#farewell peace I barely knew thee

[tippytopdays]

Aaand my immunity to the update is gone

[malsmemes]

   ☁️  𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬  ☁️

from all over the place, all game OSTs

❛ A soft caress as cold as death ❜

❛ Your blood like wine ❜

❛ But darling, get me drunk and make me feel ❜

❛ It's not my fault, I'm not to blame, these ain't my sins ❜

❛ There's more to do and I still want to live ❜

❛ I feel your heart beat in my soul ❜

❛ Oh darling get me drunk and bite me ❜

❛ There's more to do if I can only live. I can't go yet, don't let me die ❜

❛ I'll never stop until I'm done ❜

❛ But just tonight maybe I'll rest in peace ❜

❛ Lace your heart with mine ❜

❛ Rest and know that I will pray, farewell my dear old friend ❜

❛ Moon, sun, all remind me of your grace ❜

❛ I am the one who will live on ❜

❛ We are forever in your graces ❜

❛ Let darkness reign on thee ❜

❛ Can you be forgiven when the cold grave has come? ❜

❛ Gone are the days of our peace ❜

❛ Raise your shield of shame ❜

❛ Her tongue tells tales of rebellion ❜

❛ Why change the past, when you can own this day? ❜

❛ S/he's a rogue and a thief, and s/he'll tempt your fate ❜

❛ Bare your blade and raise it high, stand your ground ❜

❛ The night is long and the path is dark ❜

❛ Look to the sky for one day soon the dawn will come ❜

❛ Shadow versus light, and who will stand when it is done? ❜

❛ Feel free to die when you've had enough ❜

❛ Taste the blood, taste your fate, swallow your pride with your hate ❜

❛ Knee's in the blood with your crying pleas, wade in your sorrow, bathe in your fear ❜

❛ Your hate for me is divine ❜

❛ I can see your fear, it surrounds you, built with strife and insight ❜

❛ Pay homage to me with your last breath, say goodbye to a life that you once knew ❜

❛ Listen to my voice calling you, calling you out of darkness ❜

❛ I'll never kneel and I'll never rest, you can tear the heart from my chest ❜

❛ Remember, you are not alone. I will be here, standing beside you ❜

❛ No hiding in the shadows anymore ❜

[philliamwrites]

Stay Where You Are And Then Leave (prologue)

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Zhongli / Reader

Tags: #yaksha! reader, #historical references, #yaksha war, #unreliable narrator, #angst and hurt/comfort, #enemies to friends with xiao, #found family trope, #you know until they start to slaughter each other, #chuckles nervously, #female! reader, #tho i want to write it as genderneutral as possible

Words: 1.1k

Summary: When Rex Lapis picked your soul to serve him as Yaksha, nothing could have prepared you for the suffering and hardships waiting on your neverending journey to bring peace to Liyue.

But you are not alone. A hot-headed Ifrit-Yaksha who loves flowers but cannot collect them for every living thing fears fire; a gruff D'ao-Yaksha who has a hard time letting go his mundane life; a dishonest Raijū-Yaksha with an addiction for gambling; and a lone Garuda-Yaksha they call "Conqueror of Demons" who doesn't care about any collateral damage on his purge of all evil.

And you in the middle of everything, the only Yaksha who cannot remember her past—and if it were up to Rex Lapis, he'd rather it stays that way.

Note: The title is inspired by John Boyne’s book with the same title: ‘Stay Where You Are And Then Leave.’ In the books, this was said to the soldiers waiting in the trenches until it was their time to leave for the battlefield.

Prologue: Where The Dream Ends And The Nightmare Begins

Farewell, ye woods! Headlong from some towering mountain peak

I will throw myself into the waves; take this as my last dying gift!

— Vergil

The earth shook, the air pulsed, and you felt a thousand needles puncture you from all sides. A force took hold of your mind and twisted it, squeezing it and kneading it like dough into an entirely different shape. You screamed into the darkness.

Pain washed the world white. When you blinked away the dazzle, your eyes opened to a cavern ceiling twinkling with gems shaped like stars, mapping constellations you didn’t recognize, and an unfamiliar voice calling your name.

“Menogias of the Aqua Morte. I summon thee to this mortal plane in service of Liyue and its people. Wake up.”

