#rest in peace forever. you shaped so many young minds including mine.

[batboopp]

now that i really think about it, Kevin Conroy was the perfect decision for Batman’s voice. He would sit there and say that he was a hero, and i could sit there and BELIEVE it. He would say the things only a hero could say in the voice of just a human, and i would imagine myself being a hero. AND THAT’S THE ESSENCE OF BATMAN!! YOU DON’T NEED TO HAVE SUPERPOWERS TO BE SOMEONE’S SAVIOR. YOU DO NOT NEED TO BE LARGER THAN LIFE TO CHERISH AND PROTECT IT.

[thatssomental-blog]

Too Coward for the "Coward's Way Out": Living with Passive Suicidal Ideation

TW: This article may be hard for some to read, but is intended to assist others who may be dealing with passive, or active, suicidal ideations. The following text contains details of suicidal thoughts (without intent) and mentions self harm (briefly, and without detail), in addition to depression and it’s relationship with suicidal thoughts. 

So many people label suicide as the “coward’s way out”. If that’s true, then why is it that I feel like a coward because I could never follow through? Passive suicidal ideation is defined as wishing you were dead or that you could die, but having no intention to take your own life. Whereas, active suicidal ideation means one is not only struggling with these thoughts, but may have full intention, or a plan already in place, to take their own life. Passive suicidal ideation is still a risk factor among patients with depression and suicidal thoughts, and just because you are not planning your great escape from this world now, doesn’t mean you should skip out on your therapy sessions. All that being said, it is very real, your thoughts are just as valid, and you are not alone in feeling the way that you do.

Before I continue, I would like to specify that “wishing you were dead or that you could die” isn’t a reference to how you feel waking up in the morning, before you reluctantly drag yourself to work/school, it is in reference to a very real, deep desire to stop living, that may come or go, or may stay with you incessantly, even on your best days when everything seems hunky-dory. I am specifying this, because as someone who suffers from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, the mental illnesses that myself and others suffer through daily are not meant to be #relatable, just because you like things neatly organized or hate your job/school.

My own struggle with suicidal thoughts is a plague that I can't seem to get rid of. I suffered from them long before I even knew what suicide truly was. I was about 14 when the first thought came along, and I clearly remember it. I was putting away the clean dishes and took a knife from the dishwasher. I stood there for about five minutes straight, just staring at it, and thinking that I could just slash my wrist open and the numbness I’d been feeling for weeks would all go away. I scared myself with that thought, put the knife away, and didn’t do it; I couldn’t do it, and I wouldn’t have done it. I can’t remember any other thoughts as vividly as that single instance, but sometimes they were there, and sometimes they weren’t, and every time I had them I could never bring myself to act on them.

Health care is necessary for a healthy life. In the US healthcare is expensive, whether you have coverage or not. Health Insurance, especially with Mental Health included, is hard to come by. Even if you’re one of the “lucky” ones that manages to land a job that provides it, a good plan for yourself, not to mention a whole family, can easily eat up what little bit of wages you work for, and have to live off of. In the past several years, life has been difficult for me, though it was mostly adjusting to living the independent life, learning how to pay bills, and learning how to take care of myself. Despite all of the challenges and obstacles I’ve faced in that time, I was doing pretty well. Even through the trauma of sudden death, which my family is not equipped to handle, I managed. Within the past eight months, I attempted to better my situation by leaving a toxic work environment and moving on to something new. Unfortunately, by choosing to leave that job I also left what little health coverage I had, and since have had to move on to even worse challenges and obstacles, all with untreated, depression, anxiety, body and gender dysphoria, and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. If you’ve never been through that, I’ll tell you right now that it is hell, and as petty as I am, I wouldn’t wish anything I’ve been through on my worst enemies.

Factoring in all of the above, with the soul crushing feeling that your whole life and all of your freedom is crashing down around you, like an imploding dumpster fire, it really adds up. In my last few months before moving back home with Mom and Dad, something none of us want to do even if we love our parents with a fiery passion, I was at rock bottom. I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but the bare minimum, which made moving day tougher than it already was, and left me feeling hopeless and drained of life. I would lay on my couch for hours, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the wall with an empty mind and heavy heart, it was the worst I had ever been, and I allowed myself to wallow in it, only making it worse.

Even now that I am home, and surrounded by the love of my family, I frequently wish I was dead. I don’t think such things only when everything is going wrong in my life, but the harder times get the more I just want all the pain to go away. I think of scenarios in which I could put myself out of my misery. I own a gun, I have access to others, and medications, not to mention every knife in the block or kitchen drawer that could easily end all of my suffering. But, why is it that despite my desires to no longer deal with life's stresses, my battle with my seemingly, ever changing, gender identity, and my unbridled hatred for the world we live in and the multitude or horrible people in it, do I refrain? Why, when it seems like the only option for peace of mind and escape from the emotions I can’t control, can I not do it? Why, when I wish for the calming embrace of death, do I fear strangers who could kill me in cold blood? Why, if I want to die, did I seek medical attention, without any health coverage, and go to the ER when I legitimately thought I was dying?

Fear of the unknown. I was raised in the Christian faith from a very young age, and was even baptized twice. My mother was raised within that same faith, and my father is an atheist. Despite my current pagan-leaning/agnostic dogma, there is a fear bread into me from childhood that I will burn in hell. Since becoming “woke”, so to say, I have completely denounced the Christian god for what he is. Despite my genuine certainty that this god does not exist, and if he does, he’s actually quite a terrible deity, because of how I was raised, I will more than likely carry that fear of denouncing him and burning in hell with me, for the rest of my life. Religion aside, and taking things from an atheistic perspective, maybe I’m just going into a hole in the ground when I die, but the thought of everything being black forever is also terrifying for me. Even though I am aware that, in this scenario, I will literally not be conscious of my own death, it is almost impossible for me to wrap my head around it, and as someone who has exhibited a very present case of FOMO all of their life, that just doesn’t fly with me. Regardless of whether we go to sit at Odin’s table in Valhalla, or up to a magic golden kingdom in the clouds where everyone is happy and wants for nothing, or we just literally kill over like a toy with dead batteries, no one actually knows until they actually die.

Fear of failure. I have had a very hard time succeeding at pretty much everything I’ve tried in life. No matter what I do, I never feel like the product is good enough. I am my own worst critic, and, on top of that, I am a rage-quitter. If I am not instantly or naturally good at something, I get bent out of shape when I mess it up, maybe I cry, then I quit, and I move on. (Though that statement doesn’t apply to absolutely everything, it applies to a pretty big chunk of things.) One of the greatest fears that keeps me from “attempting” is knowing that if I mess up, I may not recover. Some people are saved at the last minute, and depending on what you’ve done to yourself, sometimes the wounds or the manner in which you’ve attempted will mend. However, if some things are done incorrectly, i.e. putting a bullet in your brain, or a fall that just wasn’t quite big enough to kill you, you may still survive, but there could be permanent consequences such as brain damage, loss of mobility, etc. I’m sure you catch my drift. I suppose this also technically falls under fear of the unknown, because you never truly know what’s going to happen until it does. Sometimes you just have to stop and ask yourself, would you rather be depressed and fully functional to the best of your capabilities? Or depresses and handicapped, and therefore, with your anxious/depressed brain, if it works anything like mine, an even heavier burden on those around you?

