, much less understand the harshness of his situation without turning away screaming in fear and condemning him for trying to protect his own.

When was anyone ever going to be any different than all the rest?

Doubt, doubt, doubt. It clouded his heart and took hold of all the light that was residing in it today from the good of the Alliance, it would not let it exist by itself. And dubiety won out once again, and the shadows in his blood flowed as per usual, and Esredes was left in pieces once again, which could never truly come back together.

The hand over his heart shook. It wasn't possible, was it? Nothing would ever be enough, nothing could ever truly change- not without risk, not without danger to himself and all his people, not for someone like him. And in this moment, he almost wanted to rip it out and tear it to pieces.

Instead, he dropped it to his side, and distracted himself with his bags again. For now, he wanted to go back to pretending.

[antoine-roquentin]

obliquely, this is in reference to how formerly working class bastions in the midwest that used to elect socialists now elect republicans. if we all gave up the theory that LGBT people are normal, we might once again go back to the days where we elected socialists across the country. thomas frank, what’s the matter with kansas:

But its periodic bouts of leftism were what really branded Kansas with the mark of the freak. Every part of the country in the nineteenth century had labor upheavals and protosocialist reform movements, of course. In Kansas, though, the radicals kept coming out on top. It was as though the blank landscape prompted dreams of a blank-slate society, a place where institutions might be remade as the human mind saw fit. Maps of the state from the 1880s show a hamlet (since vanished) called Radical City; in nearby Crawford County the town of Girard was home to the Appeal to Reason, a socialist newspaper whose circulation was in the hundreds of thousands. In that same town, in 1908, Eugene Debs gave a fiery speech accepting the Socialist Party’s nomination for president; in 1912 Debs actually carried Crawford County, one of four he won nationwide. (All were in the Midwest.) In 1910 Theodore Roosevelt signaled his own lurch to the left by traveling to Kansas and giving an inflammatory address in Osawatomie, the onetime home of John Brown.

The most famous freak-out of them all was Populism, the first of the great American leftist movements.* Populism tore through other states as well—wailing all across Texas, the South, and the West in the 1890s—but Kansas was the place that really distinguished itself by its enthusiasm. Driven to the brink of ruin by years of bad prices, debt, and deflation, the state’s farmers came together in huge meetings where homegrown troublemakers like Mary Elizabeth Lease exhorted them to “raise less corn and more hell.” The radicalized farmers marched through the small towns in day-long parades, raging against what they called the “money power.” And despite all the clamor, they still managed to take the state’s traditional Republican masters utterly by surprise in 1890, sweeping the small-town slickers out of office and ending the careers of many a career politician. In the decade that followed they elected Populist governors, Populist senators, Populist congressmen, Populist supreme court justices, Populistcity councils, and probably Populist dogcatchers, too; men of strong ideas, curious nicknames, and a colorful patois....

For a generation, Kansas has been the testing-ground for every experiment in morals, politics, and social life. Doubt of all existing institutions has been respectable. Nothing has been venerable or revered merely because it exists or has endured. Prohibition, female suffrage, fiat money, free silver, every incoherent and fantastic dream of social improvement and reform, every economic delusion that has bewildered the foggy brains of fanatics, every political fallacy nurtured by misfortune, poverty and failure, rejected elsewhere, has here found tolerance and advocacy.

Today the two myths are one. Kansas may be the land of averageness, but it is a freaky, militant, outraged averageness. Kansas today is a burned-over district of conservatism where the backlash propaganda has woven itself into the fabric of everyday life. People in suburban Kansas City vituperate against the sinful cosmopolitan elite of New York and Washington, D.C.; people in rural Kansas vituperate against the sinful cosmopolitan elite of Topeka and suburban Kansas City. Survivalist supply shops sprout in neighborhood strip-malls. People send Christmas cards urging their friends to look on the bright side of Islamic terrorism, since the Rapture is now clearly at hand.

Under the state’s simple blue flag are gathered today some of the most flamboyant cranks, conspiracists, and calamity howlers the Republic has ever seen. The Kansas school board draws the guffaws of the world for purging state science standards of references to evolution. Cities large and small across the state still hold out against water fluoridation, while one tiny hamlet takes the additional step of requiring firearms in every home. A prominent female politician expresses public doubts about the wisdom of women’s suffrage, while another pol proposes that the state sell off the Kansas Turnpike in order to solve its budget crisis. Impoverished inhabitants of the state’s most scenic area fight with fanatical determination to prevent a national park from opening up in their neighborhood, while the rails-to-trails program, regarded everywhere else in the union as a harmless scheme for family fun, is reviled in Kansas as an infernal design on the rights of property owners. Operation Rescue selects Wichita as the stage for its great offensive against abortion, calling down thirty thousand testifying fundamentalists on the city, witnessing and blocking traffic and chaining themselves to fences. A preacher from Topeka travels the nation advising Americans to love God’s holy hate, showing up wherever a gay person has been in the news to announce that “God Hates Fags.” Survivalists and secessionists dream of backyard confederacies out on the lone prairie; schismatic Catholics declare the pope himself to be insufficiently Catholic; Posses Comitatus hold imaginary legal proceedings, sternly prosecuting state officials for participating in actual legal proceedings; and homegrown terrorists swap conspiracy theories at a house in Dickinson County before screaming off to strike a blow against big government in Oklahoma City.

