#salvation through self-recognition through the other!!!

[panncakes]

"You are obsessed with Tinn. You're obsessed with his world, with his thoughts. Are you sure you can win him over?" / "I'd like to know what kind of man can make our great lawyer so vunerable."

LAWS OF ATTRACTION (2023)

[jessamine-rose]

˚♱ଘ Faustian Bargain ଓ♱˚

Welp here we are with the fourth entry in my Yandere Church AU. Let’s fall into depravity once more, this time with Demon! Pantalone x Contractee! Darling (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

Tw:: yandere, manipulation, blood, violence, slight self-harm for summoning purposes, spice, mention of nsfw, MDNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion, guest-starring Demon! Scaramouche <3

♡ 2.5k words under the cut ♡

♡ Since their creation, humans have ruled over the mortal plane under the influence of spiritual beings. But while angels are venerated as divine saviors, demons are fallen sinners who corrupt humanity through temptation and curses. It is for this reason that humans live in fear of demons, with the Church condemning all forms of unholy covenant. But time and time again, that warning has fallen on deaf ears.

♡ Throughout history, several individuals have formed pacts with demons in exchange for divine favors. Favors vary across demons but in all contracts, the price is clear: The human gives up their soul and any chance at salvation. Once the pact has been made, the human is granted the ability to summon the demon as their lifelong companion. But upon the human’s death, the pact is broken and the demon is free to seek out new souls.

♡ It is through these contracts that the Harbinger of Fortune rose to prominence. He is a “young” demon in the sense that his earliest records only date back to three centuries; but in that short amount of time, Pantalone has tempted many fools and heretics with the promise of material wealth. And it is through this tactic that he attained power, recognition, your soul.

♡ In your defense, you had no other choice. Born to an elite family in Liyue, you had enjoyed a life of luxury until your parents squandered their fortune. After a failed attempt to flee to another nation, they were murdered and you were told to repay their debts lest you meet the same fate. It was a hopeless situation—you had no assets to pawn off and even then, your remaining days would be spent in poverty. So when you recalled the local stories about the demon who deals in prosperity, you were desperate to summon him.

♡ It is difficult to find authentic records of his summoning ritual, but you manage with what little time you have left. There is an illustration of his sigil, to be copied on the floor with blood from your own palm. A table is arranged with incense, gold coins, freshly-brewed tea, a mirror, and the dagger used to extract your blood. Once everything is in place, you clasp your bloody hands together and utter the sacred incantations.

♡ As soon as Pantalone’s true name leaves your lips, the incense sticks emit a dark fragrant smoke. The summoning circle glows violet and within it, a brilliant figure emerges. Dark horns, adorned with silver, curve back along his raven hair. His garments are styled with violet jewels, serpentine motifs, an iridescent cape embroidered with a scene from the Garden of Eden. He is beautiful, so beautiful that you feel unworthy when his bespectacled gaze meets yours.

♡ Before you can look away, he is already onto you. In a polite voice, he introduces himself and asks for your name. Next, he tells you to disable the barrier of the summoning circle; he prefers civil negotiations. It takes some reluctance on your part but eventually, the two of you are seated together at the table. There is a critical look on his face as he surveys his offerings and explains his contract in detail.

♡ Aside from the general rules, there are clauses specific to Pantalone’s pacts. He can only be summoned twice a week, and never on Sundays. Contracts with other demons require his permission. Any attempt at breaking the pact will incur severe consequences. All of this is said with honeyed words and a kind smile.

♡ So perfect is his facade that you fail to notice an undertone of condescension. A glimpse into your soul was all it took for Pantalone to regard you as a hopeless fool hindered by your worldly upbringing. But that is fine—fools are easier to deal with, and you’d make a pretty addition to his collection of souls. Plus, it was only yesterday that his previous human died, and he is always quick to move on to the next pact. With that, Pantalone tells you to make a choice.

“A fair exchange, don’t you think?” he asks. The smile on his face is deceptively angelic. “In return for your soul, I will provide you with wealth, prosperity, everything your heart desires. Do you believe it is worth the price, ______?”

♡ You say yes. That is when Pantalone takes off his rings then his gloves, revealing multiple scars slashed across his palm lines. Gracefully, he picks up your used dragger, draws a new line, and clasps his wounded hand in yours. Then he wraps the same hand around your neck, staining it with a mix of your blood.

♡ There is a burning sensation followed by a burst of pure ecstasy. Once the euphoria subsides, Pantalone lets go of you and holds up the mirror. The front of your throat is branded with his sigil while a diamond pattern encircles your neck. It glows violet before disappearing altogether, a sacred collar invisible to mortal eyes. Thus, the pact has been formed.

♡ The next few minutes are calm. Pantalone’s scars are concealed once more. The two of you finish your tea. He takes a coin from his offering, now magically engraved with his sigil, and explains that you need only flip it to summon him. Then he offers one last smile, says he will look forward to your partnership, and disappears with the remaining coins.

♡ In the morning, you wake up to find bags of coins and jewels on the table, the exact amount needed to pay off your debts. Once the money has been given, you eagerly summon Pantalone to thank him. He merely smiles, leads you to your parents’ office, and tells you that the next step is to rebuild your family business. After all, while he can create material riches out of nothing, a mysterious source of wealth may attract the suspicion of your fellow humans.

♡ Soon enough, the company is flourishing under “your” authority. In reality, it is Pantalone who instructs your decisions and eliminates competitors. During meetings with clients, he attends in his invisible form and whispers to you the necessary responses. With success comes your return to high society, and Pantalone is all too happy to escort you to galas as your plus-one. His human form attracts several admirers, but his attention remains on you.

♡ He is also pleasant company. You can’t help but summon him often—your house feels empty without your parents. As for friends, you refuse to trust anyone after they turned their backs on you during your financial crisis. Pantalone is always nice about it, listening to your woes and participating in your hobbies. Once in a while, he will activate your pact mark and comment on how needy you are.

♡ He even fulfills your carnal desires. Over the months, Pantalone has toyed with your physical attraction towards him, teasing you with light touches, seductive whispers, sinful smiles…and a deep kiss when you shyly proposition him. That kiss is soon followed by heavy makeouts, long nights in your bed, physical marks all over your body. Greedy as he may be, he always makes sure to repay the pleasure you’ve given him.