Forcing others to suffer. I am very lucky to have an amazing family that is full of love. Even for those of us living a life that others may not agree with, disowning and/or not loving one another is not in our vocabulary. I am very close to my mother and my grandmother, and it would devastate them beyond comprehension. That used to be my only line of thinking, however things have happened and times have changed. Less than two years ago, we buried my grandmother’s youngest child, my mother’s youngest sister, and one of my best friends, who was more like my sister than my aunt, along with her unborn son. Even if I intended to follow through on my own suicidal thoughts, and even excluding the above reasons, I could never force my mother to bury her only child, or my grandmother to bury another grandchild. I also have an amazing SO and friends who would at least be a little devastated, as well.

I just can’t. Ignoring every other reason I have included, I just can’t do it. Despite my fear of death, failure, and hurting those I love most, I just don’t have it in me. It’s not the pain that I worry about, one could easily swallow a bunch of sleeping pills and hope to not wake up, and as much as I hate to admit it, I have physically self harmed before, way back in my teen years. I don’t know how else to explain it, other than I just can’t. I have a huge fear of missing out, if I don’t know all the details of something it will drive me nuts, and I hate surprises. Despite how great it would be to just not have to worry, and despite how hopeless I feel, there is a part of me that knows something better is coming. If I were to take my own life, there are countless things I would miss out on, things I’ve always wanted and things that I may not even know that I want yet. The future is a mystery, and I’ll never find out what it holds if I don’t have one.

Do those things make my suicidal thoughts invalid? No, and though your reasons behind your lack/full intent may differ from mine, they do not make yours any less valid, either.

I am by no means encouraging suicide, though if you ever lose your battle just know that I will never call you a coward when you’re gone. Suicide is the final side-effect of losing your battle with a very real illness, one that may not be visible to even those closest to you.

My parting wisdom is this: Whether you intend to follow through on your suicidal ideations or not, if you take your own life, you will never be around to see it get better. I know it seems hopeless, I personally feel hopeless about 95% of the time, and I know that sometimes it seems like the only escape from not only the world, but your own mind. I really do. I know it hurts, and even if I don’t know what you’re going through, or how you feel, perseverance is the answer, not death. If you are strong enough to make it this far, through all the grief and torment and suffering, then you are strong enough to build your own future. Please don’t take that away from yourself, no matter how much you may want to.

If you, or someone you love is feeling suicidal, please check thatssomental.tumblr.com/resources for a list of suicide and mental help phone lines, chats, and websites.

©thatssomental.tumblr.com 2019

[smolfangirl]

A little fresa wedding I

Kudos and Thanks are in line, because this fic isn’t only mine :D It belongs just as much to the wonderful @miris-xo WHO CELEBRATES HER BIRTHDAY TODAY YAAAAAY and who is like 99% of the reason this wedding fic exists and keeps motivating me with her moodboards and ideas and comments ♥ Also please please develop this love for my actual WIP it feels very abandoned

This will be a little series because, well, I am incapable apparently of writing short scenes and no one needs a +10k post. I truly hope you’ll enjoy it!

And as always: @ac-ars and @sky-girls used the name Rory first. I used my own brain to end up with this name (also because of my roommate who is obsessed with Gilmore Girls and keeps trying to talk me into watching it), which is why I didn’t give them any credit.

Word count: 3k

Pt. I – Getting there

The realization that she will marry Matteo hits Luna quite late.

It doesn’t come when they’re at home, packing their bags and double-checking every list until they both fall into bed exhausted. It’s not during their flight, where little Aurora cries and cries before she finally calms down after an hour of screaming. It’s not even when she hands her daughter over to her parents for the night and steps into her hotel room, where Nina already unpacks their suitcases.

No, the moment her wedding begins to feel real to Luna is when they arrive at the venue to see how the preparations are coming along.

Next to her, Nina gasps at the sight, not to Luna’s surprise. She remembers making the same surprised noise when she first saw the mansion about a year ago. Rosecliff is, without a single doubt, stunning. Its white bricks paint a bright contrast to the surrounding trees, and the air carries the perfume of the flower gardens, mixed with the scent of the ocean. Just one glance at the building, and Luna feels like a young princess about to experience her first ball night.

Only that this won’t be a ball night, but her wedding.

(If she keeps repeating it, will it stop feeling like a daydream?)

“How did you hear about this place again?” Gastón asks Matteo, and while her fiancé answers, Luna’s thoughts wander back to the stress of picking a venue. No matter where they searched, not a single place in Argentina fit their criteria. Ideas were traded back and forth, as quickly dismissed as they came, heads were shaken, tears were shed. More than once, when the task of planning their big day overwhelmed her, Luna considered to just grab Matteo’s hand and marry him on the spot, in jeans and t-shirt, without friends and family.

In the end, it was his cousin who made sure they’d get a gorgeous venue instead, far away from the eyes of the paparazzi and big enough to include all their loved ones.

Flor had mentioned Newport when she stopped by for a couple of days, admiring the ocean and the old, yet carefully restored buildings all around the island. She went on and on about the romantic potential and lamented that not a single picture managed to capture its true beauty.

That’s when Luna first caught the glimmer in Matteo’s eyes.

Still, they hesitated to fly over, despite Flor’s excitement and the promising results of a quick internet research. With less than three months left till her due date, Matteo and her wondered if such a long flight carried too many risks (yet alone the possibility of being spotted by the media or an over-sharing fan), but travelling here after she gave birth meant postponing the wedding for easily another year.

And they felt they had waited long enough. So, when the doctor gave them the green light, they booked the flights.

Luna knew it was the right decision the moment they entered the path towards the mansion. The rose gardens, the romantic fountain at the backside, the view on the ocean. Every little spot offered a lovely invitation for photographs, every detail the tour guide mentioned seemed more perfect for a wedding.

It wasn’t the gardens or the luxurious furniture or the huge ballroom that took Luna’s breath away ultimately, though.

No, Luna fell for this venue when she laid eyes on the breathtaking, heart-shaped staircase.

Made from white marble, it contrasts the black railing and burgundy carpet perfectly. Her eyes must’ve lit up, and that was when Matteo let them fall behind the group of tourists and asked her if she wanted to marry him here.

Her answer came fired like a shotgun.

///

Today, less than 24 hours before the ceremony, the air buzzes of excitement. Nina and Miranda – their wedding planner and fairy godmother, probably – hurry off like little bees, crossing lists and answering phone calls, while Gastón keeps an eye on the workers.

But with the explicit order to relax and be happy, Luna and Matteo decide to leave them be and stroll to the back of the house. Sunlight kisses her skin as she looks around, while Matteo by her side hums contently.

“It’s so beautiful,” Luna sighs, meaning it from the bottom of her heart. Little Aurora on her hips giggles, before she stretches her arm towards the ocean, waving it up and down rapidly. “Dada!”

Matteo caresses the cheek of his daughter, then presses soft kisses on Luna’s neck and lets his mouth wander up to her ear. “I think she wants to see the ocean,” he whispers.

“Well, she’s not the only one.”

Although the railing along the cliff isn’t far away, 70 meters at most, getting there takes forever. Matteo insists on showering her in kisses, occasionally giving Rory one or two if she manages to hold still long enough. It doesn’t help that each smile and soft giggle out of Luna’s mouth encourages him more, until he eventually starts to whirl her, around and around, faster with every turn. His little fresa laughs and laughs and laughs – and begins to cry.

