#extian

[seraphimfall]

i’ve read so much tradcath bullshit the last two years. i can confidently say tradcath men fit into one of two categories:

“protestant-raised and converted to catholicism because of his crippling porn addiction and racist tendencies. reposts crusader and conquistador memes. is hated in his local parish.” tradcath

“catholic-raised band kid who ate his lunches with the religion teacher. smells like mildew. cut off all his friends that came out as gay after high school. now larps as an aquinian scholar and cries after jerking off.” tradcath

[adictapordiversion]

Sin dolor alguno

[the-jesus-pill]

You did the right thing by leaving. 

Even if it feels scary or wrong, your life is ultimately going to be better for it. They made you afraid of practicing your free will because they want to keep controlling you. 

But they can't touch you now. 

You're free. You belong only to yourself. You can rest now. 

Your life is only just starting..

[the-winds-indecision]

Said Cain to his mother, "Am I my brother's keeper?"

Eve kneels in front of him, the boy barely old enough to understand what he is asking. Takes his face in her hand, looks him in the eye.

"Yes."

He must watch out for his younger brother, must keep him safe, must teach him how to be a boy, must make sure he knows how to pray and how to find his way home (though, to Cain, they are one and the same). He smiles at the boy who toddles behind him through the garden, mud up to his knees and elbows, smudged across his nose. This boy has his heart - he would be his brother's keeper even without his mother's word.

The first time Cain finds himself with Abel's blood on his hands, he doesn't know what to do. Abel lies bleeding in the garden - his knee is skinned and the blood is everywhere - it seeps into the soil and stains the stone and it is so sticky and red on Cain's hands as he cries for his mother.

Cain cries as Eve bandages Abel. He is still crying when Abel runs back outside to play in the garden. Cain is his brother's keeper. He should have been keeping a closer eye on his brother, should have told him to be careful, should have run slower, should have --

The rocks in the garden dig into his knees as he prays forgiveness. It feels right. It feels deserved. He stays out there until the ground is cold, the blood long since dried, and long after his mother has called him in for dinner.

* * * * *

Said Cain to his father, "Am I my brother's keeper?"

His father's back is turned but Cain can almost hear Adam roll his eyes.

"Yes."

Abel is a young man now, and almost never home. It is somehow Cain's job to know his brother's whereabouts, Cain's job to make sure his brother is home for dinner, Cain's job to ease his mother's mind when his brother is out after dark or before sunrise. Cain is, after all, his brother's keeper.

Cain has never known what it means to be a boy, to be a man, yet he has taught his brother without fail. He, however, has only ever known what it means to be the older brother. He knows that when his fathers feet ache, it is his job to pull the plow. When Eve tends the hearth until she collapses with fever it is his job to work in her stead. And his job to care for his mother as she rests.

When Abel comes home bloodied, his mother cries and his father scolds. Cain simply sighs, and hangs a pot of water over the fire. Pulls out the scrap cloth and soap. Abel grins as he regales his brother with the day’s adventure.  Doesn’t notice that the only response is a smile and a tired nod. 

Cain is the last person awake that night - tired body slumped by the dying fire as he washes his brother’s blood from his hands for the hundredth time. Cain is, after all, his brother’s keeper.

* * * * *

The last time Cain has Abel’s blood on his hands, he doesn’t know what to do.  Just stands still, sways in the breeze, watches as the blood paints the stones, paints the soil, paints his hands.  There is so much blood on his hands.  Cain knows he cannot hide from his Lord.  There is only so much time until he is pressed for a reason.  He should think - he should know what he is to say. 

He just stands there.  

Cain doesn’t know who he is without Abel.  He is - he was his brother’s keeper.  If not the older brother, who is he anymore?

It is not long before the footsteps approach and a voice sounds from behind.  Cain dares not turn to meet the gaze of the speaker.

"And where, Cain, is your brother?"

Said Cain to his Lord, "am I my brother's keeper?" and for the first time -

"No."