♡ One night, you ask him about his divine nature. He confirms the popular belief that all demons are fallen angels; in his case, he was created for the Ninth Order, the lowest rank in the angel hierarchy. For the first century of his life, he could only settle for the inferior powers and duties assigned to his status. Neither could he enjoy the freedom which humans were born with.

♡ Thus, he set his sights on Hell. For angels are not created equal but demons can earn their powers through individual efforts. But leaving God always comes with a price, and Pantalone’s was paid in blood and tears.

⬩◈⬩

“Is that how you lost your wings?”

In the dark, your demon’s scars remain apparent. A pair of rough, featherless, ugly lines which you are careful not to touch, lest he flinch—from pain or shame? During your first night together, Pantalone refused to talk about it and you took the hint.

Even now, he flips over in your bed to hide his imperfections from you. When he answers your question, his voice takes on a light tone.

“Yes. It was God who ripped out my wings, and He even had the ‘mercy’ to cast them out of Heaven after me. But that was a long time ago, and I’ve since put my old feathers to good use.”

His capes, he means. They are his signature accessory, all crafted with sheer fabric, tiny jewels, and iridescent embroidery. Each cape is its own masterpiece, bearing fantastical images of God’s creations. It was during a casual conversation that Pantalone told you the threads were sourced from his old feathers.

He looks past you, and you know his gaze is on the coat rack. Tonight’s cape depicts a celestial paradise filled with winged figures. Beneath Heaven, separated by dark clouds, demonic figures descend into a fiery sky.

“Still, it must’ve been painful,” you tell him. Hesitantly, you add, “I mean, you didn’t only lose a body part that day. You also lost your former appearance, your ability to fly, your siblings—”

At that, a smile makes its way to his face. A large, genuine smile that isn’t directed at you.

“My former brethren were not dearly missed,” he replies. He sits up, combing the strands of hair tangled around his horns. “After I landed in Hell, I was taken in by an older demon. Let’s call her Jiejie, since she does not appreciate needless declarations of her true name. She is the one who treated my wounds, the one who cared for me using her own resources, the one who welcomed me into her home with open wings. And for that, I am eternally grateful.”

A soft breeze rustles the cape, threads glittering in the moonlight. Some threads, however, lack the iridescent quality of Pantalone’s feathers. Instead, they are silvery shades of black and gray.

His tone softens. “I will confess that I had an easy start in Hell thanks to her influence, as did Scaramouche who fell before me. But everything else—my contracts, my current status—are the fruits of my own labor. Perhaps someday, I may even reach Jiejie’s level of power.”

“I see…” You look into his eyes this time. “So what do she and that Scara demon specialize in? They sound nice; am I allowed to form pacts with them?”

“No.” He says it firmly, with no room for argument. Bare hands pull your body closer to his. “Even speaking as their brother, that sounds very unconscionable. Don’t get too greedy now.”

“Oh, I…okay!” you squeak. A faint violet light takes up your peripheral vision—your pact mark? “I’m sorry for asking. I’ll remember that.”

“Good.” His hand moves to your throat, tracing your sigil. When your eyes meet, his are bright with desire. “Never forget, you are mine first and foremost.”

⬩◈⬩

♡ In the following years, Pantalone grows more fond of you. Gifts begin to appear in your hands, from violet jewels to stylish garments. He accompanies you to more meetings with your fellow humans, his arm wrapped around your waist in a possessive gesture. His physical affection intensifies. On a few occasions, he even visits you despite not being summoned.

♡ It’s a nice change, but an overwhelming one. As time passes, you meet new friends and suitors, only to reject them after Pantalone claims to have glimpsed malice in their souls. Neither can you summon other demons, not when he is confiscating your demonological texts under the pretense that you’re too “impressionable” for another pact. And who can forget the time you were caught looking for information on the Tree of Life?

♡ It wasn’t your intention to seek a way out of your debt. It was by pure coincidence that you ran into the heretic who sold you the grimoire with information on Pantalone; and the conversation naturally shifted to the topic of your eternal damnation. Unsurprisingly, many humans have attempted to go back on their deals; and according to your “friend,” the best solution is to become immortal through the Tree of Life. You only asked them to contact you if they ever find the mythical tree, but that was enough to anger Pantalone.

“Do not lie to me, ______,” he snaps. His smile appears calm, but his tone sounds absolutely venomous. “I glimpsed your memories of last night, and I know you tried to violate our contract.”

“I…” You fearfully shake your head, only to cry as your throat constricts. It hurts, as though his sigil is burning your flesh, and your knees hit the floor. “I didn’t mean to…”

Your voice trails off. A gloved hand tilts your head upwards, forcing you to meet his death glare.

“Speak up, darling. My time is precious.”

♡ After that, you apologize and make no attempt to evade your fate. The next time Pantalone becomes angry, you at least have the luxury of not being the target of his emotions. It is a seemingly normal day, and you are served tea by a long-time servant. Suddenly, Pantalone appears and pulls you away from the individual, not bothering to hide his true form. When he tells the servant to “drop the act,” there is an indigo glint in their eyes.

♡ And that’s how you learn that the Puppeteer specializes in demonic possession. The servant’s body falls to the floor, unconscious, and it is Scaramouche’s turn to make himself known. He has asymmetrical horns, a single skeletal bat wing, and an expression which is far from friendly. A silvery black-and-gray feather dangles from the brooch pinned above his heart.

“Tell me, Scaramouche, what are your reasons for spying on my precious jewel?”

“Hmph, as if you need to ask. I just wanted to see if your little pet is worth Nee-san’s blessing. If you still desire them when that time comes, you’re on your own.”

♡ You don’t understand what they’re talking about, but it’s clear that you have no part in the conversation. After a few insults, Scaramouche leaves, but not without telling you to “know your place” in the future. That is when Pantalone sighs, pours a cup of tea for himself, tells you that it is none of your concern. Don’t worry, darling, he has it all under control. So just sit down, drink your tea, talk to him about anything under the sun. You still have a long life ahead of you, and he shall give you Heaven on earth until the day your heart ceases to beat.