“Oh no, Rory, sweetie, everything’s okay,” Luna mumbles to her daughter as she presses her against her chest.

“Sorry, little princess, I’m sorry, really, daddy didn’t want to spin you so much. He just got a little too excited over marrying your mommy.”  

“Shh, we’re here, darling.” Her hand wanders up and down her small back, a gesture their little girl usually loves, yet another minute of cooing and cuddling her passes before her cries turn into occasional hiccups.

Turning to her soon-to-be-husband, Luna raises an eyebrow. “No more spinning with her in my arms, okay?”

“Of course not.”

And with one last kiss on her temple, everything is good again.

///

When Aurora gawks at the waves crashing against the beach and Matteo’s arms wrap around Luna’s waist from behind, it sinks in that only one night separates her from her wedding day. One more sleep, and she will be Luna Balsano Valente.

One more sleep, and her eternity with Matteo starts officially and for everyone to be seen.

One more sleep, and she will walk on this grass in her wedding dress.

She will give her body and soul to Matteo, will promise to love him now and for the rest of time in front of their families and friends.

She will be his, and he will be hers.

Stealing a glance at him, Luna discovers this wide grin on his face that makes him look so young and carefree. Just the thought of being married to him by this time tomorrow fills her with an intoxicating cocktail of excitement and happiness.

Luna can’t wait.

///

Pt. II – The night before

The heavy curtains of the suite block every little ray of moonlight from sneaking into the room. Quietness surrounds the hotel, offer her peace and tranquility. The bed is so comfortable she considers taking it home with her. Overall, perfect conditions to get the rest she needs for tomorrow.

And yet, Luna can’t sleep.

Her eyes won’t stay closed, her mind won’t calm down. She’s awake, awake, awake and with every minute she thinks more about the wedding. Her wedding.

Maybe she could find sleep if Matteo was here. Over the years, he perfectioned the art of relaxing her. He’d listen to her worries, and her expectations for this day they’ve both been waiting for so long. He’d hold her in his arms, his fingers brushing over her skin while he comforts her. He’d guard her as she slowly drifts into unconsciousness.

He’d be here, but he’s not, because everyone insisted on following this old, stupid tradition.

It’s not even the first time she lays in her bed without him, and it certainly won’t be the last one. And it’s just one night anyway, this shouldn’t be such a big deal.

Still, Luna misses him. Him and little Aurora who’s with her parents, probably sleeping like an angel.

Next to her, Nina tosses and turns, shifts on the mattress until she settles into a new position. Then, her breathing returns to the same calm rhythm that fills the air for half an hour now. In, and out, in, and out...

Luna gives up.

///

Matteo’s room which he shares with his best man lays on the opposite side of the floor. Only Pedro’s and Delfi’s room separates her from her fiancé. Light slips through to the hallway from their room, though, accompanied by familiar laughter - Gastón seems to catch up with the Rollerband and their latest tour rather than to fulfill his responsibility of watching the groom.

Which definitely plays into Luna’s cards.

With featherlight steps, she hushes to Matteo’s door, knocks carefully. Seconds later, footsteps come closer and he opens, hair messy and mouth half open from a yawn. Upon seeing her, his eyes widen but he recovers quickly enough to pull her into the room and lock the door behind him.

“Luna, hi, is everything okay?” A little wrinkle appears on his forehead, while his gaze glides over hers, inspecting her.

She hugs him and inhales the scent of his skin. “I can’t sleep,” she mumbles.

“Me neither,” he admits.

///

They end up hushing outside.

The lawn under her naked feet feels soft as they sneak out on the spacious estate. Hand in hand, they stroll closer to the cliff, following the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. When they’re out of view from their friends’ rooms, they let themselves fall into the grass, giggling like rebellious teenagers on a school night.

Not a single person noticed them on their way out, and it gives Luna this exciting kick of adrenaline, knowing they’re not supposed to be together tonight. The same thoughts seem to pass Matteo’s mind – his heart beats fast in his ribcage when she rests her head on his chest.

“Hopefully they won’t notice we’re gone,” she says, sighing in content at the kiss he presses on her hair.

“I doubt it. And if Gastón catches me, he’ll just make a pun and we’re good.”

“Hm… let me try. Matteo, launched a rocket to the moon again? Soon they’ll build you a statue at NASA,” Luna snickers in her best (or worst) Gastón-impression.

Matteo laughs and shakes his head. “Jeez, that was terrible.”

Still smirking, Luna snuggles closer to him, letting her eyes wander over the clear night sky above her. The stars twinkle brighter than she ever saw them in Buenos Aires, and she feels calmer and better than during a single second in that fancy hotel room.

For a while, they stay there in silent harmony, enjoying the view and the peace of this moment.

“Do you think everything will go as planned tomorrow?” she whispers into the darkness. It feels like a little eternity passed, perhaps an hour, perhaps only a few minutes.

“Well, we’re paying Miranda a shit ton of money, so everything better work out,” Matteo snickers before his tone turns more serious. “But you know what, little moon?”

She tilts her head, so their eyes meet in the night, only for him to bop her nose gently. “It’ll be perfect either way, because you’re with me.”

The night keeps her rosy cheeks a secret. “You know you can be so corny, chico fresa.”

“Maybe. But it’s true.”

“I love you, you sappy fresa.” A kiss on his cheeks. One more at his palm stroking her face. “I love you too.”

///

Letting her go in the hallway is harder than it should be. Matteo feels like a stubborn kid refusing to let go of his favorite teddy bear for more than a second, which is stupid. She’ll be by his side for the whole day tomorrow, and after that for the rest of their lives.

But this is the last time he sees her before the ceremony. Before he will marry her, and she will be his wife.

His gaze glides over her, takes her in, so he can remember this moment for all of eternity. Her brown curls fall open over her shoulder, messy from his hands – the same hands he has to keep to himself now, so they don’t open the loose tie of her robe. Admittedly, the white fabric hugs her body, flattering her curves, but it also hides her beautiful, beautiful night gown.

And her smile. By the stars, her smile.

Looking at the curve of her mouth, he feels like a shooting star in the night sky, bright and hot and burning only for her. When he’s a shooting star though, Luna is the sun in his universe, and not even the tired yawn slipping out manages to diminish the light she radiates.

“I love you,” Matteo whispers. Simple and soft, while it means so much more. It’s a goodnight, a promise for tomorrow, and for every breath he will take on this earth after that.

“I love you too,” she echoes. Her arms wrap around his waist when he pulls her in for a hug, pressing a light peck on her forehead. He loves her, he loves her so, so much. If every clock on the world froze, he’d be completely fine with staying in this moment.

However, Luna pulls away soon. “I should go to sleep.”

“Yeah.” And so Matteo watches her sneaking into the suite, where Nina’s relaxed breaths fill the air.

///

He finds his own hotel room as dark as the night. Darker even, because the curtains block any faded light the moon or the stars have to offer. After walking through the lit hallway, the contrast of the furniture seems to barely exist, and his vision needs a while to adapt to the shadows once again.

Matteo blinks. Once, twice.

He recognizes Gastón lying on the bed. He’s not moving, his breathing steady and calm. Since he’s not the kind of person to fall asleep within seconds, he must’ve gone to bed a while ago – which in turn leaves Matteo wondering why his best man decided not to search for him in the hour or two he easily was gone.