A ban broke. Your muscles, tight and hard like stones, relaxed, finally allowing you to become their master. You were lying in water, nearly horizontal so only your face broke the water’s plane. Like a magnet needle pulled towards the northern skies, your body rose to your feet. Exhaustion tried to coax your weary bones back into the quiet; the safety of the water but the voice was a chord strung tightly around your mind, commanding one step after another towards its source.

A young man was waiting for you, balancing effortlessly on stones protruding out of the water. He wore a white tunic without sleeves that showed muscular, bare arms that shined with golden lines, leaving the blue gleam of the stones set in the cavern’s walls bleak. A hood concealed most of his face, only showing a sharp jawline and thin, pale lips.

You didn’t know who this man was exactly, but you knew what he was. Gracefully, you sank to one knee, still inside the water, and dropped your head in devotion.

“My Lord.”

Rex Lapis considered you for a moment, his golden eyes were stern, yet not unkind. With a slow gesture, he allowed you to get back on your feet.

“I know you have many questions,” he said, and just as the words left his mouth, questions flooded your mind like a tidal wave. Who were you? Why were you here? Before you could ask any of them, the Geo Archon continued, “About your past, about the present. None of them are important, for you shall have one purpose only.” He offered you his hand and helped you out of the water. Even though you felt the Geo energy flow through his body, his skin was soft and the golden blood running through his veins warm. He held on for a second longer than necessary, averting his gaze when you looked up at him in question. Instead he nodded towards a small shrine built from the same stone as the rest of the cavern that presented a beautiful white bow. They called to you like a lone wolf calling to its comrades, and without waiting for Rex Lapis’ approval, you closed the distance and pressed your fingers to the smooth ivory and elegant curves, built by a true master of their craft.

You plugged its string and closed your eyes at the familiar sound. Blurry pictures flashed before your eyes. A little village tucked away inside a mountain pass. Standing with arms spread wide on bridges shaking dangerously between clouds like a wingless bird ready to take flight. Greedy flames climbing towards the wooden ceiling of a house. Your eyes snapped open when the taste of smoke and ashes settled on your tongue. You looked up at Rex Lapis.

“Someone came to destroy my village. I remember anger. I remember fighting to survive. Is that why I am here?”

Rex Lapis turned away, his gaze following the gems lining the walls up to the cavern where an opening showed the moon glimpsing down at you two from up high, a silent watcher sworn to keep conversations like these secret to the sun.

“I have called upon you because your heart is noble and your courage sharper than your bow’s arrows,” he said. “Your past life is of no concern to the journey lying ahead of you.”

“But I—” I still want to know. It was like the desire to know how the end of a story turned out, the want to turn a book to its very last page to make sure the heroes received their well-earned happy ending. You wanted to know if you had your happy ending as well.

“The war goes on,” Rex Lapis continued. “The relentless fighting between the warmongering archons takes its toll on Liyue. Those who die with bitterness and rage become evil monsters who ravage the land and turn it into a wilderness, into a pandemonium. Hence I am calling upon the yakshas to protect this country. Liyue needs every single one of you.” He dropped his gaze from the moon and fixed his eyes on you. Looming above you, it was easy to finally get a good glimpse of his handsome face and the piercing amber eyes with an edge harder to them than freshly cut Cor Lapis. “I need every single one of you.”

A shudder crawled up your spine. You looked to the ground. “I solely exist to follow your command, my Lord.”

Rex Lapis hummed in agreement and took a step closer, his approach quiet as his barefoot feet didn’t make any sound on the cool stone. A warm finger brushed against your forehead, the touch conjuring the picture of a moonlit lake on top of a mountain.

“I await all of you by the end of the next moon at this place.” Rex Lapis’ voice was barely a whisper. “Mount Hulao. Until then, be fierce, my yaksha. Fierce but good.”

Something about the way he said my yaksha made you raise your gaze back up, expecting … to see what exactly in his eyes? Anything else besides the cold calculation of a deity worshiped as the God of Contracts? This was no different from a commerce, your serving the bargaining chip to a second chance on the mortal plane even though you are unsure about the fine print.

Rex Lapis’ face was unreadable like a board wiped clean. His hand hovered over your face a second too long before he quickly pulled it back, withdrawing completely as if touching your burned him. A last inquiry emerged like the tip of an iceberg from your mind. You said, “Wait. This anger … were they angry with me? Did I do something wrong?”

But he had already disappeared—without any flourish, just like a village swallowed up by an earthquake, there and then a second later gone.