the problem with this simple story is that social liberalism actually grew in lockstep with an economic policy tailored to the poor. in the 70s, the most common place to get gender reassignment surgery was at a catholic hospital in small town colorado. in 2010, in response to deep opposition in the town, the practice was forced to move to california. the second most common place was at a baptist hospital in oklahoma city, where such surgery was viewed as routine until a number of religious leaders decided to oppose it in the 70s. at the same time, many other religious leaders spoke out in favour of the surgery, saying that it comported well with religious tenets.

likewise, colorado legalized abortion in 1967, as did states like kansas, missouri, georgia, and north and south carolina prior to roe v wade. today, these states are considered anti-abortion and anti-lgbt hotspots, yet prior to the late 70s, compassion for such people was viewed as paramount in the life of america’s christians. so what happened? it clearly wasn’t an emphasis on the social aspects of poor american lives that shifted the political arena in favour of religious conservatism. rather, as thomas frank points out in the same book:

Nobody mows their own lawn in Mission Hills anymore, and only a foot soldier in its armies of gardeners would park a Pontiac there. The doctors who lived near us in the seventies have pretty much been gentrified out, their places taken by the bankers and brokers and CEOs who have lapped them repeatedly on the racetrack of status and income. Every time I paid Mission Hills a visit during the nineties, it seemed another of the more modest houses in our neighborhood had been torn down and replaced by a much larger edifice, a three-story stone chateau, say, bristling with turrets and porches and dormers and gazebos and a three-car garage. The dark old palaces from the twenties sprouted spiffy new slate roofs, immaculately tailored gardens, remote-controlled driveway gates, and sometimes entire new wings. One grand old pile down the street from us was fitted with shiny new gutters made entirely of copper. A new house a few doors down from Esrey’s spread is so large it has two multicar garages, one at either end.

These changes are of course not unique to Mission Hills. What has gone on there is normal in its freakishness. You can observe the same changes in Shaker Heights or La Jolla or Winnetka or Ann Coulter’s hometown of New Canaan, Connecticut. They reflect the simplest and hardest of economic realities: The fortunes of Mission Hills rise and fall in inverse relation to the fortunes of ordinary working people. When workers are powerful, taxes are high, and labor is expensive (as was the case from World War II until the late seventies), the houses built here are smaller, the cars domestic, the servants rare, and the overgrown look fashionable in gardening circles. People read novels about eccentric English aristocrats trapped in a democratic age, sighing sadly for their lost world.

When workers are weak, taxes are down, and labor is cheap (as in the twenties and again today), Mission Hills coats itself in shimmering raiments of gold and green. Now the stock returns are plush, the bonus packages fat, the servants affordable, and the suburb finds that the princely life isn’t dead after all. It builds new additions and new fountains and new Italianate porches overlooking Olympic-sized flower gardens maintained by shifts of laborers. People read books about the glory of empire. The kids get Porsches or SUVs when they turn sixteen; the houses with asphalt roofs discreetly disappear; the wings that were closed off are triumphantly reopened, and all is restored to its former grandeur. Times may be hard where you live, but here events have yielded a heaven on earth, a pleasure colony out of the paintings of Maxfield Parrish.

america's workers and small farmers were saved by the reforms of the 1930s, as frank explains, then crushed as the wealthy found out how to squirrel away their taxes (in part thanks to the collapse of the british empire), accumulate wealth away from prying eyes, lobby the government for preferential treatment, and between 1976 and 2000, triumph completely in the political domain. mission hill donates more money to politicians than the rest of kansas combined. unions are swamped in state politics, and see declining fortunes. as a result, neoliberal social atomization takes effect, which sees even workers demanding beggar-thy-neighbour policies. and when thy neighbour is socially distinct from you, it becomes easier to justify voting for such politics based on a survival instinct. the majority of the working class tuned out and do not vote any more. among the rest, low skilled working class jobs in highly stratified and inequitable cities vote democrat, hoping for some patronage from the white collar creative class voters they serve, while blue collar skilled workers tend to vote republican, devoid of any examples of class politics in their lives with the death of unions and hoping to keep their share of wages against their only opposition, the tax man.

ultimately, any socially liberal politics sustained by donations from rich big city donors is unsustainable. on the other hand, the notion that “woke” politics is holding back leftism is, save for a few clearly absurd situations (robin diangelo, for instance) also wrong. economic leftism leads to social leftism, because respect to the working class leads to respect for its identities. neoliberal atomization is a much deeper force than can be surmounted at the ballot box, even in a primary, but it is always an economic force first and foremost.