Unless they didn’t walk far enough and Gastón spotted them.

His heartbeat picks up its pace at the idea, and it takes him a few seconds to relax. Gastón isn’t subtle when it comes to Luna and him, never was, probably never will be. If he indeed saw them, he’d be up and down in the room, throwing puns around like confetti till the morning light, incapable of letting such an opportunity to roast his best friend go.

So, he didn’t possibly discover them, he’s safe asleep, and Matteo worried over a ghost in his mind.

Still, he tip-toes to his side of the bed. Every move he makes is followed by a glance in Gastón’s direction. When Matteo slips under the covers, he has no idea how hard his best friend desperately tries to repress a giggle.

///

“God, you two are so cute it’s seriously disgusting.”

Matteo isn’t even fully awake yet when Gastón’s voice rips the last pictures of his dreams apart. A groan hanging on his lips, he slowly opens his eyes.

Gastón stands by the door, staring at his left hand and shaking his head. The clock on the bedside table tells Matteo he could still nap for half an hour; unfortunately, however, his best friend has another plan.

“Here, Sleeping Beauty, this is for you.”

A card hits him on the chest before any words reach the tip of his tongue. It’s just big enough to fit completely into his palm, and he opens it with a frown on his face.

Good morning, chico fresa ♥

Before I will see you at the ceremony, I just wanted to say that I hope you slept well (or got at least a few hours of sleep…) and remind you that I love you the most in the world! I can’t wait for the rest of our lives to begin.

Always and forever, your chica delivery

PS: Please give Rory kisses from me, okay?

For a moment, he stares at this little note, not sure how he gets to deserve someone like Luna, or how he’ll get through those hours until she’s back by his side. “Where’d you find this?” he then turns to his best friend.

“It laid on the ground, she must’ve slipped it under the door. And, just so we’re clear, Nina and I weren’t half as bad as this on our wedding day. Your chica delivery will bring me some serious diabetes this weekend if she keeps that up.”

“You’re only jealous,” Matteo shoots back, pretending to miss the huge grin tugging on his best friend’s mouth.

Chuckling, he gets out of bed to throw a glance outside. A soft breeze swirls through the room when he opens the window, and the clear sky announces a perfect day to get married.  

His wedding day.

Maybe this is the moment he should turn into a nervous mess, but weirdly enough, Matteo feels at peace. Years passed since he decided she was the person he intended to wait down the aisle for, and almost two years passed since she said she wanted to be his wife. What should make him impatient or insecure, fills him with strength. Their love passed every test time threw at them, they worked through every obstacle, every fight, and he knows they will continue to grow, to forgive and learn.

And that today will be perfect no matter what happens, because they’ll be together.

“So, how did your last night as a free man feel?”

Confused, Matteo breaks away from the view on the ocean. Gastón leans against the door as he barely contains a grin, raising his eyebrow in a dare.

Much to his dismay, he can imagine where this is going.

“Well,” he hesitantly begins, “I couldn’t fall asleep, so I took a walk around the property. To help with that, you know? It… it was nice. Looked at the moon a little bit.”

“I see,” Gastón nods. “As long as you didn’t set foot on it.” A classic Gastón pun, and Matteo wouldn’t pay it no second thought if his best friend didn’t wiggle his eyebrows so passionately they’re almost dancing on his forehead. But he does, while grinning like a fool, so he figures Gastón wasn’t half as asleep last night as he pretended to be.

And he’s not even sorry about it.

[elysianinsignia]

IDENTITY PAPER

                                      by: Mary Angelyn D. Villa

Life. One word but lies a thousand meanings and countless experiences. The life I hold is a journey to self-discovery. A trip for me to have a complete understanding of who I am and what I am. Who am I? Am I because of me? or am I me because of how the world molded me? Through the discovery of self, I can identify my purpose and actualize my potential. On the other hand, failure to embark on a pilgrimage of self-discovery will cheat on the opportunity to understand who I am and what I want out of my life.

For years, I never really understood myself. I never had the chance to have a full grasp on myself being a whole. For years, I never felt having a complete sense of self-identity, whose interest is concrete. For years, I was lost in my own realm with no concrete mastership, stability, and control. Growing up, I spent in confusion, with portions of who I am seemingly floating in the mist, my palms reaching out to grasp a piece of myself. Parts of me that I cannot fully latch onto for it ultimately slips through my fingers like warm water. 

 In my 18 years of existence, I have gone through a lot of roads. Tested me, shaped me, and let me realize a lot of things. My journey started on the year 2002 of December 8th, Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception; it all began when the curtain of night fell upon the province, a province chained together by credence, conviction, customs, and certainty. It was raining cats and dogs at that time. Cold air pierced one's skin, cars were complaining due to heavy traffic, but amidst it all was a woman, a woman drowning in tears because of the unbearable pain she was enduring like she was being torn apart. It was the day I was pushed out of my mother's womb to witness how harsh, hard, and harrowing the world could be. But before I could see the world itself, my father was put in a situation that almost took his sanity. A situation which he needs to decide, his wife;the love of his life  or his second-born daughter or else both will die. Instead of choosing, my father fled to the nearest chapel and prayed like there was no tomorrow. Cried rivers and knelt desperately. The moment I was pushed out, my grandmother immediately decided to name me Mary Angelyn. 'Mary' was included for I was born during the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, the day for Mother Mary, and 'Angelyn' is a combination of "Angel" and my mother's name, Evelyn, it was combined with the word 'Angel' for the reason that my grandmother believed that all the angels of heaven and the Divine God sent an angel, I, to protect and guide my family.  

Since time immemorial, my family and my relatives had been religious and avid followers of the Almighty. Maybe it is because our forefathers are Spaniards, who were the ones who introduced Catholicism to the family, or maybe because of all the hardships, challenges, and misfortunes my family had experienced back then that led them to be closer than they ever were to the Almighty. On the other hand, I am a product of love from two individuals from two different localities. My mother was born, raised, and blossomed independently in the tropical paradise of the southern tip of the Philippines, where nature trippers find refuge in the clean, peaceful, pleasant sands of Sarangani. Despite the lack of financial support, she rose from the ashes and strived hard to have a brighter future. My mother did not disappoint herself; she graduated with flying colors. Contrarily, my father, 7 years older than my mother, was born and raised in one of the leading corn producers in the province. A municipality works under the slogan "Cooperative Efforts towards Peace and Progress." The difference between them is that my father had his full support, financially and mentally, from my great grandparents and his parents. He may have his family's full support; this does not change the fact that he needs to strive hard, more complex than he ever did before, to provide a bright future for his own future family. He succeeded. Graduated with flying colors.