[lesbiansandco]

wrap me up in blinding sunlight

(this one goes out to the pimos and those affected by the cold)

the church building was out of propane

no warm air to keep everyone comfortable

"the holy ghost is like a blanket" they say

we all sure could have used a blanket

maybe the holy ghost wasn't there

it was too cold for anyone to feel anything

they joked "it's warmer outside than it is in here"

but they weren't wrong

of course, no one could leave

who would dare leave church

they couldn't see that being out was far better than being in

the cold affects my body differently

I freeze up, my energy drained

so I sit in the foyer during second hour

I wouldn't have been able to pay attention in sunday school anyway

the sunlight hits my chair at a perfect angle

and I am warm

I long for the sun and light and warmth outside of church

it blinds me with its glory

I can't wait to leave

[apostate-in-an-alcove]

People who label creative media about religious trauma as "edgy" and those who create it as "edgelords" are only telling on themselves.

[levi-unpacks-purity-culture]

anti-lent sex-ed sunday #1

this post is part of the 40 day s of anti-lent posting that i'm doing on my main @the-winds-indecision - feel free to follow along there as well!

okay my first suggestion is to get familiar with your downstairs anatomy.  lock yourself in the bathroom or your bedroom with a hand mirror and actually take a look.  to some of you this might sound silly, but the church filled me with such sexual shame that i didn’t actually take a proper look at my own anatomy until i was almost 18.  not groovy.  so grab a mirror and poke around.  learn what you look like from as many different angles as you can manage.  if you have sufficient internet privacy, consider googling “anatomical diagram of *insert genitalia here* and look for a trustworthy medical website in the general search results.  part of the way the church exerts control is by restricting knowledge, but once you have that knowledge, it can’t be taken away

[god-of-knees]

They always said that it was unholy, but looking at you, there is nothing more holy in this world than me holding your hand.

[icannotgetoverbirds]

coffee my beloved

[extianventblog]

hozier was right every sunday IS getting more bleak

[g0reoz]

anyways. shout out to everyone for whom this cannot be a normal wednesday. if lent is a rough time for you, whether you're forced to observe it or not, i see you. i get it. try to focus on doing things you care about and spending time with people who love and value you for who you are. i know it can be hard, but please take care of yourself ♥️

[seraphimfall]

ex-christians with religious trauma picking their music taste be like:

[lesbiansandco]

Somebody make this a movie please Or a show or something

could u imagine if ppl talked about catholicism the same way they talked about like… indigenous ppl’s religions….

[the-jesus-pill]

[Image ID: a tweet by Rachel Myers @rachelsaheretic 

Say no to that coffee invite, don’t respond to that old church friend who is reaching out “concerned” because of your new beliefs, set a boundary with how much of your story you share with those who won’t value it. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for your journey.

End ID]

[the-winds-indecision]

does anyone else ever look at life and wonder how they believed in an all loving god?

[lesbiansandco]

coffee and sin

The first sip is scalding.

You can feel it, on your taste buds, in your throat, moving down through your ribs to your stomach.

Scalding, but tasty.

You wait a minute for it to cool down. You don't want to get burned again.

You take another sip.

Still hot. Very, very hot. Beneath that, the flavors are starting to come through. Bitter and bold.

It's good, you think.

You want to sip again, but think better of it. It's still hot, hot enough to burn you.

You wait.

You get impatient.

The next sip becomes a gulp. The flavor is delicious and powerful, the heat even more so. It's good, you want more, it's sitting right in front of you-

You take a whiff. Those same flavors are beckoning you.

You're used to the heat, right?

Another gulp. Or two.

It's cooled down just a bit. The flavors are really shining now.

How could I have ever lived without this?

It's cooled enough that the heat no longer overpowers it. The heat is part of it, part of the experience.

You down the rest easily. Though not too quickly.

That was good. So, so good.

Afterwards, there's a funny feeling on your tongue. Burned taste buds from your first few sips.

You might be worried someone will smell it on your breath. You were never supposed to drink it. So you drink something else, chew on some gum, anything to cover it up.

The smell is gone. Your tongue still burns, though no one will notice.

No one but you.

Maybe you feel guilty. Maybe you don't. It did burn you. Were the flavors worth it?

Your tongue burns for the rest of the day.

Small price, for something so worth it.

or

I never want to taste it again.

Either way, it happened. And now it's over. You can try to forget about it, or chase that feeling.

It doesn't really matter.

After all, it's just a cup of coffee.