♡ And perhaps if you are good enough, he will act on his desire to keep you as his pet in Hell. It’s been centuries since Pantalone has tortured a sinner, but he does know the best ways to break your mind. And is eternal suffering in his home not preferable to another demon laying their hands on you? At any rate, it’s not like you have any other choice.

“In the name of love, I will respect the contract between us and the fate you put in my hands.”

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pierro ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving characters or dynamics not included in my masterlist.

Aahhh I hope y’all enjoyed my take on Demon! Pantalone!! He ended up with the most tame + lore-heavy fic, and I swear that the character of “Jiejie” will make more sense when I write the remaining stories for Church AU. Also, fun fact, Pantalone’s capes are inspired by Rusly Tjohnardi and Hieronymus Bosch’s triptychs~

Moving on, thank you to @diodellet for beta-reading this and supporting me through every step of writing hell. Now if y’all excuse me, I’m must avenge myself and whack Pantalone with the biggest cross I can find o(^▽^)o

Tag a Pantalone enjoyer!! @navxry @beloved-blaiddyd @leftdestiny-posts @meimeimeirin @euniveve @lychniis @teabutmakeitazure @stickyspeckledlight @mochinon-yah @zhongrin @harmonysanreads @oofasleep @theinnerunderrain @ddarker-dreams

[mxiaogod]

— 16. [AGNUS] SUKUNA AU X FEM AFAB! READER

WARNING : VERY CRUEL, CANNIBALISM REFERENCES, PENETRATION, BITING, MANHANDLING, CUNNILINGUS, JUST PLAIN HATE FUCK? LMAO IDEK HOW TO TAG THIS ANYMORE, DARK CONTENT! NSFW, (DNI IF YOU AREN’T 18+)

A/N : Y'all I’m back after a year omfg, thank you for 437 followers! I’m grateful for the recognition. I got lazy halfway writing the rest of the smut, sorry y'all.🧍‍♀️

— Sacrifice of the self is noble, sacrifice of others is cowardly. A life forlorn while doom is in your blood. There is no room for terror of demons if you were born for one.

“You are our salvation, my beautiful, beautiful daughter.” Lithe fingers thread through the strands of your hair, intertwining with frail and bony fingers. Your mother coughs, each sound scratchy like a record player but each syllable lulling you in a state of tenderness.

“Why me, mother?” You asked, your voice betraying your heart. You are stuck in a state of confusion, thoughts spiraling as to why out of all, you?

“My darling, we aren’t made to last forever and there will be no peace in eternity.” As her words spill from her chapped lips and sharp tongue, so do the tears that kiss the bone of your cheeks. 

A sacrificial lamb, agnus. That’s all you were ever destined for. Destined to be nothing but ruins sedimenting until the depths of your soul, a divine offering to a god like him. 

They say that fear is a common reaction to the divine and that does frighten you. A chill suddenly hugged your frame, bones shaking from trepidation. You are born and you blossomed from the land of death, a doomed faith filled with nothing but misery and wisteria. 

A booming knock sounded from the wooden door, along with the crash of thunder storm and the rise and fall of the seas. “It is time! You must hurry, he is angry! The god is getting angry!” accompanied by screams of terror, the children, the people, you thought. The water level rises up along with your constant sobs and tears of panic.

Your mother scurries, holding you up by the sharp points of your elbow forcing you to stand and face your fate. A wretched and noble flavor leaves a bitter taste in your tongue. Your lip curls as to why? A constant question in your mind. You bite your lip in pretense of bravery.

You walk slowly out of the door, facing the unforgiving seas with only a dagger clasped within the calluses of your hand. You walk up until the tips of your toes kiss the foam of the waves, drawing a big breath, a gust of wind fills and expands your lungs, feeling like something is caught in your throat. You close your eyes, wispy lashes caressing your cheeks as tears still escape the tight bindings. You remember all the lives lost and the safety of others, engraved in your mind and forever a resolve.

“Where are you! Show yourself, I am not a coward! I come here to face you.” You shout into oblivion, your saccharine voice echoing through the waters.

“Reveal yourself! Don’t waste my fucking time!” Your shouts are getting angrier, feeling like there’s gravel stuck in your throat. All the while your palms clutch the blade harder, drawing cardinals from the crevices of your palm. 

A swishing sound caused your neck to snap forwards, heavy steps slapping against the salty waters. “Ah, what a sweet lamb, eh?” A Shadow makes its eldritch dance, telling stories of terror in the buoyant breeze. His gravelly voice reaches your ears, it’s depths like a punch in your gut. 

“I can feel your misery sweet lamb.” He taunts, his voice echoing and teasing your mind. You squint through the haze, trying to make up his figure but he blends well with the fog and the raindrops mess with your vision.

You finally get a clear view of his hauntingly beautiful face, a scream making it way past your lips in shock and terror. Your whole life was dedicated to this, but nothing could have prepared you for Sukuna, the god of the unforgiving seas.

“I get that reaction a lot, more than you know.” He says unfazed, walking slowly and unforgiving towards you. You blink to get a clear view of divine masculinity. Blushed hair with markings that tell tales, kissing all over his sinewy form. A man that is not like mankind with four arms and a profusion of faces. 

He is so hauntingly, and devastatingly beautiful.

All the while stunned by the creature, he suddenly shocks you by stabbing his trident with great force and speed, caging in your neck, sharp claws burying in the sand. You let out a sharp cry as your body falls, embracing your impact while your downy skin clashes with the rough sand. Your hands immediately grip the sharp claws of his weapon while trying to find yours. “Do not even try it.” He says with cruel eyes and a sharp smirk.

“No– NO!” You cry out in defeat, your mind spiraling into hysteria. What a fool you thought, your whole life was dedicated to fight and achieve victory against this wretched god, but you were left with defeat in seconds without even a single slash on his scarred skin. 

He kneels down beside your form, caressing your cheeks affectionately. You were dumbfounded and you found yourself leaning into the touch. 