The heartwarming affection of the two lovebirds that both have been showering upon me and my older sibling had put us in a pedestrian where we felt safe and protected from the monsters lurking in the dark, waiting for an opportunity. Both had opened our eyes and let us witness how big, and scary the world would be. How one's life can quickly be taken without any caution. This is the reason why on every holiday, free time, or even just a random day, our family would come together, have a simple buffet to catch up on each and every one. Since then, feasting and having yakiniku on a simple day has become a custom in the family. But one must take note that because our clan had a mixture of Spanish, Filipino and Japanese traditions, a simple day and buffet may often be complicated for a new guest. Since day one, as a daughter of a man who was born with parents that was introduced to different countries customs and traditions, we were taught Spanish rule such as to always keep your hands visible when eating; keep wrists resting on the edge of the table, one should not expect dinner any time before 9pm, and when invited to a home for a meal, it has become customary to give the host or hostess a gift: a good bottle of wine, dinner, sweets and/or a dessert. As for the Japanese, we have applied 'bowing' in our daily life. Bow in times of greeting someone or apologizing, asking a favor, or making a request. We also say "let's eat" instead of "itadaki-masu" before a meal. But, growing up in the Philippines, I have learned to be resilient, flexible, adaptive and put my family at the center of everything. Culture is likely compared to an onion; it has many layers, taken from different roots but puts the spice in our life. 

The influence of my family guided me in my journey with God as my sole compass. Although I may not realize it at the time, they made a difference and changed my life in a way I never could imagine. To think that they have a profound effect on my life forever is truly a blessing. It is because I've learned some of life's best lessons and often even learn a bit of myself.

In another way, in my journey, I have come to terms and wholly believed that everything that happens in one's life all happens for a reason, and sometimes that means we must face heartaches to experience joy. I may have been filled with comfort and care from my family, yet I still do experience difficulties, especially becoming a woman where I need to depend more on myself rather than on my loved ones; it has been a chaotic phase for me, where friendships run amok, setbacks are commonplace, and even I, who is one of the fortunate children out here still wanders through the woods for own self-discovery. However, at the age of 17, where the world has become unsafe due to the pandemic, it has become more difficult for me to navigate through the tides of my own everyday life. Eventually characterized by circumstances that ultimately shattered the notion of having a complete grasp on my self-identity, where instead of spending my time finding out who I am, I struggled with survival, always fleeing at the sight of danger. Yet, with everything that is happening- the pandemic, rallies, government negligence, and so on have let me exercise my power as a citizen, as a youth, and as an individual. Yes, I am young, but I know what is right from wrong. I'm not stupid. Speaking up against something that I know is inhumane and shouldn't be tolerated by anyone is beyond scary. This is why activism is never for the weak because fighting for what you believe is right takes courage, a lot of that. Frightening and life threatening. But I did it anyway. My parents did not raise a coward. I respect others as we all have different opinions on everything. Mine is way different from others, and others differ from mine. I am allowed to voice out mine as much as you are allowed to voice out yours. If you choose to close your mind and eyes, shut your ears and mouth, it's okay. If I decide to speak out, it's okay, too. All of us are encouraged to speak out, but we're never forced. It's a matter of choice. And this is what I will choose. Always.

I am not halfway through my journey. I am still blossoming.  But throughout my whole life, my entire journey, I've established my self-identity solely from the influences of those people and circumstances around me, adapting pieces of passers-by that arouse my interest until their significance vanishes into the wind, and my brain prepares itself for another gust of inspiration. In each road, I take, with its bumps and thorns that often strips my innate understanding of who I am by replacing images with ideas of how I should be, what I should look like, and how I should live out my life had let me discern that only by walking through its bumps and enduring the thorns when I can genuinely reveal the innermost workings of my most natural self and adapt on my whole persona, instead of allowing the road itself change and dictate how I should be. 

Nonetheless, I choose a life that will be an endless journey of self-discovery, an infinite collecting of portions of myself hanging in the mist just waiting for my palms to reach onto the pieces. Perhaps someday, I will have a full grasp of my identity as a person and find my niche and establish a foundation upon which to cement my self-identity. Yet, until that day arrives, I will persist with my self-discovery through the fog of danger, threats and challenges, and maybe I will emerge from the shadows with a triumph in my hands. My submersion into this journey has only just begun, and I will not relinquish hope in the face of defeat.

[thesimplyluxuriouslife]

252: The Characteristics of Being a Late Bloomer, and How Embracing This Gift Could Change the World for Everyone

"By necessity, we late bloomers are on a different, more challenging trajectory. As we travel through life, we encounter obstacles like the push for conformity, the oppression of groupthink, and the pains of self-doubt. But . . . in all these challenges, we find our hidden treasure. We unearth our individuality. We see that a path to excellence, to reaching our true potential, is available to all of us. Within these challenges lies our true power, our covert talents and secret advantages as late bloomers." —Rich Karlgaard, author of Late Bloomers: The Power of Patience in a World Obsesses with Early Achievement.

Unsurprisingly, the new book by Rich Karlgaard spoke to me and offered an abundance of reassurance and exhilaration. If the comments on IG a few weeks ago when I posted an excerpt from the book are any indication, you are or will be as well.

Especially as Americans we greatly celebrate, strive for, and thus put pressure upon ourselves, and either unconsciously or consciously, to figure out our path early, to achieve success quickly and when we don't we make faulty assumptions about what we can contribute which can erode our self-confidence and potentially prevent the gem that resides within us all to be discovered and then shared with the world enabling us to find deep, lasting inner contentment.

Karlgaard's new book is worth reading in-depth, from cover to cover as he delineates the obstacles that our culture currently needs to address with historical details, new studies, multiple anecdotal examples of how indeed the "late bloomer" simply needs time, patience and awareness to blossom at their own time, as well as the most difficult support to refute findings - neurology.

So while I will encourage you to read the entire book, in today's episode/post, I wanted to share with you the characteristics that you might find yourself identifying with when it comes to being a Late Bloomer and not realizing the gift of opportunity you have given yourself to enjoy the rest of your life.

15 Characteristics of a Late Bloomer

1.Curiosity is the late bloomer's fuel

"By its very nature, curiosity demonstrates an independence of mind."

To keep on blooming throughout the entirity of our lives, forever remain curious.

2. We are predisposed to be compassionate

"In facing the ups and downs of life, many late bloomers gain a greater sense of compassion. They show greater reflective thinking, diminished ego-centeredness, and a deeper appreciation of others' challenges."

Because late bloomers have faced struggles along the way, have refrained from conforming at the expense of our social connections and acceptance into "the group", we can more easily put ourselves into the shoes of others, we are more empathetic.

3.Better leadership skills are developed

Due to elevated compassion, workers view leaders more favorably, and combined with "authenticity and integrity", this trifecta of skills "improves retention and employee performance".

4. Resilience is developed and strengthened

"When it comes to developing resilience, the regulation of emotions gives mature people an advantange over the young: 'There is a naturally learnable set of behaviors that contribute to resilience. Those are the behaviors that we gravitate to more and more as we age'."

5. Emotion regulation is easier which cultivates a calmer demeanor which leads to more effectiveness and better relationships

"Our brains are driven to seek calmness as we age. Columnbia University social psychologist Heidi Grant Halvorson claims that calmness is central to happiness . . . research has long established that calm leaders are more effective".

Late bloomers naturally develop the skills necessary to find calmness if we choose to keep exploring, learning, listening and observing what works and what does not. This is where our curiosity helps tremendously leading us to the blooming stage of our lives that is authentic and unique to each of us.

6. Extensive insight

"Our insights are the result of us drawing on our full mental library of experience, patterns, and context, yielding an idea of extraordinary value."

Karlgaard explains that "the right hemisphere [of the brain] matures in childhood; the development of the left is consistent with the development of the prefrontal cortex, which is not fully mature until the mid-twenties". Due to the left-side's difference in development compared to the right, it takes time for us to see the connection of the awesome or unique events, sights and experiences of our lives and make sense of how we can utilize them in our unique way.