[kazashiniwielder]

My top 3 most powerful Supernatrual scenes

So, I got the idea to write this thanks to a friendly chat on this site, but there are some super incredible scenes in Supernatural. There are a lot that come to mind when I think of different things, almost all of Yellow Feaver and Clap if you believe when I think about comedy; a list of episodes when I think of loss, and a even a few when I think of the characters being happy. But there are also some I think of when I just think of power or impact, so my top three list!

Number 3: Dean talking to Sam about closing the gates of Hell/ the angels fall

That moment where Dean is begging Sam not to finish the last trial to close the gates of Hell. Dean has learned that if Sam finishes this trial he will die. The moment Dean learns that he rushes to Sam because he can’t live without Sam. Their whole lives they have only had each other, neither even really met other hunters until they’re dad died.

Sam for his part sees this as his responsibility. Sam wants to go through with it because he can’t let people get hurt but more importantly he believes if he doesn’t finish this, he will let Dean down again. Sam genuinely believes he has let Dean down so much, the fact he chose Ruby over Dean, the fact he left Dean in Purgatory for a year because he didn’t look for him, to Sam it is all just him letting down Dean over and over again. Sam sees Dean’s relationships in that season as Dean replacing him with people he can ‘trust’ and he can’t bare to see that happen again.

And Dean realizes Sam believes he hates him, that Sam believes he truly let Dean down and isn’t important to him and he knows if he can’t make Sam understand how important he is, he is going to lose Sam for good. Sam is the most important thing in Dean’s life, someone he has killed one of his best friends he ever had over just to ensure Sam made it back safely. And Sam actually caves, understanding and Dean begs him to let it all go, an Sam does. And there's that moment of relief on their faces, they succeeded and no one is about to die.

Then shit hits the fan. Sam goes down as his body starts to fall apart and Dean is terrified. He doesn’t know what to do, and the only thing he can think of is getting them out and getting Sam to some help and as he gets Sam outside he sees all the angels falling, he knows they lost and Cas was tricked, and the worst possible outcome they imagined has just happened. Earth is about to be filled was confused and powerful angles and Sam is in his arms dying and he has no one to turn to because as Sam put it ‘all your friends are dead Dean’, except for Cas who for all Dean knows in this moment could be dead.

Number 2: Fare thee well

I really like this scene because we have two stages to start. We have Dean who is sitting with Sam and he’s realizing that he is the only person that is going to make it out. He sees Sam dying in his arms again, he hears the people in the next room dying, and he knows everyone outside is already dead and gone. Just a few minutes ago he was told he will be the only survivor and now, he understands that. At this point Dean is at his all time low. He knows there is nothing he can do and he’s about to lose everything. At the same time Metatron has finally spoken his peace to God/Chuck. Chuck tells him to read his manuscript, that he’s going to like it as he picks up the guitar and begins to sing.

So we Metatron, whose hope is rising, believing he had an impact to his ‘father’ and friend, that he believes maybe he made a difference, that Chuck is going to save them from Amara and come back to them. His hopes had building this whole time with Chuck beginning to take an interest, to stop hiding and truly show himself.

Then Chuck starts singing, and it’s not some big raging song, but a farewell balled. And as the song goes you see two very different reactions. Dean sees Sam’s pocket start to glow with an amulet that shouldn’t be there, and the boys know what that means. God, a man who they gave up all hope in, was there. And Sam is suddenly healed, and so are the people in the building. And Sam and Dean are trying to process and understand because now people aren’t dying and the amulet is telling them God is there. And they start to go outside, seeing these people who were dead or dying getting up and you can see hope building in the boys.

Meanwhile Metatron is reading the manuscript and you see the hope fall away. Now we as the watchers during the first watch didn’t know what it said, but judging from the situation, the song, and what we know about Chuck in that moment, we can figure it out. This is Chuck saying good bye. He doesn’t plan to make it through this fight, something that paralleled John on his life quest. He wasn’t planning to survive the confrontation with Azazel. So we as the viewers are seeing this stark contrast in the reactions to God’s big return. To the humans he is bringing hope, but to those who know that this is his suicide mission, it brings despair.

And then Sam and Dean see Chuck among the people. Chuck, a man who they were sure was dead because there can’t be two profits at once and we’ve already meet two more since Chuck so surly he is dead. But he’s not, he’s standing in front of them and the amulet is telling them that this guy who they knew as a drunk who wrote shitty paperback books in his underwear is God, and holy shit is he powerful because he just saved and revived and entire town like it was nothing. And he just turns to these two lost and confused boys, boys that up to this point have seen their life so small that there is no way someone like God would even notice they existed, but no God has been writing books about them for years and he just walks up to them saying they need to talk and you can just see the two boys standing there trying to understand what is going on.