A man you were taught to despise your whole life, was the only man who showed you what affection felt like in a slither of a second. 

You stare at his peculiar face with betraying eyes and lashes wet with tears. “Little lamb, you are an instrument of war.” He says, confusing you even further.

Your chest heaves in confusion, wondering whether to kiss the man or slit his throat. You try to swallow in attempts to relieve the dryness of your throat.

“I don’t understand–” you shake your head, “We’re supposed to, I’m supposed to-” You were interrupted with a feral kiss, his winter lips as cold as stone. It felt like a loving rub to your back, a mother’s affection and a friendship that you missed out on your whole life. His kiss was ferocious and unforgiving, but he has given you nothing but beautiful madness. Your pale white dress clings to your skin, hugging your figure. Baring the sharp points of your nipples due to the coldness of the cruel storm.

His angry, roaming hands make their way to every inch of your body, sanctifying your soul. He reaches your pussy, baring your soul to him. The waves smash around the rocks in the shallows, their foam crests creating a chaotic lace on the blue. 

“What a sweet, sweet lamb, all for me, right?” He asks in a tauntingly soft voice, you can’t do nothing but agree, like a dumbstruck whore. 

Your hips lift in an attempt to chase pleasure as his fingers circle your clit. He grips the skin of your hips in a bruising clutch as his tongue darts out to lick the length of you stomach in a maddening path up and down, sealing his cruel intentions deep into your skin. Open mouthed kisses placed in your lower abdomen as you moan sweetly at the foreign sensation of pleasure and sentiment. Still confused at the fact that you were taught to hate a man who has so far shown you nothing but pleasure and cruel affection.

Sukuna lifts your dress that sticks to your skin angrily, like it was blasphemy for anything to touch your skin other than him. Lush and plump thighs greeted him, along with the sweetest pussy ever bared to him. He parts your pussy lips with his thumb, opening you up in the most sensitive way.

“I love the sounds you make, so sweet, so saccharine.” He says, while his thumb plays with your clit. 

He grips your thighs and lifts your hips, holding you by your iliac crest and greedily covering your cunt with his mouth.

“Not even the sweetest fruit on earth could ever hold a candle to the taste of your pussy.” He murmurs as he eats you out unforgivingly, his tongue stretching you in sweet agony.

“Oh gods, it feels so good.” You moan breathily, he stops momentarily, his hands gripping your face while his sharp nails dig into the plush of your cheeks. 

“I’m here, and I’m the only god you’ll address while you’re bared to me, and only me.” He says with enough force for submission, you could only nod your head in response.

He sits on the soles of his feet as he admires the beautiful picture you paint for him, his cock throbbing while the scent and sweetness of your pussy still lingering on his tongue. 

“You could drive a god crazy and wonder what their fingers did before they held you.” He says in admiration as he fists his cock, veiny and throbbing, dripping with pre-cum.

Your hips twitch in desire and terror, wondering how you’re ever going to take him in your pussy.

His mouth roams around your breast, his incisors driving down and biting on the soft flesh above your left breast, drawing crimson blood and marks all over your body, marking it as his temple.  

You release a cry from the pain and pleasure, the only two other sensations you’ve ever felt other than doom and terror. He shushes your cry by licking on the wound as he releases sounds of pleasure from the taste of your blood and flesh. 

You no longer believe in anything other than the way he holds your flesh between his teeth, as it starts to taste like religion to him.

His hands cage your hips, pinning them down to the sand leaving no room for protest. He aligns his cock to your pussy, driving in full force with no mercy. You cry and cry out from the pain until it turns into pleasure, blood covering the premises of your thighs and his hips. His eyes close from heaven on earth and he looks so beautiful with you all over his mouth.

You moan his name until it is no different than a prayer. You begin to think you’re sick in the head for committing such acts of crime that everyone would shame and frown upon but god you wanted him, in some primal, wild way, full of teeth, blood and flesh.

Because after all, cruelty was the only love you’ve ever known. 

[applestorms]

quickly putting this thought out there while i work on a longer astronaut ramble cuz i'm impatient and this feels relevant to recent conversations. SO: on the topic of light's humanity...

i think there are two key functions that light (emotionally? instinctively? intellectually?) feels that his sense of self MUST fulfill in order for him to be fully satisfied/comfortable with himself as a person. these are:

light must see himself as human, as that is a key part of what makes him Perfect (and also, Pure?)

light must see himself as something above/outside of/detached from human, as that is what allows him to be absolved of murder (if he's a god/the hand of the state/Justice incarnate, he does not have to be judged according to the same ethical rules as humans)

it is this contradiction that light Must uphold throughout the entire series following his initial two killings with the death note. he cannot allow either side to fully drop away without losing the Light that he sees as intrinsically Core to who he is and who he wants to be.

it could maybe be argued that light slowly starts to do away with point (1) as the series progresses, particularly as he loses himself in the roles of L and KIRA, but i would argue that this is not the case. even in the final confrontation with near, light still talks about himself as a person-- in part, because he believes that he needs that Humility in order to garner the respect and praise of other people. he isn't a monster like higuchi, and he isn't quite a totally normal, average person anymore either, but some level of humanity must be a part of who he is or his origins in order to make his godhood/martyr status that much more grand and righteous.

anyway, another possibly contentious point that i Do feel pretty strongly about here is the fact that light connects his supposed purity/perfection to his human side specifically. observe:

this purity point in his little explanation of who he thinks KIRA is always stands out to me because it's the one point that L disagrees with (though i always forget he just says this internally and not out loud =3=")

point is-- at least at this point in the story, light sees his Youth and Innocence as a part of what makes him Pure and Righteous. he is not so young as to be totally naive about the horrors of the world, but he is not old enough to be completely jaded and pessimistic about it either. he is neither stupid, nor petty about his killings. every action is a conscious choice, well thought out in advance in order to pursue the distinct and singular goal of worldwide salvation.

i can't help but see the parallels in the fact that this is likely how other people viewed light growing up before he got the death note-- intelligent beyond his years, in a way that surpasses even most of the adults around him, but still with the Purity of his youth, perhaps unburdened in a way, optimism not yet eroded. he's still trying to live up to the praise other people pile on him and be recognized by their standards. he has an overwhelming ego, yes-- but in a japanese social context, where humility and honoring your elders is key, where a more collectivist mindset means that an individual must be held up through the acceptance and recognition of others and not their own self-praise, he has more of a nuanced social game to play.