7. Navigation of life's ambiguity becomes easier

"Perhaps this is the perfection defintion of wisdom: reasoning and cognition based on knowledge and experience".

In other words, we are not born wise, but so long as we choose to be curious, continue to be life-long learners, we begin to build it. "Wisdom is the ability to see the layers of light that were harder to see when one was younger". And consequently, we have the opportunity to hone our intuition as to how to best navigate our journey even with the unknowns that are presented.

8. More easily determine what's important versus what's trivial

To piggy-back onto #7, because we have acquired knowledge about the world over time and have made the conscious choice to continue to learn, we are then better at discern patterns faster and jump to logical solutions more quickly.

9. A desire to cut the apron strings with your parents

"To fully bloom, we must declare our independence from our family. That doesn't mean we must reject their love . . . it means only that we must reach our own conclusions about what does and doesn't support our blooming."

Creating a healthy culture in which to bloom is analogous to the proper soil and conditions for a plant to flourish. Each plant will need different types of soil, different amounts of sunshine and shade, varying temperatures - some extreme, some moderate, and it all depends on the plant. Unlike the saying, "bloom where you are planted", we should instead get out of the soil we have been planted in and explore to discover where we truly thrive.

10. Adult peer pressure is real, and if you've felt it and tried successfully or not to not succumb, you may be a late bloomer

"Some of this [peer group] influence can be healthy and positive, as when we join a hiking club or sign up for a program to quit smoking. But not every peer push leads us to a better version of ourselves; not all communities support growth and positive change."

To break free from our peer group, even when we don't know why it feels uncomfortable or wrong (but we know it does), is not easy and it takes great inner strength to do so. However, it does become easier because we eventually begin to feel more in tune with our true selves, we feel a burden lift, we feel our energy surge because we are no longer trying to be or do something that isn't truly in line with what we can offer the world.

11. Societal pressure to conform is limiting to our true potential

"[Today's media] also promote cultural, racial or gender biases, either through stereotyping roles and behaviors, or under- or overrepresentation of minorities. And repeated exposure to media content can lead viewers to begin to accept media portrayals as representations of reality."

From the media's portrayal of how to socially engage, what dating should look like, what children should be doing at certain ages based on their gender, the values are repeatedly shared and included in endless amounts of media such as video games, movies, television, newspapers, magazines, books and radio, and since it is a passive medium, unless we are critical thinkers questioning everything we receive, it is easy to accept what is applauded as normal and what we should adhere to regarding our life's journey.

12. Letting go of comparisons

"Mass media ask us to compare our body shape, sex life, marriage, house, car, family and community to unattainable television versions of perfection. Social media ask us to compare our own commonplace or even boring reality against the curated accounts of how absoutely wonderful someone else's life is — people we know!"

When we stop comparing and start celebrating, we liberate ourselves and enable the opportunity to observe our own awesomeness without the outside world's close-minded criticism or limited acceptance.

The author shared something that I think is worth sharing here as a reminder that there are many paths to success, to reaching a goal, to attaining contentment. He writes, "There are always many ways to achieve a goal, gain expertise, or find success. In sports or music, they are easy to see . . . But it's not as easy to see multiple paths for success in most endeavors . . . [which leads to confusion. As a result,] we default to following norms and take the road everyone else is taking". And these paths to success have as much to do with professional "success" as well as personal "success". Your definition of a life of contentment, as I have said many times before on the blog and in my books, will most likely be very different than mine, but that doesn't mean we both cannot feel the contentment that is spoken about and written about that provides deep satisfaction and peace.

It is important that we all recognize that each of us will bloom at a different time.

"Each of us deserves the opportunity to bloom in our own way."

When we do this there are many invaluable benefits:

1.We protect ourselves, and others we encourage to bloom, in our own time from the consequences of disappoitnment or failure. (this doesn't mean there won't be bumps along the way, but it reminds us that it takes time to understand where we are headed and why)

2.We learn how to work with self-doubt and let it be our superpower.

"To bloom, we all must learn not to fear self-doubt but to embrace it as a normally occurring opportunity for growth and improved performance . . . The key to harnessesing self-doubt starts at the very core of our individual beliefs about ourselves . . . self-efficacy".

3. We strengthen our self-efficacy

Self-efficacy is an individual's confidence in their ability to accomplish what they set out to do.

4. Obstacles begin to be seen as opportunities to grow rather than road-blocks

"While you may feel a general sense of self-doubt . . . [you] proceed anyway".

5. Improved positive self-talk

"Positive self-talk can improve our performance by helping us regulate our emotions, thoughts and energy".

When we begin to see skill-sets that render positive results, we are more likely to invest in them. For example, positive self talk leads to more confidence, a strengthening our self-efficacy and thus improved performance with whatever task is in front of us. And so we continue to practice positive self-talk and it becomes stronger with this skill rendering more positive outcomes.

6. Stronger, healthier relationships

When you bloom, gravitate toward those who celebrate your blooming, and for those who initially are not, give them a moment to understand why your blooming makes them uncomfortable. Depending upon the person, they may not realize that their discomfort with your growth is a reflection of their disappointment in what they feel they could have achieved but didn't. This is all about them. Some will grow from this and remain in your life, others will not, and you will need to move on. But all of the skills you have acquired and applied will help lead you toward building not only healthier relationships with others, but a healthier, less critical relationship with yourself.

7. Excellence will arrive when you let your curiosity take over

"When [curiosity takes over], a sense of exploration also takes over. I get in the zone, and I go for it. I feel pulled, not pushed — pulled by a beautiful power I cannot explain."

8. The courage to repot when necessary

"When it comes to repotting, late bloomers have a distinct advatnage over early bloomers. We're naturally curious and resilient. We're not afraid to follow a different path or break free of convention. We genuinely want to see what's around the corner or over the hill. These late bloomer strengths enable —even propel— the change we need to find the right people and the right place to help us thrive."

Once you have a clearer understanding of who you are and what cultures and communities are best suited for you to bloom, you will have strengthened, as was mentioned above in the first list, an awesome skill set. This skill set will be your bedrock for being able to repot when and if it is necessary.

"We need to give ourselves a break. We need to recognize and celebrate the fact that we're all different, with different skill sets, developmental profiles and backgrounds and that each of us will forge a different path toward blooming."

Being a late bloomer is most certainly something to celebrate, and when we "change our story, we can change our behavior and even our life".

Let me leave you with this lasting thought from the book that resonately powerfully with me:

"If we're not forced to conform to standard timetables for success, we can —and will—bloom on our own schedules. And we can do it with a deeper sense of mission and a greater feeling of contentment. What we accomplish in the marathon of life depends on our persistence, our patience, and an ability to see ourselves as we really are. Our cultural obsession with youthful talent, with early achievement, distracts us from this simple truth. . . . our late bloomer power is different. It is the power to renounce what's supposed to happen in life and intead embrace what actually happens in life, with its ups and downs, twists and turns. It's the power to explore and experience, to be an individual. It's the power that comes with knowing and valuing ourselves."

Petit Plaisir

~The Gown: A Novel of the Royal Wedding by Jennifer Robson

~read my review and reason for recommendation here.

TSLL BRITISH WEEK 2019 Posts:

Sunday May 19th

A Giveaway for Anglophiles: A Year’s Subscription to The English Home magazine and more!