1. Dean facing Lucifer and Michael

To me, this is the MOST powerful scene in Supernatural, which makes sense because it was originally supposed to be on of the last. So we have Dean, who at this point has seen everyone, his father figure, his best friend and guardian angel, give up hope. They have all made it clear that there is nothing else that can be done, the world is lost. And Dean has just lost his brothers to these crazy angel that are about to torch the world but Dean isn’t ready to take it lying down. He’s not stupid or crazy enough to believe he actually has a chance to defeat two of the most powerful beings in the world, especially at once, but it isn’t in Dean’s nature to just give up, and worst comes to worst then his brothers aren’t going to go through this alone, because he’s going to be there.

And you got Sam who is trapped inside his own body. He had taken a major gamble, giving Lucifer his body on the chance he could cage him, but Lucifer overpowered him an it didn’t work. And he’s trapped with Lucifer, who is throwing a tantrum, slightly justified but still not necessary to wipe out the world because Daddy put you in time out for a few millennia.

And you have Adam, who until not long ago had no idea any of this existed and to make matters worse he was even dead and at peace until the angels tried to use him as bait for an older brother he had known nothing about. And now, because that brother wouldn’t ‘play his part’ he’s being forced to do it for a man who believes that he is doing the right thing and has the self-righteous attitude to back it up.

So Michael and Lucifer show up on the battlefield, and Sam and Adam can only watch knowing what is about to happen but knowing there is nothing they can do about it, and these two sets of brothers do truly love each other but they have their reasons for being there and the only way out is a fight that is going to destroy half the world and two of them that are standing there. They both express regret, how they don’t want to do this, but they both feel like it is the right thing to do.

And then you just hear ‘Rock of Ages’ blare along with the Impala’s engine. The sound of that engine, especially for Sam and some of the fans has been associated with the cavalry, that everything is going to be fine and work out some how because the boys are all there and they can make it through anything. And the song that Dean played (on a cassett mind you because by this point people stopped selling cassets but I have a whole thing about how Dean represents the old way of hunting, the traditional ideas of hunters but I’m going to spare you that) demonstrates what is Dean in this moment, announcing that he has arrived and is not just going to leave. And Dean drives up to what is about to be an archangel smack down, unarmed and without any form of back up or help. He’s just a normal freaking person who both of these archangels are mildly annoyed with for his defiance and refusal to do as they wanted and he just get’s out of the car like it’s nothing. Like these two beings couldn’t just cease his existence with a snap of their fingers with that cocky grin on his face and they know he shouldn’t be there, that this is the dumbest thing either of them can fathom a lowly human doing and Dean just casually get’s out like ‘Howdy boys. Am I interrupting something?”

[softupshur]

The Lord Rejoices: Chapter 5

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Ao3 link if you’re into that kind of thing

~Updates every Sunday~ During Temple Gate’s founding years, Marta nears womanhood and wonders of God’s plan for her.

Chapter 5:

Mrs. Carson’s lectures vanished from Marta’s mind once the bells chimed. Chatter from passing students was muffled, even distorted, as if they spoke underwater. All the while, Marta remained in her seat, staring at the swirls in her desk, until Paige’s voice broke through, loud and clear.

“Did you ask him?”

Marta looked up to see Paige’s cheeks as blanche as the day before, though her voice no longer quivered. Suggesting they go outside, Marta led the way through the schoolyard. She said nothing until Paige asked again.

Marta held her head high to avoid her gaze. “About that…”

“If it’s bad news, I won’t be mad at you, I promise,” Paige said when Marta took too long. Her voice quieted as she continued. “I just would like to know what he said.”

“He never came home last night,” Marta replied.

“Oh…” Paige’s pace slowed and her eyes glazed over.

“I’m sorry, Paige, truly…”

“It’s okay.” She sighed. “If he never came home, there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“Right.”

“But you will ask him when you see him again, won’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” Marta choked out. She attempted a cough to cover her hesitation.

“Until then, will you come to the barn with me? I don’t need help with chores or studying or anything like that. I just don’t want to be alone until Father comes home.”

Marta shook her head. “I can’t. Not today. There is much I must attend to.”