[heathersdesk]

My grandfather was killed in a hit and run accident in 1978.

His mother and sister struggled with life after that. They decided to go on a trip across the United States together to get away from things for a while.

I discovered this trip when I was going through photo albums and suddenly saw a place I recognized.

The Salt Lake Temple.

They went to many places during that trip. But there was something truly special to me that, in one of the worst seasons of their lives, they ended up at the temple.

I served part of my mission at Temple Square. I was waiting for a visa to Brazil that I began to think was never coming. I had a truly horrendous time in the MTC babysitting a district of Elders who spent weeks on end bullying me and tearing down my self-esteem. I was told directly by someone, I forget who now, that I was being sent there to recover. And when I realized that the mission had no young Elders in it at all, that it was only Sisters and senior couples, I came to appreciate what that meant.

I had so many wild interactions there with so many people. Some of them were strange, like the guy who viewed the Book of Mormon as proof of alien interactions with humans. There were moments of heartbreak, like the woman who was in tears at the Christus statue who attacked us when we checked in on her. There were moments of pure delight, like when an LDS family with two young daughters came to that same Christus statue. The oldest girl, no older than 4 or 5, squealed "JESUS" and ran to the Savior's feet, little sister in tow. Whenever I hear someone mention the teaching to become as a little child, she is exactly who I think of.

There were also moments that were meant solely for me, like when I met the first Sister to ever be called to the Boston mission I had hoped to go to to wait for my visa. Boston has a large Brazilian population, many of whom are members of the Church. I had begged in prayer to be sent there and was told by other people it wouldn't happen because "Sisters don't go there." I had an entire conversation with the woman who was going to be that change. It seemed cruel to me at the time, dangling the carrot of something I wanted right in front of my face. In time, I've realized it was so I would remember that God does miracles and is aware of the desires of my heart, even if it means I don't get what I want. Someone needed to exercise enough faith to push that door open for women. I put my full weight behind it, and I can be just as proud that it opened for someone else.

But some of my favorite people I met there were people who just made me laugh. I met a Jewish convert from New York who told us his conversion story, how what drew him in was the Plan of Salvation. He summarized it in a New York accent in a voice I can still hear in my mind: "So you're a god, eventually. But can you pay RENT?!"

One of my favorite people I met was a Scottish convert named Agnes who was doing the Mormon trail across the US, beginning in New England and ending in Utah. She was a much older woman and told us all about her pilgrimage, and how she had cuddled with the oxen at the baptismal font in the Manhattan New York Temple. (I've been there. You enter into the baptistry on face level with them, or did the last time I was there.) She shared her testimony with us, and I'll never forget what she said.

She explained that the story of Joseph Smith was really hard to get her mind around. It truly is an insane set of asks: angels, gold plates, polygamy, and all the rest. She talked about how she came to accept it—not through any kind of empirical evidence or proof, but through faith and what that looked like.

For her, it was the recognition that being LDS was the best way she had ever encountered to live an excellent life. She said that the worst case scenario she could imagine is one where God would say to her, "You know that whole business with Joseph Smith was a load of crock, right? But you lived such a good life, I have to let you in anyway."

That has always stayed with me. Agnes was one of many people who came to the Square looking for something. I saw people come there looking for faith, or a fight, and truly everything in between. And it's only now that I'm older and wiser that I see something clearly now that I couldn't see then.

Agnes didn't need to come to Temple Square to find faith. She already had a tremendous amount of faith. She, and many others, were looking for conviction. I was at Temple Square long enough to learn you don't get that from a place. While a place like Temple Square can illuminate the possibilities for conviction through the lens of history, it doesn't bestow that conviction through contact or proximity alone. Conviction is made from the materials of your own life and your own choices. Your will, how firmly you place yourself into an immovable and unyielding position, is the measure of your convictions. It comes from within.

Faith is the decision to believe in what you cannot see, and what cannot be proven objectively. That never goes away. Nothing we experience in life, no place we ever visit, will create a shortcut under, over, or around that decision to believe, to trust in God. Faith, at its core, is a decision. The ability to continue making that decision over and over again, under all species of hardship and opposition, is conviction.

Where Jesus walked is nowhere near as important as how Jesus walked, and with whom. The same is true for all of us. Our walk with God might never take us anywhere near a temple because of where God has called us to go. But we are the holiest dwelling places of God on earth—not any of the buildings we've made.

Be a holy place of living faith wherever you are, whatever your circumstances may be. Worship God, no matter what places you can or cannot enter. There is more than one way to access a temple. One way is to enter a place that people invite God to dwell. The other is to become that place. There can be no separation from God where communion never ceases. It is the refuge that is unassailable by others for as long as the person wills it so. The torch within will not go out.

The temple is not special because it has some holy essence that springs forth out of nothing, to passively be absorbed by others. The temple is special because it directs people to Jesus Christ, who is the giver of healing and peace. The temple is just a building. It's Jesus Christ that is the true power behind it all, whose objective is to make you, me, and every person you know the holiest creature you've ever beheld. You are the end goal.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Ellen Hutter and Jungian archetypes in "Nosferatu" (2024)

Persona: Victorian identity

The “conformity archetype”; created for reasons of adaptation or personal convenience. The “masks” we wear in different situations; it conceals our true selves, presenting us as someone different to who we really are.

“Everything I say sounds so childish.” "I was but a innocent child." “Keep away from me! I’m unclean!”

Ellen projecting an image of innocence, naivety, purity and modesty, and infantilizing herself before others (because Victorian society decreed women should have these characteristics). Her overbearing “protection” and worry over Thomas, to present herself as a submissive and doting Victorian wife (we only see her acting this way around Victorian characters). For instance, when she scares Anna in the middle of the night, she even sounds like an actual child (“May I stay with you tonight?”). This is her mask, her Persona, that she uses to hide her true self.