TSLL’s First Annual British Week Begins!

~Do you enjoy reading TSLL blog and visit regularly, but would prefer to read the blog without ads? I have some good news for you. For a limited time, during British Week, the price for a monthly or yearly ad-free subscription has been reduced. Simply use the following promo codes below when you subscribe (or learn how to subscribe) here. The discount runs through Sunday May 26, 2019.

 Yearly $69.99 – Now $60/year – use promo code YEAR60Ad

Monthly $6.99 – Now $5/month – use promo code BRITWK5Ad. 

Learn more and subscribe here.

Tune in to the latest episode of The Simple Sophisticate podcast

[crownedwithashes]

Anger, Change

"Why?"

Silence. Rowan received it often. His resurrector had a knack for looking like he didn't care, for all the effort he'd put into... Remaking him. It disgusted Rowan to think about it, how his dead body, his flesh, bones and soul were completely at Cormag's disposal before. How any of his family could have taken his place, or maybe joined him in undeath. He didn't like how powerless he'd been against the older vampire's abilities. Didn't like how he felt he did not own his body even now.

"Why did you bring me back?"

"Because it was my desire to."

Rowan showed the smallest bit of fang, before concealing them again. He was afraid to challenge Cormag that visibly. What could he do, anyway? He was but a young babe intending to fight a lion. He had no hope of victory... Not yet.

He settled for seething silence. The venom in him was so potent, Cormag couldn't look his way without feeling it.

"You know why I did it, lad," he muttered on, gazing out the window of the kirk absently. "You just can't stomach it. So, I'll part with some advice." His master made sure he was listening well by grabbing onto him with his charm, holding him to attention. He didn't rise from the window pane, though; he looked quite comfortable resting there with his knees partly propped up. "Accept what you are. Not a vampire, the creature unlike your former self. Accept that you are mine. You'll not find a beggar's scrap of peace in this life, until you do."

Rowan loathed that he was right. Yet, for some reason he couldn't strike back aggressively. Maybe because the truth resonated deeply in a way he couldn't decipher, in a place of origin he did not understand, where the indestructible tether of their bond dictated his fate as the Necromancer's fledge. His choices were erased, really. Cormag had already won the game -- and he'd win it again, forever, no matter how many times defied. Rowan didn't know that yet.

His anger stayed.

"Abominable," he muttered, slouching into his chosen corner of the kirk room. He did derive some measure of peace in the dark of it, despite knowing Cormag could see him well if he wanted. Another innate facet of his vampirism, he figured. His soul craved nubilous places. "I hope to never think as you do."

"One day you'll understand, mo leanbh," Cormag hummed, unbothered. He was more focused on the outside environment than Rowan's woes; his job was to watch for potential dangers after all, and fledglings were... so fresh to vampiric ideals, sometimes. Tiresome... his sister had not been this way. Treasa was easy, if too adventurous. But it was what it was. The boy was clay in his hands, and clay was malleable.

There Rowan sat, nothing short of horrified by Cormag's apathy. The man was crazy. In his teachings and violent caretaking, he didn't realize how far away he was from a true compassionate frame of mind. Was this what he meant by an understanding? Did he really think they would ever reach common ground?

He'd rather die twice over.

Rowan was at an impasse.

The things his sire told him stoked his ire. His perspective of killing and living were twisted as thorned, gnarled vines. Cormag was a monster and none could tell him differently. But in their time amongst each other he began to notice something. It was getting more difficult to stay the same. 

The man he wanted to continue to be... it was like reaching out for another's hand, only to watch the space between grow farther and farther. He couldn't rationalize as much with human eyes. What he saw, what he did, was for immortal blood-craven beasts. Evil acts? Well, he was sure the Divines didn't approve. 

Cormag was all he had now to go with the regret, and the latter devoured him alive. 

The home he knew was gone. His proud mother and father, defeated by the enemy. His sister, only the Gods knew where. Aonghas -- dear and trusted Aonghas, whom he'd known since boyhood -- was gone. Even if he tried to go back, there'd be nothing left but memories that made him cold and adversaries by the score. 

He had two choices only. Fight everything his dread maker encouraged, or embrace it all. It taxed his sanity. His thoughts were so tired he wanted to take the bastard's mottos as gospel. If accepting his new role set him free from any longing to have what he could not... 

But no. He couldn't.

He had to endure.

Months passed.

Against all previous convictions carved into stone, Rowan changed.

His sire's will to shape him into something other was tenacious, but that wasn't surprising. He'd not have brought him back from the dead if he wasn't ready to put him under his tutelage. In time he didn't think Cormag had perverted his point of view at all. This was the way things were for his kind, the way it was meant to be, killing and roving and killing again. It was normal life for him. He didn't want anything else.

Time and practice saw that Rowan was able to do many things with no guidance; once fed any traveler or farmer or merchant, or anyone Cormag deemed suitable for him to have, he now repaid his master by bringing him... gifts.

He had to admit it was pride that spurred him.

He didn’t need weapons of a man’s making, bow included, in the acquisition of these gifts. He could bring another to his knees with nothing but strength and teeth, and dodge almost any attack with increased agility. It felt better than shooting off an arrow or stabbing with his dirk. More thrilling. He didn't care who the target was, he liked this-- no, he'd fallen in love with what he was, the freedom and the glory of a vampire’s life, and he was firmly convinced there was no turning back.

He dropped one of his little surprises at his wretched maker's feet one night for the first time, upon returning home.

The moment Cormag saw him do this, he knew with dead certainty, he had him under his thumb. The gratification in that... it was well-deserved. He'd worked quite hard on him.

"You do me proud, mo leanbh."

No thanks given before the feast. He did not need to say it, or be grateful. This was what Rowan had been reborn to do. He was finally doing things right.

The fledgling Gael-- oh, but no longer a fledgling, Cormag realized, at least not by experience, but he would always be exactly that under his ownership-- smiled as his sire accepted the bounty. Bretons weren’t his first pick, nor were women, but both were favorite victims of Cormag’s. Magic in the blood regarding the first, and an old preference carried over from his time with Íde, for the second.

"She was easy, for a mage." Rowan shifted from the scene, sauntering to some spot in the kirk where he could rest. He chose a wall to lean on. "I almost felt sorry for her."

Cormag raised his head, blood soaking the lower end of his face graphically. The woman by his knees was transitioning to a corpse, paler and paler as exsanguination came about. A lot of the blood was wasted, forming a comforting pool around him.

"Where?"

Nodding to the hills beyond their den, Rowan replied, "There’s a wee school of them a few miles from the village we attacked days ago. I paid them a visit and thought to bring you a souvenir."

The older one thought a moment, and the side of mouth perked up. It explained why the mage was young. It also gave him ideas.

"I'd have a fair look at the selection myself," he said, pushing back his hair from his eyes while wiping his mouth, though it didn’t help to clean much. He stood up. The snow white locks crowning him were sullied. "If you'll join me."

Rowan sported an open grin much like those his sire made; vacant of human benevolence, full of dangerous excitement, with teeth too acicular to ignore. Cormag didn't have to ask. Never again.

He'd never look back.

"I'd like nothing better. Truly."