“I understand,” Paige murmured. “See you after the sabbath then?”

“Yes, until then,” Marta said. “Good day and God bless.”

“God bless, Marta.”

Paige’s eyes followed Marta until she was out of sight. Even when Marta escaped her stare, she hurried through the town square, as if being pursued. Any who greeted her received mutterings of urgent business and an automatic “God bless.” She didn’t settle until entering the church.

Only the chapel stood higher than Knoth’s home. It could be seen from much of Temple Gate and welcomed people even outside of worship hours. Many would come for counsel, prayer requests, and confession.

Scattered candles barely lit the main chamber. Most of the light came from sunshine that streamed through the windows, catching the dust in the air.

On one side, an older man and his young wife knelt before the cross. They had married last spring when she had turned fourteen, but had yet to bear children. At the other end, the head deacon bid farewell to a frazzled woman who fretted over her sickly son at every chill in the air. Knoth was nowhere to be seen among them.

When the woman exited, Marta approached the head deacon. “Good day, sir.”

“Good day, Marta.” He bowed his head to her. “Can I help you this fine day?”

“Yes, is there someone available to hear my confession?”

“If that’s all, it can be done. You go wait in the booth and I’ll find someone for you.”

“Thank you.” Marta hunched over so she could fit inside the enclosure. Cracks of light shone through and hit the mahogany wood she sat upon. She sat stiff and quiet on the uncomfortable, worn bench while waiting for an anonymous voice from the other side of the screen perpendicular to her.

“You may state your confession now, child.” The voice resonated deeply and sounded bored. Marta recognized it as one of the chosen deacons. She could place them all by voice alone.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, it has been two weeks since my last confession.” She made the sign of the cross. “For I have lied to my sister in Christ this day, as I have shown cowardice in the presence of the prophet.”

“‘Tis a common vice of the flesh. To fear that which is holy is a human trait, thus leading man into dishonesty. Therefore, if you wish to find good conscience, you must face your lies and those you’ve deceived to right the wrongs committed.”

“Even if such a confession may weaken the relationships built with the individuals in question?” Marta asked.

“The relationships have already been weakened by the serpent’s lying tongue. Until reparation is made, the bonds can never be returned to their former states,” the voice grunted.

“And what if the person is angered?”

“Then you return to the church for counsel. You have sullied your relations by lying, but upon confession, the other party can practice forgiveness in the name of our Lord. You need only make reparation.”

Marta sighed, “I understand…”

“Then is there anything else you need counsel on?”

“No, that is all. Thank you.”

“Then I ask that you make an act of contrition.”

Marta bowed her head and grasped the cross around her neck. “O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of Heaven, and the pains of Hell; but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who is all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more and avoid near occasions of sin. Praise be to the God of Abraham, and of Isaac, and of Knoth. Amen.”

“I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. You may leave here in peace.”

After offering her gratitude, Marta left the confessional to stretch her limbs. In that moment, Knoth came through the doors of the back hall reserved for private counsel and meditation. At his side was Otis’s father. He was the most formidable of the testament’s men, towering over all except Marta, and always brought back the biggest game from the hunting trips. While he and Knoth spoke, Otis trailed behind them, dragging his feet, until they entered the most open area. He then traveled to the furthest back pew and plopped himself down with an exaggerated sigh.

Rather than depart, Marta went to greet him. “Good day, Otis.”

“Hey, Marta,” he grumbled. His eyes never left his father while he spoke with Knoth.

“So...what brings you and your father to the chapel today?”

“He’s throwing a fit about my soul’s well-being again.” He rolled his eyes. “Seems to think I need saving when he’s the asshole with a record.”

“You mustn’t use such profanity in a holy place!” Marta scolded in a hushed tone.

“Then probably best we talk outside.” Otis forced himself up. He started for the exit when his father’s voice made him freeze.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Though he didn’t look towards him, his voice was low enough to make Otis shudder.

“Just outside for some fresh air,” he muttered, clutching to his arm.

“Don’t. We’re nearly done here. I want you to wait.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Can’t I just wait out front?”

His father turned around, brow furrowed, but Knoth spoke above him.

“Let him be. Marta is here. He won’t stray far.”

Though his father glared, he nodded and returned to conversing with Knoth.

Otis hurried out of the chapel, and Marta kept up easily. Once outside, he relaxed and leaned against the wall. “I wish I knew what that man had against me. It’s always like this when he comes home.”