[americanmysticom]

Daily Study

Chumash with Rashi

Parshat Pekudei

Shabbat, 2 Adar II 5782 / March 5, 2022

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Exodus Chapter 40

28 He placed the screen for the entrance of the Mishkan.

29 The altar of the burnt offering he placed in front of the entrance of the Mishkan of the Tent of Meeting, and he offered up the burnt offering and the meal offering upon it as the Lord had commanded Moses.

and he offered up the burnt offering and the meal offering upon it: Even on the eighth day of the investitures-which was the day of the setting up of the Mishkan-Moses officiated and offered up the communal sacrifices, with the exception of those that Aaron was commanded [to offer up] on that day, as it is said: “Approach the altar” (Lev. 9:7).

the burnt offering: The daily burnt offering.

and the meal offering: [This refers to] the meal offering of the libations of the daily burnt offering, as it is said: “And one-tenth of fine flour, thoroughly mixed with… oil” (Exod. 29:40).

30 He placed the washstand between the Tent of Meeting and the altar, and there he put water for washing, 

31 and Moses, Aaron, and his sons would wash their hands and their feet from it.

and Moses, Aaron, and his sons would wash: On the eighth day, they were all equal in respect to the kehunah. Its [Aramaic] translation is וִיקַדְּשׁוּן מִנֵּיהּ, and shall wash from it, for on that day Moses washed with them.

32 When they entered the Tent of Meeting

and when they approached the altar they would wash as the Lord had commanded Moses. and when they approached: Heb. וּבְקָרְבָתָם, like וּבְקָרְבָם, when they will approach (sic).

33 He set up the courtyard all around the Mishkan and the altar, and he put up the screen at the entrance to the courtyard; and Moses completed the work.

34 And the cloud covered the Tent of Meeting, and the glory of the Lord filled the Mishkan.

35 Moses could not enter the Tent of Meeting because the cloud rested upon it and the glory of the Lord filled the Mishkan.

Moses could not enter the Tent of Meeting: But one [other] passage says: “And when Moses would enter the Tent of Meeting” (Num. 7:89), [which is an apparent contradiction]. The third passage [verse 35] came and reconciled them: “because the cloud rested upon it.” You may henceforth say that as long as the cloud was upon it, he could not enter, [but when] the cloud withdrew, he would enter and [God] would speak with him. -[from Torath Kohanim, Shalosh Esrei Middoth, Thirteen methods, Section 8]

36 When the cloud rose up from over the Mishkan, the children of Israel set out in all their journeys.

37 But if the cloud did not rise up, they did not set out until the day that it rose.

38 For the cloud of the Lord was upon the Mishkan by day, and there was fire within it at night, before the eyes of the entire house of Israel in all their journeys.

before the eyes of the entire house of Israel in all their journeys: On every journey (מַסָּע) that they were traveling, the cloud would rest in that place where they encamped. The place of their encampment is also called a journey (מַסָּע). Likewise, “And he went to his stations (לְמַסָּעָיו) ” (Gen. 13:3) [i.e., to the stops along his journey], and likewise, “These are the journeys (מַסְעֵי) ” (Num. 33:1). Since from the place of their encampment they resumed their journeys, they are all called “journeys” (מַסָעוֹת).

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Psalms / Tehillim Chapters 10-17

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Daily Tanya

Likutei Amarim, middle of Chapter 34

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If G-d grants him a greater abundance of time for Torah study, then “He whose hands are pure will increase his effort’’8; i.e., he should resolve that as more time becomes available to him, he will devote it to Torah study. Moreover, “[G-d reckons] a good intention [as an actual deed].”9

Therefore, even while his time for Torah study is limited to a small part of the day and night, he is regarded as if he had studied the entire day, since he would have devoted all this time to Torah study had it been available. By virtue of his good intention, he thus is, in a sense, an abode for G-dliness not only during the time actually spent in Torah study but also throughout the day.10

Even during the remainder of the day, when he is engaged in business, he will be an abode for G-d by giving charity out of the proceeds of his labor.

Charity is one of G-d’s attributes which we are enjoined to emulate, as our Sages say, “As He is compassionate…[so must you be],”11 and as it is written in Tikkunei Zohar, “Kindness is the right arm of G-d,”12 so to speak, and, therefore, human kindness constitutes an abode for the Divine attribute of kindness.

Even though one distributes as charity no more than one-fifth of his earnings—the maximum requirement for charity—how then is he an abode for G-dliness while he is engaged in earning the other four-fifths?

Yet, that fifth elevates with it all the other four parts to G-d so that they, too, become an abode for Him.

In a well-known statement, our Sages have declared13 that the mitzvah of charity is equivalent to offering all the sacrifices.

Now, in the case of sacrifices, all living creatures were elevated to G-d through the offering of one animal, all plants through the “meal offering,” which consisted of merely “one-tenth of a measure of fine meal mixed with oil,” and so on.