This convinces both Thomas and Anna Harding, but not Friedrich Harding, who sees her true self because they are alike (“rutting goat”; “always hungry”, "ardent nature”) and there's an unconscious recognition happening here ("Why do you hate me? You never liked me. Never."); Harding resents her because she a woman, and as such she shouldn’t have this nature, while Ellen is envious of him because he gets to display his sexuality freely, while she has to repress hers.

Ego: Her true Self

The Ego and the Self are different, but connected. Ego is both conscious (our individuality) and unconscious, and Self is the total personality of the individual. To achieve the Self it can be a lifelong process, through individuation and self-realisation. The unconscious is where the Shadow self and Anima/Animus exist.

“The honeymoon was yet too short [...] One minute more.” "He told me about you. He told me how foolish you were. How fearful. How like a child. How you fell into his arms as a swooning lily of a woman." “You could never please me as he could.”

Ellen’s sexuality and her supernatural abilities, that she seeks to repress with her Persona. Her calling out to Orlok the entire story (prologue; maiden’s token; giving him entrance to Wisburg and to the Hardings household), but since her Shadow self is not integrated, she behaves as if she is a victim of Orlok’s haunting: begging Von Franz to help her; talking about how her dreams "grow darker" and accusing Orlok of corrupting her innocence; when it's her sexual energy that conjures him and everything that happens in this story is according to her own will.

Her true self comes to the surface on some occasions: when her teenage self performs Black Magic at the prologue (necromancy); when she’s so happy at her dream of everyone dying and marrying Death (Orlok); when she creates the maiden’s token; when she passionately kisses Thomas (devouring him, almost); when she rejects God; when she displays her sexual desire for Orlok and when she taunts Thomas about his failures; and when she says she needs no salvation. This is who Ellen truly is.

And like Friedrich Harding resents Ellen, we see Ellen resenting Herr Knock ("I never liked that man. Never."). What recognition does Ellen sees in Knock? They both use Sex Magick (sexual energy) to conjure Orlok, for a start. Unlike Ellen, Knock doesn’t hide his connection nor covenant with Orlok. What Ellen claims to be her “shame”, Knock is proud of. They both reject Christianity, but Knock fully embraces Paganism.

Shadow Self: Count Orlok

When we over please others with our Persona, it creates the Shadow. This is the unknown dark side of our personality; everything we deny in ourselves (what we perceive as inferior, evil, or unacceptable) becomes part of our Shadow self.

A weak adaptation of the Shadow results in low level of personality, causing the individual to behave like a passive victim of his shadow, extremely worried with the opinion of others, a walking Persona. Those who don’t look at their Shadow directly, project them onto others: the qualities we cannot stand in others, it’s the qualities we have in ourselves and don’t wish to see (which is what is happening between Ellen, Friedrich Harding and Herr Knock in this narrative).

“It is not me. It is your nature.” "You deceive yourself."

Orlok as a monster of Ellen’s own creation by the repression of her true self: he’s the embodiment of her “devourence" and "appetite", uncontrollable lust after being repressed for so long. He’s also a representation of demonized female sexuality by Victorian society; seen as a monstrosity and a plague in need of containment; hence why she resurrected him during her sexual awakening (15 years old) and her sexuality stays connected to him after that (which she considers “her shame”).

He symbolizes free sexuality, demonized Pagan beliefs, the demonized foreigner. He and Ellen are like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He’s also described as very masculine, and Thomas feels emasculated by him, as we see Orlok feeding on Thomas (as Ellen herself wished she could devour him). Orlok is also the animus to Ellen’s anima. We see Ellen rejecting Orlok because he represents the parts of herself she doesn’t want to confront nor claim as her own.

And if we go to the Freudian angle of Ellen conjuring Orlok over being hurt and lonely because her father didn’t give her physical affection anymore, oh boy… and this happening during her sexual awakening? Electra Complex. It’s the total opposite of those ridiculous “Ellen’s father abused her” interpretations, because this is Ellen wanting to have sex with her father. Especially since Orlok was probably the same age as her father at the time.

Integration/Assimilation of Shadow:

Our Shadow self can be integrated through Shadow work, because this is a central part of the process to balance our psyche and of the process of individuation. As we integrate our Shadow self, we dismantle the Persona, and come closer to our true Selves. In the “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” dynamic it has to be Dr. Jekyll (the conscious personality) to integrate the Shadow, and not the other way around (otherwise one becomes a slave to their Shadow self); and this is what we see here, as it’s Ellen who has to accept Orlok, of her own free will, and not the other way around.

“I need no salvation. My entire life I have no ill but heed my nature.” “Our spirits are one.”

At the end, Ellen accepts Orlok’s covenant of being one with him ever-eternally, which symbolizes the integration of her Shadow Self, and the dissolution of her Persona (Victorian identity), as she embraces her true self.

In this last scene we see her assimilating her Shadow, as she accepts herself completely, and her past resentment towards Friedrich Harding and Herr Knock resonates in this scene: she embraces Paganism and uses Sex Magick to break Nosferatu curse, and publically displays her sexuality and connection to Orlok to Thomas, Von Franz and Dr. Sievers. No longer shameful nor hiding: it's in the broad daylight for everyone to see.

This is a very simplified version of a broader subject; and I was waiting for someone from the psychology field to analyze this topic. The “anima/animus” is whole discussion I won’t enter because this surpasses my area.

[eepwtf]

kai parker and “onanist” breakdown .ᐟ

in "onanist," the yearning for love and grace is juxtaposed against the desolation of the soul—a perfect parallel to kai’s internal struggle. his life is a dirge, a lamentation soaked in blood and sin. his life is a testament to the rot of the soul, the decay that comes from living without love, empathy, or redemption. his actions are sins that corrode him from within, each act of violence further decomposing his humanity. kai is a modern-day cain, a marked man who wanders the earth, his soul festering under the weight of his own sins. the "long, long wood" is his purgatory, a place where he exists in a state of perpetual rot, craving something he can never attain—love, grace, and peace.

kai's connection to "onanist" lies in this shared theme of yearning amidst decay. his life is a haunting testament to the agony of being unable to love or be loved, of witnessing one’s own moral and spiritual deterioration, and of wandering through a metaphorical wasteland where salvation is forever out of reach.