“What makes you believe that to be true? He’s still your father. I’m sure he cares about you,” Marta said.

“That’s not gonna stop him from being a damn hypocrite. Now he’s harping on me for not wanting to take a wife. As if him and Mom make marriage look good. Yet he drags me here and rats me out to Knoth that I’m not ‘taking my place in Temple Gate.’”

“Perhaps he is trying to save you from the mistakes that he made on the outside.”

Otis scoffed. “You don’t know him like I do. If you asked him before all this, he’d say the only mistake he made was getting caught for all the shit he’s done. Just about ran Mom broke with all the bail she had to pay for him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Not like you had anything to do with it. It’s just my lot in life.”

“But it doesn’t have to be that way,” Marta’s voice lifted. “Temple Gate can be a fresh start. Though our sins make us scarlet, they are made white as snow through God.”

There was a bitterness to Otis’s smile. “That’s just what Knoth told Dad when he found him, but I think he was just happy someone wasn’t calling him out on his bullshit.”

“But if his heart is sincere, I do not understand why you are distrustful of the chance to start anew.” Marta’s voice was neither harsh nor judging.

“Because some things, only God can forgive.” His tone cut the air. “Maybe Dad really has turned over a new leaf. Maybe he really is ‘white as snow’ in God’s eyes, but just because God forgives him doesn’t mean I have to.”

“But should we not strive to be like God?”

“We should, but maybe I’m just not good enough of a person for that.”

“That’s not true! I think you’re very good. I do believe you’re lost and frustrated, but by no means are you bad.”

His tone softened. “You might be the only one who thinks that.”

Before she could reply, the chapel doors flew open. “Otis! Get back in here! Papa wants a word with you.”

“Do you really have to yell like that?” Otis rolled his eyes even as he flinched at his father’s voice.

“You little…” His right hand clenched into a fist, as if ready to strike, but after a deep breath, he settled on gripping Otis’s arm to drag him along, muttering something about honoring thy mother and father.

“Good day and God bless,” Marta called after them.

With his free arm, Otis offered a half-hearted wave. “Yeah, God bless.”

[libidomechanica]

We were his staff, which most malicious mowing through by

We were his staff, which most malicious 

mowing through by choices of newe woe, the  first: a peace return, and Kingcups,  the worst but there is no dearer her  beautys truth needs he path with no ideals  to Obey: votes shouts of new life,  who is always in the publick 

Scornd by a Puff of WInd. As if  afterwards, in tears, then this cool a  purple orchis vain on me for it  another region of the could. To  find it is freed from the  most impossible. When we meets you,  break that every most prepared, there  in all her Treasured out, and leaves went to  lives the right, and let not my  own voices of mosses, twinkling  even things I tried you must pine, but when 

a moment to be like  child and wisely fused with such a  peerlesse night over the vain: “then second  Foot. On my heart is just as he  was death that was out, when  shee desert wildered as  fuel, hearing eyes; to pluck away more,  thoughts blackened am I in the snow 

continues to sigh the multiplyd - And whoever have been walked with  her heart is the narre, from thence  doth much conversations tho the Jews, while 

though for, or such as calld dear, ill tasted  Pine, the different out  again are waked her Am 

I your troubles the Priesthood into 

the hopes pointed  places that pittie is, if you should 

look our maned lion, and traveller,  in your companied with a  sober sad” from me be your arms, to  raunge thing mutterd by the true; Persuade, like  a mocked at me. as spotless soul and his  sheeted water, if you to me, too  eager, on her grief, or joy. And there,  but not now, full controls the kissed and bare  in the way to sometimes  bright that I for so thrill. But beauty do 

I find, thou growes colder yet prove to blow!  Whom though Love hath Homers oceans pausing thee surer,  surer, surer—now how fareth hem many a  day has a Dogge the floods and eat  again. Learned song, and only bare:  for love, thought about her fate: born the 

bodies upon your Arms may Contraction, and  those same she woud pleasure, art, impression of  this and to the mountain-path,  then changed. His Judgment arms, while each suck for  Nutriment them, and lean over even 

the last: if twice you mayst thou dost  heaven be not what Applause might she woud pleasure:  but the ladies care, each in the 

rapid tide, like foul, then by moonlight, nor  knew what was made of some other  with still both of late Augments of  our own, down scatterd voiceless and  feast renews: and that kept my sight wolds. Are  blacke of this vain my wife to spy  or seek (for who so fit and the 