Similarly, all of one’s earnings are elevated when he gives one-fifth to charity.

Apart from this, as is explained below, all that one has eaten and drunk and generally enjoyed for his bodily health from the other four-fifths of his earnings is elevated toward G-d during his Torah study and prayer.

Thus, even the time spent on earning those profits which he does not distribute in charity also becomes an abode for G-dliness through Torah study and prayer.

Footnotes

8.

Job 17:9.

9.

Kiddushin 40a.

10.

This interpretation is based on a talk delivered by the Rebbe on Purim, 5723. The Rebbe added that this interpretation sheds light on an unusual technical point in this chapter. In the original text, one finds a paragraph marking (relatively infrequent in the Tanya and indicative of a new train of thought) appearing just before the words (“If G-d grants him…”). It would seem, however, that these words merely continue the point made earlier: one ought to rejoice in the knowledge that he becomes a sanctuary for G-dliness during the time he devotes each day to Torah study and should resolve to increase that time if the opportunity arises. Why the break between the two sentences? In light of the above, that one’s resolve to increase the extent of his Torah study as the time becomes available confers upon him the status of “sanctuary” for all the time he would devote to Torah study (which means, in fact, the entire day), this may be explained as follows: After discussing how one can become a sanctuary for G-dliness in the time he allocates for Torah study, the Alter Rebbe goes on to say that one can be a sanctuary for G-d the entire day—by giving charity from his earnings. Since the effect of one’s resolve to increase his study of Torah is akin to the effect of charity, the Alter Rebbe inserts the paragraph marking before this section, indicating that it is more closely related to the subject which follows it—charity, than to the one that precedes it—actual Torah study during fixed times of the day.

11.

Shabbat 133b.

12.

Introduction, 17a.

13.

Sukkah 49b.

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[Adherence to G-d’s precepts, the development of awe & wonder of G-d, through Torah study, practice of good deeds, and charity are all primers to becoming a vehicle of G-d’s grace in this world, releasing the inherent hidden ‘sparks’ of G-d found in each and every person's sphere of influence.]

[ourluciddreaming-blog]

😨 I feel like this would be a fun time

“I’m not going to get scared” her tone was one filled with conviction and a laugh fluttered free, her neck craned so she could peer up at her Elezen companion who looked less than convinced. His ‘Mmmm’ was full of skepticism and she huffed out with a swish of her tail, striding toward the doors of the so called ‘haunted house’. It was tucked in the darker parts of the Twelveswood, and managed by a mysterious troupe who guarenteed fun frights. How she’d even convinced the man to come with her was a mystery but here they were and she threw open the door for him, waving him through with a smile. “After you!” no haunted house was going to scare her, what was there to even fear? Sheeted ghosts? Pumpkins? Who would be scared of things like that!

The pair stepped through the door into a dilapidated mansion, the floors creaked beneath their feet and cobwebs were strewn about in abundance, though they looked eerily natural. Candles lined the walls but lay dormant until they stepped forward into the entry hall, with a flare the candles wooshed to life next to them, throwing flickering shadows on the peeling walls. A small jump shook the woman and she could feel the smugness of the man’s half smile behind her. Back straightening the Miqo’te woman strode forward, creaking the boards fearlessly, on the outside. Though she passed open doors with murky darkness inside of them nothing jumped to scare her, but golden hues searched every one of them, thankful for her mixed sight. Nothing.

Esrey strode behind her at a languid pace, seemingly unaffected by any of it and it goaded her to turn and throw her arms wide to stop him. “See! Nothing to be afraid of, I bet they were relying on the atmosph-” giggling had started behind them and before they knew it scores of enchanted dolls poured from the darkened rooms, crowding their legs and tugging at their clothes. The woman couldn’t help it.

She shrieked.

Dolls suddenly scattered as the Miqo’te sprang and clung to poor Esrey’s neck, her feet flailing to knock the enchanted dolls away. Their giggling turned to little shrieks as they flew and hit walls, as well as furniture. Stomping had joined her kicking and as one the pair spun deeper into the house with cries of dismay. WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE CREEPY DOLLS?!

[jamesmahan-blog]

Kansas-based Cohen-Esrey Development Group plans to build The Walzem, a $36 million, 200-unit affordable housing complex on the Northeast Side. MUÑOZ & CO

[brotherbo]

Shabbat and continued travels!

Shabbat was a nice break from the hectic week we had traveling and exploring. Some highlights were davening kab-shab on the roof of the house with a beautiful star-lit sky above the mountain peaks, realizing mid shemoneh-esrei that we were davening with the picture of a hindu god in front of us, sleeping till 12:30, and spending quality time with my fam. When shabbat was over we packed up our bags, said goodbye to the mountains and hopped on an overnight bus to Delhi. Currently on a train to Agra, where the Taj Mahal resides, where we'll spend a day walking around the city and seeing the Taj. Posting more photos soon!