"witness to such agony" his life is a spectacle of suffering, not only for those he harms but for himself. his actions(murdering his family, amongst other things) are rooted in his inability to cope with his own anguish and alienation. kai is both the perpetrator and the witness of agony, trapped in a cycle of inflicting pain to momentarily silence his inner turmoil. he siphons magic and life from others, not just for power but as a desperate attempt to fill the void within him, a void that only grows larger with each act of violence.

"but there, before the grace of god go i" this line resonates deeply with kai’s character. despite his sociopathy, there’s a tragic awareness of his own lost potential, a recognition that, in another life or with different circumstances, he might have been something more. he stands before the grace of god but is eternally barred from it, his own choices and nature condemning him to a graceless existence. kai's rejection of divinity and morality isn’t just a rebellion—it’s a resignation to the belief that grace, love, and redemption are unattainable for someone as broken as he is.

"i want to know love / i want to know what it feels like" despite the layers of darkness, there is a flicker of humanity within him—a yearning to experience the one thing that his monstrous nature denies him: love. but this desire is corrupted, twisted by the rot inside him. he craves connection but is incapable of forming it in a healthy way. his understanding of love is twisted, corrupted by his own trauma and self-loathing. kai’s desire to know love is not a plea for salvation but a grim acknowledgment of his eternal deprivation. his heart, metaphorically rotting, longs for a warmth he can never hold, leaving him in perpetual emotional decay.

i did say i would be insufferable on jan 8!!

[imaginalstudio]

Proverbs 3:5-6 Through a Nondual Lens: Returning to Eden Through Trust

Proverbs 3:5-6 (KJV): “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

At first glance, this passage appears to be about simple trust in God, but when examined through a nondual lens—especially in light of the original sin of dualistic perception—it reveals a deeper teaching about surrendering the illusion of separation and returning to direct unity with existence.

The Original Sin: Dualistic Thinking and the Fall from Eden

The so-called “original sin” in Genesis is commonly misinterpreted as moral wrongdoing. Instead, it represents the shift from nondual awareness (paradise/Eden) into the realm of dualistic perception—the belief in a separate self distinct from God and the world. • The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil represents the emergence of dualistic thinking—categorizing reality into opposites (good/evil, self/other, subject/object). • The “Fall” is the descent into ego-consciousness, which divides reality into “me” and “not-me,” losing the innate unity with God. • Expulsion from Eden symbolizes humanity’s exile into a world of fragmented perception, where suffering arises from the illusion of separateness.

Proverbs 3:5-6 directly addresses the reversal of this process: trusting in Yahweh rather than “leaning on your own understanding” is a call to abandon egoic, dualistic thinking and return to direct, embodied nonduality.

Yahweh (YHWH) and Jesus (Yeshua): Names as Nondual Pointers

YHWH (יהוה), the tetragrammaton, is unpronounceable because it represents Being itself. • Some scholars suggest it derives from “Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh” (אהיה אשר אהיה): “I Am That I Am,” which is not a name but a direct statement of presence, beyond subject-object distinction. • The refusal to assign a “name” to God in Hebrew tradition prevents conceptualization, keeping the divine in the realm of ineffable reality rather than objectified thought.

Yeshua (ישוע), translated as Jesus, means “YHWH is salvation.” • “Salvation” (yeshuah) in Hebrew implies restoration, wholeness—not escape from hell, but liberation from ignorance (avidyā in Vedantic terms). • Jesus’ role is not to “forgive sins” in the sense of moral transgressions, but to dissolve the root ignorance that causes the perceived separation from God.

Thus, Proverbs 3:5-6 is an invitation to move beyond conceptual reliance (leaning on “your own understanding”) and into direct recognition of YHWH as the ever-present, ever-living reality that is already here. This is nondual being, not belief.

Sin as a Tool of Control vs. the Original Sin of Separation

The word “sin” has been co-opted by religious authorities to impose moral frameworks that serve social control rather than spiritual awakening. However, its original meaning tells a different story: • In Hebrew, chet (חֵטְא) means “to miss the mark.” It is not about breaking rules but about misperceiving reality—failing to see the unity of all things. • In Greek, hamartia (ἁμαρτία) carries the same meaning: a fundamental error in perception, not a moral failing.

This means that the real “sin” is not in specific actions but in the mistaken assumption that one is separate from God. Religious authorities replaced this understanding with local moral prohibitions, often tied to the interests of those in power.

Thus, Proverbs 3:5-6 does not mean “trust in religious authority and abandon reason” but rather “release the illusion of a separate self and abide in direct knowing of God.” This is why Jesus, rather than reinforcing religious law, directly criticized the Pharisees for legalism while embodying a higher truth.

Local Moral Teachings vs. the Universal Teaching of Nonduality

Moral teachings in scripture often reflect the cultural context of the time rather than universal spiritual truth. Proverbs, like much of the Old Testament, contains both timeless wisdom and localized ethical codes. The distinction is crucial: • Local morality is about maintaining order in a given time and place (e.g., dietary laws, ritual purity, social conduct). • Universal truth is about the nature of reality itself—and this is where the true teaching of Christ lies.

When Proverbs 3:5-6 advises trust in Yahweh rather than one’s own understanding, it is not saying to abandon reason for blind obedience, but rather to cease clinging to the illusion of an individual, separate self that believes it must “figure everything out.” This is why Jesus later states, “The Kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21)—pointing to direct, present realization rather than externalized doctrines.

Eating from the Tree of Life: Returning to Nondual Being

If the Tree of Knowledge represents dualistic thinking, then the Tree of Life represents nondual being—Eden regained. In Revelation 2:7, Jesus states:

“To the one who overcomes, I will grant to eat from the Tree of Life, which is in the paradise of God.”

To “overcome” is not about moral perfection but transcending the illusion of separation. This is why Jesus’ teachings were radical: they were about dissolving ego-identification, not enforcing religious law.