[markallankaplan]

What Sam Shepard taught me about storytelling and life

With the passing of Sam Shepard, celebrated American playwright, actor, author, screenwriter, and director, I was reminded of the many gifts he has given us collectively but also to me personally. Back when I was a fellow at the American Film Institute’s Center for Advanced Film Studies I was fortunate to have a master class with Sam which forever changed my understanding of storytelling and life.

In that class, Sam talked about how he created a story. Sam told us that he always started a story with something deeply true, something deeply real, be it some aspect of a real experience from his or another person’s life, a news story, or even just a tiny true moment of awareness or understanding about some aspect of life. From there he would use that truth like a sacred seed and attempt to follow it wherever that truth wanted to go and whatever it wanted to evolve into. As I listened to his words I got the sense that he was talking about a co-creative process between the writer and the universe itself and that it was a constant process of taping into creative input from both within and without.

His words had such a profound impact on me that I was determined to do my own experiment in this approach for my next video project at the Institute. For weeks, I hunted for a truth that would touch me deeply and spark my imagination but no matter how hard I tried I could not find it. At the height of my frustration a friend of mine came to visit and I decided to let go of my quest for a “true story seed” for a while and just enjoy hanging out with my friend. I took her to a restaurant on the ocean in Malibu and lo and behold I found my moment of truth when I was not looking for it.

There we sat, looking at the ocean, catching up on our lives when a frail elderly homeless man came into the restaurant and sat in the booth right behind my friend. The waiter came up to the man’s table and quietly asked him to leave. The homeless man got upset and loudly declared “We have money!” And then he looked at the empty side of the booth in front of him and spoke to that empty space…”show the man your money” He paused for a moment to listen to the empty space, rolled his eyes in exasperation and said “fine, I’ll pay for it” and with that he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pile of crumpled up bills. The waiter watched all this at first with fear but then I saw a growing sense of compassion in him. There was something about this homeless man that did not feel threatening. He just seemed like a lost soul in need of help. The waiter seemed to sense this too and looked around at the near empty restaurant and then he looked at me and we had a moment of silent affirmation and he let the man stay. The waiter apologized and brought the man a menu and a glass of water. The homeless man looked perturbed and said “young man you do realize there are two us here…” The waiter, bless his heart, apologized again and brought a second menu and glass of water and placed it in front of the empty space and said he would return shortly to take their order.

And then it happened. This homeless man had a conversation with that empty space that touched me on levels I still cannot fully comprehend. He looked at the empty space and said: “Write this down…must go to Montana for Easter…” And then he got this far off look for a moment before he looked at the empty space and listened to it as if someone was really talking to him from that space. After deeply listening he responded in earnest as if he was talking to a student: “Oh, well, you see…there is this little town in Montana and every Easter they have an Easter parade and for that parade they pick a normal guy off the street to play Jesus and have him carry the cross through the streets…” He paused for a moment and got that far off look again and whispered: “I always wanted to be that guy…”

His words penetrated so deeply that I cried. They were both crazy and profound to me in so many ways that I could not even put words to my experience. I looked at my friend and I could see in her eyes that she was feeling something similar and we sat there in silence, eating our meal and listening to the strange and wondrous conversation that was unfolding in that next booth. At that moment, I more fully understood in a deep way the co-creative process that Sam was talking about, sensing that my seeking and then the surrender of that seeking, opened me to receive the creative input from the universe itself.

After this experience, my imagination and the co-creative forces went wild and I imagined and received a story that transformed this old homeless man into a retired nuclear physicist who had worked on the Manhattan Project and his life was shattered after he realized what they had done. Now he wandered the streets talking to energy and giving tidbits of wisdom to imaginary students and lost souls. With more input from various external “coincidences” and inspirations the story expanded further into having him and several other people being taken hostage in a café by a PTSD suffering war veteran, culminating with these two lost souls healing each other’s deep inner wounds. Throughout this process, I continued the true seed co-creative method, including using real life stories to help shape the other characters as well, including real life stories from veterans to help shape the character of the vet.

The whole process of taking these true moments and experiences and letting them co-creatively flower into a story was one of the most profound creative experiences of my life. Sam’s approach was, and still is for me, a truly sacred process. At every turn along the way I deeply felt as though forces within and around me were conspiring to help me create this story. And I was not alone in this belief for everyone who worked on bringing this story to the screen expressed how profound their experience was. They used words like magical, profound, mystical and sacred. For all of us it was the best production experience we ever had. We worked as a team in such a deep way that it seemed like we could read each other’s minds, knowing what was needed before anyone could express the need. And yes, all of us reported having experiences in our own lives that seemed to support the work we were doing in strange and mysterious ways, from having our schedules open up to fit the needs of the production to the right locations coming to us without effort on our part. We felt like we were working on something that had a higher purpose and that the universe was indeed helping us and affirming the work.

When we screened the completed project, which was aptly called Write This Down, the response was a profound experience as well. After the end credits finished and the lights went up there was dead silence. Everyone just stared at the blank monitor for what seemed like an eternity. Then all of a sudden, there was a thunderous standing ovation that brought tears to my eyes. And as I stood there and received the accolades I could not help but feel that this work was not of me but something that came through me.

I have come to call this process “the living story” because for me the story becomes alive and has a life all its own, when it is born of truth. And this aliveness attracts forces beyond what I can rationally explain.

I will give you two closing examples and you decide for yourself…

Years after making this video at the AFI I partnered with another AFI alumnus to turn the story into a feature screenplay. When we started working on the script, the magic started to happen again. One time we were changing and expanding one of the characters and imagined a certain look to the character as well as the fact that they rode a red scooter. Then we took a break and walked outside and a young man with the exact look we imagined rode by us on a red scooter. We both looked at each other and smiled.

Another time we were walking down the Venice boardwalk in L.A. asking ourselves if the audience would believe all the magical experiences we were incorporating into the story of these homeless and lost souls. We had just sat down on a bench to ponder this question further when a one-legged homeless man on crutches hobbled up to us and asked if we had a cigarette. We both apologized saying we didn’t smoke. The man told us not to apologize and that we were lucky not to be hooked on smoking. Then he looked around like he had a secret he did not want anyone else to hear and then whispered to us…”Hey man, you dudes look cool…you see these brand new steel crutches man…” We both nodded our heads in affirmation and he continued… “Hey man, yesterday I had these old wooden crutches that were falling apart and I was freaking out that they were going to break and I wouldn’t be able to walk. And then I went down to the ocean man, and I cried man, I admit it, I cried. And then I found these brand-new steel crutches just lying on the beach with no one around. I waited for hours but no one came for them. So now I have these brand-new crutches, man…” He had tears in his eyes and then leaned in closer and whispered the big secret to us…”God is cool, man…God is cool…” And then he smiled and walked away. My writing partner and I looked at each other in awe and we knew we had received our answer.

So to Sam Shepard I owe a great debt. He not only made me a better writer, but a better human being as well. His approach to storytelling changed my life, opening me up to mysteries I still cannot fully explain or comprehend…but I remain in awe and deep gratitude of the work and of the man…

THANK YOU, SAM…

May you Rest in Peace…

Sam Shepard (1943-2017)

NOTE: From an integral cinema perspective, it appears that this form of story creation operates across all dimensions and perspectives, simultaneously attracting and stimulating input from the interior and exterior domains of both the individual and the collective, whereby inspiration seems to come from or stimulated by experiences and forces from subjective, objective, relational and social/systemic domains.