[enochisretired-blog]

Satan means: (all letter S) storage, military salutes, soldiers, Sherburne County, Shanmukha, Shawwal, Sion, sever (computer) Nahal Sorek, Bani Sakhr tribe, seminar, serotonin, Singapore, snake, shâteau, sushi, Saccharomyces, stress, Submission, submit, (thy wife) Submarines, Shawwal month, stealth fighter-style jet, Shiraz, SeaTac, supersonic speed, saliva, secretion, surrogacy, ˈsərvik(ə)l/, scrotum, sperm, Sandinista, Serbia, Pool of Siloam, shower head, sink, sacramento california, Surabaya, El Salvador, Africa's Sahel region. Shipibo tribe, Sarmat ICBM, Shaws supermarkets, Sabine, Holy Sepulchre, Suffolk, Swami, Chinese star god Shou, native Indians shaman, SHEMONEH-ESREI, Sercquiais, Sark, shekinah, Sichuan, Sati (Hindus funeral ritual), Sahel, Sinabung, Surrogate, Shillings, Silapathar, Sofia, Shelby, satsang, Sberbank, Srinagar, scientist, Seroquel, Seine, Suez Canal, Sioux Falls, Somerset, Switzerland, Salvatrucha, Smithsonian, segregation, sage's, sha Sombra Negra, shabbat shalom, Salam, sects, shamanism, Sufi, Siberia, Sydney, shaddai, shrines, suicide, Sicily, Samurai, slanderer, scoffer, sex, sotah, sin, sinner, sinaloa, sureno, stoning, santa, Sheriff's, Solomon, Spokane, saints, salvation, Spain, Senate, senators, South, Sheol, sijjin, sabians, sepher, siddur, (sabians in Quran is Hindus) Sikhs, Sanhedrin court, shekels, shah of Iran, (Shu) special housing unit of prisons, Shiva, shoura council, Saul, sultan, Shinar (Iraq) Saddam, Sinai, shang, Somalia, Saudi, Soviet Union, sheikhs, Syria, sunnah, Sunnis, shias, sharia, sunan, Saquahuh, Sinai, Sodom, scholar, (scholarship teachers of satan) of sunan duwad hadifs, slavery..

(KKK) KOLBRIN KOHELES KHAWARI armies malake-habbalah's (blue now) holy Bible Jude 1:14-16 heterosexuals only gods FINAL YOM KIPPUR, book of Enoch chapter 52:5 (He said, these they are preparing for the Kings and powerful ones of the Earth, that thus they may perish)

#sad #sadness #suicidegirls #suicidegirl #suicidal #depressing #depressed #empty #lonely #alone #hate #kill #killing #namb #nolove #666 #emo #cry #crying #gothgirl #goth #gothic #psycho #dead #die #evil #satan #black #blood #bloody

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 17: Novel

It had been months, but as he sat at his desk, Esredes finally held it in his hands. The brown paper covering over top was smooth to the touch as one ran a hand down it, almost to the point he didn't want to rip it off. But that would be silly- one simply didn't keep the covering on a new book, so Esredes took another long moment before ripping it apart and pulling out the book underneath.

Its cover was light brown, not much on it except for a blue eye and the title itself, which read The Heterodox Collection: Tales Beyond The Arches. Freshly made and in new condition, a collection of historical tales retold in light of the new truths with a limited release, and he was- An uncredited contributor. The author had asked him a fair share of questions in his research for the book, but there was no way he'd ever be anything but an uncredited contributor. Still, it was beautiful, to see it finally arrive, and Esredes ran a hand down the cover of the book, rough to the touch underneath the fingertips. It was like he had been gifted a precious treasure, and it would go right into his bookshelf once he finished reading.

And to think, it was technically and unknowingly to everyone else his sole writing credit. Esredes took out his old war journal from the hidden compartment and flipped it open with a harsh squint- this thing certainly wasn't the invigorating and exciting, rough and personal accounts of a wartime soldier he read about so often. Not with only a third of it even filled out, the only occasional effort to actually write about any experience he had, or the pages upon paging of venting or even the couple pages that were just the words I'm sorry written either large or over and over. Yes, truly the peak of literature.

Esredes shut the journal and put it back in its place. He was never, and continued to be, anyone with talent or passion for the written art. Writing papers at work and letters to others was more than enough effort by itself. And yet, here he was with all the people he met and lost, the unique and surreal experiences that only a follower of her could've had, and a city-state that wanted to erase all of it and act as if it never happened and the people of Ishgard came to enlightenment by themselves.

It had been suggested to him many, many times. It was the logical conclusion. Tell your side of the story, don't let it be lost to history. Write a book. And yet, he didn't even know how to start. There was so much to write, and so much to do justice, and it felt like he would be scaling a high mountain with just a single pickaxe to even try. Even if he enlisted the help of someone else who knew what they were doing when it came to writing stories, would it even be enough to write and cover eight years and continuing of experiences? All those names, long forgotten by the rest of the world, all the truth and all the agony- even were he to manage this arduous task, it would then have to be stored away safely and published some decades or centuries after his death, when the world was ready to read such a book without immediately burning and banning it. Esredes had certainly wondered if he would even put his name on it. A lot of parts of him wanted to simply use exclusively first person and make it anonymous- with how things turned out, he didn't really want to be remembered. He was content to fade away and be forgotten in history- but the graveyard's worth of people in his head deserved to be remembered.