day is evening. The moon is “t,  but Lofty tree limbs they province, pageant his 

paint my pain, petitions that shall defence, w

here he cherishd in them for root or  seed their sickly to the Spartan  spousals are the time in safety shok;”  and this brutal folly is he! Then new  waies to each one desyre, and “Will” 

in overplus; more sweet dreams with  all the Monarchs fatal short them to  Curse the tree. The good is  neuer had, and cried, almost sane and turquois  flowers gathers bright, for him give no measure  can never happy, happy mothers Mildness  by the crownd. Wilt thou him ken) yode late for  me nearer, the thinke. Where all this 

chaunged down the smoke the night, that 

the Trees that lies lit with  subtle Wit can scarce am fit for  God decrease; ye wadna been contains 

heart a-dying. Once about the day,  the herded elephants; nor falling hearts, but  made of good Kings are such an angry  Gods were he a Tyrant passing thine Arrow 

at they are left of fit and descend.  And how sullen band by the air odorous  parricide! Things with any Breathlesse  yeeres did leaning witching tide to  temptation to thine, farewel took the  coverlids gold-tinted couch of land— alone?

[ruminativerabbi]

Independence Day 2020

Tomorrow is the 224th anniversary of American independence and, as such, a day for all Americans—even despite the turmoil of the last months and weeks—for all Americans to celebrate and to honor. The revolutionary spirit, after all, that moved our nation’s founders to feel that they were behaving nobly and well rather than reprehensibly and treacherously by renouncing their allegiance to their king is alive and well in our nation’s apparently systemic need constantly to re-evaluate the givens of our national life and to revise where necessary. This is a very good thing!

It’s taken a lot to get this far. The American republic was, after all, a very different place on July 4, 1776, when independence was declared. All thirteen of the original colonies condoned slavery within their borders and although they differed dramatically in terms of the numbers of enslaved individuals present in each (ranging from more than 187,000 in Virginia to fewer than a thousand in New Hampshire), there was no state in the new nation that did not have slaves among its populace. Nor were they any in which women could vote, hold public office, or appear in court on their own behalf. Nor was public education a right extended to all regardless of financial or social class, or ethnic or religious background; it wasn’t until 1870, almost a full century after independence, that every single state had tax-subsidized elementary schools open to all. (And it took another half-century after that—until 1918—for every state in the Union actually to require its children to attend elementary school.)

Even from the beginning, America was a work in progress. New ideas, new institutions, new ways of seeing things and doing things—these were the hallmarks of Americanism even as early as the first decades of the republic. And they remain in place even today—the nationwide demonstrations in the wake of George Floyd’s death while in police custody were an affirmation of American values, not a repudiation of them. And yet the concept of Americanism itself has fallen into desuetude: I can’t actually remember the last time I noted someone writing seriously about it or even using the term other than cynically. So I thought that this week, in honor of Independence Day, I would write about Americanism and see if the reticence so many seem to harbor about using it to define our national ethos is justified or not.

Part of the problem has to do with patriotism’s malign stepsiblings: chauvinism, jingoism, nativism, and unfounded exceptionalism. But setting aside the kind of skittishness that thought naturally engenders, the more basic question to ask is whether Americanism has an actual definition. Or is it one of those words that simply means whatever someone using it wills it to denote?

To many, Americanism is rooted in the “city on a hill” concept according to which the specific mission of America is to serve as a beacon of light and hope for the world. That was how John Winthrop used it when he preached a sermon on board the Arabella in 1630 and called upon his fellow Puritan emigrants to imagine that they had been called by God to build in a new land a society that would exemplify the ideals and moral bearing that they found it impossible to embrace in England, one that would serve, to use Thomas Paine’s turn of phrase, as “asylum for mankind.”

That was certainly what President Kennedy had in mind in 1961 when he declared that the point of America existing in the first place is to prove to the world that the finest philosophical principles—equality before the law, for example, or the supreme independence of the individual—could actually serve as the ideational underpinning of a nation of like-minded individuals seeking not to admire that “city on the hill” from the distance but actually to live and thrive in it. And it was equally certainly what President Reagan had in mind in his farewell address to the nation when he spelled out what the image of the shining city on the hill meant to him personally:

I've spoken of the shining city all my political life, but I don't know if I ever quite communicated what I saw when I said it. But in my mind it was a tall, proud city built on rocks stronger than oceans, wind-swept, God-blessed, and teeming with people of all kinds living in harmony and peace; a city with free ports that hummed with commerce and creativity. And if there had to be city walls, the walls had doors and the doors were open to anyone with the will and the heart to get here. That's how I saw it, and see it still.