It would have to be everything, contained within the confines of white pages and black ink. A grand confession of everything, the great highs and the bloody lows. A voice periodically told him in his head that he should really get started on it. At least just start writing it down with no thought given to presentation, let an actual writer sort it out later- and yet all this time later, there were still no documents of that sort to be found in his desk, and in the meantime, Esredes continued to go out and risk his life, risk losing all of that story to the void of death if he finally fell.

Write a book. It will help you move on, someone once told him as a bit of professional advice. And yet, pages were left blank, and pens stayed in their inkwells, as time stretched on, and on, and on, and memories struggled not to fade with the cries of unheard, silenced voices who could no longer speak...

And still, every word was left unsaid.

Esredes clutched his new book to his chest, and went upstairs.

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 6: Onerous

Back during a time where things used to be a little less complicated, Esredes was in his home trying to enjoy a rare quiet afternoon on a day off.

It had been a week, for certain, and the man had decided to be done with most everything for this afternoon. It was only him and the quiet of his home, and as he sat at his table with a cup of tea and a book, everything felt settled for the moment.

And then came a knock at the door.

Esredes checked the peephole first- that was just standard protocol- and behind it he could make out the robes of an Inquisitor. His blood turned to ice. That wasn't good. What the hells had happened to warrant a visit from an Inquisitor? Panic began to rush through his veins. This could be the end, if something had gotten out. If he answered that door the Inquisitor would arrest him and he'd be executed. If he didn't have enough time to react to run upstairs and fly out the window and get away and hope that he could make it out, it was all over, and- Why the hell had he even bothered to knock?

Esredes swallowed the lump in his throat, peered through once more, took a long step back.... and then unlocked and opened the door. "Hello," he said slowly. "Is there something wrong?" The Elezen man on the other side looked very tired. His eyes were heavily lidded and sunk deep into his skull. "Rosemond, right?" He took a couple steps into the house, causing Esredes to back up in response. "Before you ask, I am not here to arrest you or anything. I just want to inform you I have gotten five complaints about you from unknowing people this week alone." Esredes raised an eyebrow at this, but he did not move or say a thing, and so the man continued. "Usually it is only one or two every month, but five in the same week? Please keep your identity under wraps better. My office is being taken up by people who I have to repeatedly tell the same damn thing and waste my time on when there are actual concerns I could be addressing." "I... I'm... I apologize, sir." Esredes managed to find the words somewhere in there, his posture relaxing a little now that he knew he wasn't about to have to fly out the window and abandon his entire life. He straightened it out and stood more firmly. "I do not give out my identity to anyone I expect to tell others. I suppose a whisper from an overheard entity might have gotten around again; I will try to quiet it in my own time." "Please. Do." The Inquisitor replied. "It's not our responsibility to cover for you. You surely know what it takes; use it well." And with that, he turned and walked right back out the door. "Have a good day."

He didn't even shut it behind him. Esredes sighed to himself and walked forward to the door to fix it back in its place, and then turned around to stare at his home.

Well, the afternoon was still quiet, and his for the taking. And who was he to keep it waiting too long...

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 9: Yawn

Small, cozy, comfortable, the sinking sanctuary from the weight of the outside world. Heavy covers to hide from the monsters that were definitely in your room. Stuffed companions to hold close. It grew with you, all until that unknowing day you left it behind for good, and next, it was a pile of ash. To sleep you go, soundly.

Crowded with noise, except late at night, with a distinct odor and rotating roommates. A consistent foot pattern that went to a from the door, no matter how many times you told him it was locked the first five times.

It's silent as he talks to you, some more than others. Each variant looks a little different, and yet it all feels the same.

You think little of it. You close your eyes and sleep.

This room is much too white. Sometimes the sheets are much too red. Sometimes you barely remember sleeping, some days you remember too well being awake.

The sleeping bag and a small enclosure. All that protects you from the elements, and from them, like a cocoon around a developing larvae. Each day you wake up and ponder if you should wake from here again. Back to sleep you go.

When it morphs, the replacement is... fine. It doesn't sink. A couple layers of thick, wool blankets, and a single pillow. A small room, all to yourself. The wall is lined with a weapon rack of identical swords, a desk stares back at you, and your new partner welcomes you each night. Often you can't reply to it, as you fade just like that. But other nights, you have lengthy conversations- and others still, you're too preoccupied to talk to it. But always, it congratulates you on coming back.

It begs you not to go when you finally leave, but all you can do is smile and say thank you.

Red sheets, a bigger pillow. Nightstand, a taller ceiling. New companions sit far away, untouched and unused like decorations. It can be anything you want, but it hasn't changed much in a long time. Even through your distance, your unwillingness to show, you tell it all your deepest secrets like the last.

Night in and night out, sometimes short, sometimes very long. Too much of a noise, and you'll come right back, but it always gets light again.

Dreams of red paint the canvas some nights until you want to scream and never come back, but it always gets light again. Sometimes the canvas is blank, but it'll still be light again.

Sometimes things happen you can't explain, but it'll still get light again.

It always gets light again...

[crimsonfluidessence]

Elftober Day 16: Partner

No, but really. Why can't your heart open? Why do you deny yourself that which would make you happy? You don't even care she's not like you. It's not that I don't want to, I just... All I can do is try...

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 2: Aberrant

The teenager slammed the door shut behind him as he stormed into his room and dove face first into his bed. He almost wanted to scream, but it didn't quite come up at the level necessary to produce one. Instead he was merely left breathing in and out heavily to the sheets, until he finally pushed his head up off the bed to look around his room. How could they? It was absolutely and completely unfair, being blamed as the source of all their problems- it hadn't all been on him. They had all followed him every time he suggested the activity, it was clear they wanted to have fun outside the boundaries of each of their families' rules. But no, when they all met again today he was turned away and told to never show up again. First his parents had stopped going out with him in public, and now this. Here in his room, only the ceiling was hearing him. At least, until he heard a knock at the door and a soft and nervous, "Brother, you okay?" Esredes exhaled a long breath and pushed himself to the door, opening it to peer upon his seven year old brother. "Hi, Sera. No, I'm not. But you shouldn't worry about me, don't you have studying to do or something?" "I finished that already, easy stuff!" Sera had the most innocent smile on his face. "I... heard the slams though. Thought I'd come check, but if you wanna be alone, I can find the 'or something!'" "I don't know. Here's something for you to keep in mind when you get to be my age, friends are stupid sometimes. Right now is one of those times." Esredes let out a small sigh, which prompted Sera to frown. "If they're stupid and being mean are they really friends?" "I don't know. I don't really know at all right now. I'm just frustrated." "I'll leave you be then," he replied softly, moving forward to give Esredes a hug. Then before he could even react, he turned around and took a few steps away from him, only to turn right back around and smile at him lightly. "If you need someone though, come on over and grab me! "Esredes sighed a little, but smiled back. "All right, Sera. I will." A bare hand ran over a silver snowflake pendant. Esredes sighed to himself. It was hard not to reminisce about his little brother, how lonely the teenager must be sitting in that house in Thanalan right now with no one but his parents. "Hey," came a voice in his direction. Esredes glanced up from the pendant to the heretic approaching him. "They've started serving dinner, just so you know. Come and get your share when you're ready." "Ah," Esredes said. "Thank you." With no more words exchanged, the heretic walked away, leaving Esredes still sitting inside his personal tent and staring out at the green of the Coerthan hills. He put the pendant away and got to his feet, exiting the tent and making his way towards the center of the camp. Along such a route, he passed by so many other tents, but kept his eyes on the path just ahead, and got in line without a word. A large pot under a well lit fire stood tall in the center of  the camp, with multiple culinarians standing by and dishing the stew out to the camp's populace. Idle chatter occurred between people in front of and behind him, but the Temple Knight stayed quiet and focused on the approaching pot. "Thank you," he repeated once he reached the front and the culinarian poured the bowl. Esredes stepped off to the side with it and glanced around at the gathering of people, none of which he knew- they always gathered in little circles and ate together, absorbed in simple and jovial conversation to fend off the heaviness in the air every night. A couple people made eye contact with him, but he looked away. He turned back towards his own tent, and off he carried his bowl. Circles of conversation would become a staple of heretic life. When the camp moved to the mountain later and he was promoted to one of the leaders, most nights he spent there by one of the various fires people gathered around, discussing the day's events, their own lives, and even sharing stories or song. Tonight, there was much to discuss in the circle he ended up in, slowly eating away at the bread roll in his brown meal sack. "I want you all to know you did well today, again." Esredes said. "It was not an easy day, for sure. It's never easy to face down former allies and learn they were violating the rules of alliance. Even more so when they all start turning into voidal creatures out of nowhere to fight back- but I am endlessly impressed with how you did not allow yourselves to be caught off guard." Dione brushed a chunk of hair back behind her horn. "Heh, thanks... lucky for us, me stomach's bigger'n me eyes when it comes t' voidsent..." She had not touched her dinner since the circle had formed. "...Hah. Right." Esredes said with a wince, letting that comment die in the air before he spoke again. "My point is, thank you all for showing diligence in the face of unpredictable adversity, as usual." "Gods, Esredes, you're sounding so noble when you put it that way," another campmate piped up with a laugh, to which most of the circle