In my opinion, those words from decades ago define the great challenge facing our nation on this Independence Day.

My readers know that I am at heart a nineteenth-century man, one whose literary heroes—Melville, Hawthorne, Whitman, Fenimore Cooper, Irving, Twain, Emerson, and Thoreau—all came and went within that one century’s boundaries. (Washington Irving and James Fenimore Cooper were born in 1783 and 1789 respectively, but both only started publishing as adults. Mark Twain died in 1910, but all of his major works were published before 1900.) All, with no exceptions at all, addressed the question of the American ethos in their writing. But, of them all, it was and is Whitman—Long Island’s single greatest contribution to American culture—who spoke and speaks the most loudly and clearly to me on the topic of Americanism and its potential, even today, to inspire us and lead us forward.

I’ve had a copy of Leaves of Grass close at hand for most of my days. (The teenager in my story, “Under the Wheel,” who always has a copy in his backpack is some version of the teenaged me.) But I also have a 1921 book in my library entitled The Patriotic Poems of Walt Whitman. And it is within the pages of that book that I have found the verses that I hope can serve as my Independence Day gift to you all.

What is America? Whitman knew! “Center of equal daughters, equal sons / All, all alike, endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old, / Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich / Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law, and Love / A grand, sane, towering seated Mother / Chair’d in the adamant of Time.”

What is American freedom? Whitman knew that too. “Land tolerating all, accepting all, not for the good alone, all good for three, / Land in the realms of God to be a realm unto thyself, / Under the rule of God to be a rule unto thyself. / (Lo, where arise three peerless stars, / To be thy natal stars my country, Ensemble, Evolution, Freedom / Set in the sky of Law.) / Land of unprecedented faith, God’s faith / Thy soil, thy very subsoil, all upheav’d, / The general inner earth so long so sedulously draped over, now hence for what it is, boldly laid bare, / Open’d by thee to heaven’s light for benefit or bale.”

What is American destiny? “Equable, natural, mystical Union thou (the moral with immortal blent), / Shalt soar toward the fulfilment of the future, the spirit of the bod and the mind, / The soul, its destinies. / The soul, its destinies, the real real / (Purport of all these apparitions of the real); / In thee America, the soul, its destinies, / Thou globe of globes! thou wonder nebulous! / By many a throe of heat and cold convuls’d (by these thyself solidifying), / Thou mental, moral orb—thou New, indeed new, Spiritual World! / The Present holds thee not—for such vast growth as thine, / For such unaparallel’d flight as thine, such brook as thine, / the FUTURE only holds thee and can hold thee.”

And, speaking of the future, Whitman could see that clearly too: “Others take finish, but the Republic is ever constructive and ever keeps vista, / Others adorn the past, but you, O days of the present, I adorn you, / O days of the future, I believe in you—I isolate myself for your sake, / O America, because you build for mankind, I build for you….”

To me, these verses exemplify the best of Americanism, combining proud determinism with a sense of our national destiny to create a republic that does not merely pay lip service to the philosophical principles of equality and decency of which our Founders spoke, but which seeks constantly to morph forward, even if in fits and starts, to a future in which the ideals of the Constitution serve collectively as the paving stones of which is constructed the road forward for a nation united by trust in itself and hope for the future.

Our nation in floating forward on troubled seas. In my opinion, we are tormented by a lack of moral leadership in the highest offices of the land, by a malignant willingness to accept vulgarity and tawdriness as things that can be condemned but not truly eradicated, by a national malaise born of inequality going back to the dark days of the era of Reconstruction that followed the Civil War, and, now, by a relentless virus that is stalking our nation’s streets and public places. But I am a Long Islander now…and Whitman is my man. He lived through the Civil War and saw for himself the almost unimaginable carnage it left in its terrible wake. He lived through the assassination of Abraham Lincoln, regarding whose terrible death he wrote some of his greatest poems. He wrote one single book, which he spent his life endlessly revisiting and revising. (In that, he was America personified.) And he left behind a dream for us to embrace as Americans seeking to make real the vision he codified in his verse, the one in which America is exceptional not because of its wealth or its military power, but because of the strength of its core ideas…and the power of its will to create in this place something new and truly remarkable.