joined in, and it was in that moment Esredes remembered everyone in this circle had either grown up in Coerthas or as a lowborn in Ishgard except him. All he could do was smile awkwardly. "But you're quite welcome." The woman continued. "Couldn't let those bastards continue to kidnap people from the countryside, after all." "They could have taken my little sister," another man said. "I wasn't going to let them off easy, even if they had sworn to help us." From there, the conversation turned to everyone discussing their backgrounds growing up around the Coerthan countryside. Esredes simply smiled and listened through, finishing the rest of his bread roll. Ishgard did not have campfire circles. It had the Forgotten Knight, various other bars, the noble balls and masquerades, and work. When it came to work, Esredes was as much in his element as he could manage. He was no natural writer even with his years of schooling, and so went all the wasted parchment into the trash as he rewrote letters to politicians and House of Lords members multiple times. Talking was much easier. He could speak on behalf of Ferrant just fine, noble to noble. At least, unless they asked him what house he was from. "I am of his house," was Esredes' usual and default lie. Some left it at that, some raised an eyebrow whenever they heard his surname. No matter what, he gathered his papers at the end of the meeting, thanked them, and left. Usually the noble parties went fairly well- if you eliminated the outliers. There was that time he had a fire crystal thrown into his abdomen by a less than lucid client he was concerned about, right outside the establishment, and all the wind had been completely knocked out of him. Most of the witnesses had rushed to help, minus the two who stood by and laughed and insulted him- but that was nothing new. He went to a nameday party for another client to help him enjoy his special day. Several round of daredevil dice were played, and Esredes' dice had rolled lowest. "What's your most embarrassing moment?" Came the question his way. Oh, no. He was not answering this one for real, but nor did he want to simply accept the shot of alcohol- not with an Inquisitor there at the party who already hated him, watching his every move. So Esredes smiled at the nameday man and simply said, "Once upon a time, I met an Au Ra man by the name of Pyralis Mercier." Seconds later, a tome hit him in the face. Not from Pyralis himself, even, but his partner who had donated so much of Pyralis' own money to Esredes' therapy efforts and been nothing but supportive. Esredes ended up crashing against the Orchestrion from the impact, almost tipping it over entirely. Holding his face with both hands, he held back the fire that rose up inside him and retreated downstairs, staring blankly into a wall as his cheek began to bruise. "It's fine," he said blankly and repeatedly as Eremielle came downstairs. "It's fine..." Beyond that, Esredes had a good time at the noble parties. The decorations and the atmosphere made him feel at home again, as he donned that same red jacket each time. Once more, he found himself reminiscing. Had these parties been even better in the past, when he wasn't afraid of all the strangers in the room, and if they were glancing at him from afar imagining getting the opportunity to skew him alive? The regular interactions were mixed, when Esredes was out in the common areas of Ishgard, and the red jacket was sitting in his closet for that tabard he always wore. Sure, here and there someone remarked he dressed like a very nice hobo, but Esredes had to disagree in his own head and continue on. Some people were confused or intrigued, and he could tell from their expression they couldn't put together why a man that looked like him spoke and carried himself like a noble. "I'm between the lines of the city," was his default response. They noticed in the regular circles, too. People glared at him from across the room sometimes as he tried to ease himself into normal conversation with an acquaintance. Other people did not, but simply remarked on how incredibly boring and broody he was. "I was interesting once," Esredes said. He recalled in his head how often he had to coach his own people on how to talk to others, how to put aside their draconic other selves to interact, and how often they failed and caused a scene. "It didn't work out for anyone. Being boring is comfortable, and it gives you some peace of mind." Yes, he was boring. And he was proud of it. No matter what, at the end of each situation Esredes found himself in, they all had the same outcome. Esredes pushed the door open to his humble little home, locked the door and let down the curtains, and eventually collapsed into bed, his head hitting the back of his pillow as he stared up at the ceiling and the silence of the house telling him hello. He shut his eyes, and soon the abyss of sleep greeted him. --- @heartofthefury for Seraphiaux, Ferrant

@whitewingsandblacktalons for Dione

@suncourier​ for Eremielle @1emon-vii​ for Pyralis Rusty for Marcelle (unnamed mention)

Sachi for Matou (unnamed mention)

[crimsonfluidessence]

Elftober Day 22: Monster

You said you wouldn't take it back.

Though you embrace it, you know you're disgusting.

Though you embrace it, you're a creature to be feared.

Smile and hide your hands, give them a smile with dull teeth.

They can't see under your skin, only the artificial warmth you'll radiate off of it.

[crimsonfluidessence]

Junelezen Day 29: Home

It's not your fault I don't love you.

You are perfectly adequate in all of its forms. You simply come after things I miss far too much, and my heart is far too empty for you.

I'm sorry. You don't want someone like me here. All I will ever bring you is destruction, and I know it deep down.

[crimsonfluidessence]

Junelezen Day 12: Minion

"I know nobody expects me to pick a cute, relatively harmless animal, but what I can say? I like how cute they look. I spend so much time looking at vicious things already. I want to look at a little rabbit and feel more relaxed for a change."