Proverbs 3:5-6 is an early whisper of this truth: • Trusting in Yahweh (Being itself) means surrendering the false self, ceasing to “lean on” the mind’s limited categories. • Acknowledging Him in all ways means seeing everything as already divine, eliminating the dualistic split between sacred and profane. • When this happens, “He will direct your paths”—not through external commands, but through the spontaneous alignment that occurs when one is no longer resisting reality.

Conclusion: Proverbs 3:5-6 as a Key to Liberation

Proverbs 3:5-6, when properly understood, is not a call to blind faith but a profound nondual teaching about surrendering the mind’s habitual dualism and abiding in YHWH—Being itself. • Sin is not breaking laws, but misperceiving reality. • Religious authorities co-opted “sin” to control populations. • Jesus’ mission was to reveal nonduality—“The Father and I are One.” • Proverbs 3:5-6 invites us to drop the illusion of separateness and trust reality itself. • The Tree of Life is nondual realization, and Eden is always already here.

This is not theory—it is being.

[smokeygrayrabbits]

singing vash thoughts sparked wolfwood thoughts. once again a notes app special that I have no explanation or context for. but it's taking up my storage. sorry in advance to any poor soul reading this

legends of the punisher make their way through gunsmoke, whispered on dark doorsteps and carved into shadowed walls.

the singing reaper. soft whistling, the hum of hymns long forgotten to time, lyrics whispered out, a mocking imitation of the final breaths they mark.

soft singing becomes a funeral march for his targets. a last dance with the angel of death.

but for some, it's salvation. an angels chorus, the feeling of divine protection for children walking home at night, for the weak and weary, hummed in cozy bars by those who know they're safe as long as they're wrapped up in his whispered gospel

one day, an angel enters the choir. and the chorus changes forever. now it sings of a tragic love, the worship of a faithless priest for this scarred angel.

the cantor has found his muse.

gospel and hymns preaching the soft draping warmth of a coat of bloodstained feathers, a halo of golden thorns, the watchful eyes as deep as forgotten oceans, overflowing with lonelyness and repentance and unconditionalallconsuming love. an angel who guides humanity from their death instead of to it.

millions Knives sends the punisher after the angel. and that's fine. it's a priests duty to obey a god, no matter the orders.

the punisher follows the angel across the sands. through blazes of bullets, out of towns away from fire and pitchforks and mobs of nonbelivers.

the punisher is only following orders.

orders bring the angel to the steps of the church built in his name. to his other half who wants to become whole once more.

wolfwood fulfills his role as shepard, guiding trapping the angel to the alter.

his duty is complete. wolfwood leaves.

Meryl drags him back.

it's too late.

there's no recognition in vash's eyes, no more of the soft caring looks that he kept giving wolfwood, just a rabid fear as he fights and fights and tries to get away, get to nai,

and maybe vash fights back for real now, maybe he punches wolfwood with his prosthetic hand, hard like wolfwood had always wanted him to, instead of giving him impossibly sad stares. maybe wolfwood is now staring down the barrel of a gun not designed to kill, but lord knows vash is gonna try

a single tear slips down vash's cheek. he doesn't seem to notice as he levels the gun against wolfwood

falling stars dropping from the fear filled eyes of his angel

without realizing it, or even knowing why, vash is crying, gun steady and levelled on wolfwood, but he shakes just enough to know something is wrong and why is he crying but he doesn't know this man then why is he crying why does this man look so afraid, not of the gun, but of him and why is he crying

no, he realizes, not of him

for him.

blank eyes cry but the gun never falters, and wolfwood can’t help but smile, chuckle tasting like bile in his throat, a smile that should have vash faltering, that in any other circumstance would make vash second guess, but his hand remains steady, ghosting over the trigger as wolfwood sends one final prayer of penance, one last plea for salvation that he knows he doesn’t deserve because it was him who killed the angel and gave him a gun

the longer they stand there, vash crying and shaking but gun oh so steady in practiced hands, and wolfwood trying to get some kind of recognition from him what was that he'd said about a memory to bring back his true self? and eventually wolfwood moves to acceptance. he knew he would die someday. with his positon? it was a given. but wait, no, he cant accept this. vash swore to never kill, and wolfwood would never be able to let the only person vash personally delivers to hell be himself, that'd hurt vash far too much, even if he can't tell now

he doesn't really know why, but wolfwood starts humming. maybe a final attempt to comfort himself before the end. maybe to try and get vash to have any other look on his face than that blankness woldwood always hated that look. nothing never was a good look on vash, on this bright vibrant alive angel of a man hell, maybe wolfwood just wanted to face his end creating something, after destroying so much in his short life. a final attempt at repentance.

so wolfwood hums.

the very same tune he heard fall from vash's own lips while wolfwood pretended to be asleep as to not startle the soft, melancholy creature that would emerge from vash in the solitude of a silent night, under the watchful eye of the stars vash came from.

so wolfwood hums.

knives freezes. the satisfied grin falling from his face. leaving it slack with rage and something that looks tragically like nostalgia and grief (of a childhood, of simpler long abandoned.)

wolfwood shifts his gaze back to vash as if he could ever tear them away from that beautiful face for even a moment. he tries to burn this angels face into his mind. those blue eyes, always filled with an ocean deep, unending grief that wolfwood had only just began to lighten if only he had more time. the gentle slope of his cheekbones, pale and soft despite a centure of pain in an unforgiving desert the planes of vash's face always fit so nicely against his shoulder, his chest, his lap. the arching brows that would shoot up in theatric shock at the smallest hint of dumbfuckery vash had mentioned wanting a piercing there, once. when they were nearing the bottom of a bottle in some forgotten nowhere town. he would have dragged Nick along with him, to hold his hand. the same hand that had the barrel of a gun leveled at wolfwoods chest. the soft point of his nose wolfwood booped it once. vash practically flipped over backwards, adorably wide eyed and flushed the rest of the day. wolfwood pretended he didn't. seeing vash touching the same spot over and over again for the rest of the night. wolfwood made a point of doing it as often as possible after that.his eyes traced the sharp edge of vash's jaw which always dug into wolfwoods shoulder on long rides, bony asshole, but fit so nicely in his hand. finally, wolfwoods gaze, still humming like a funeral march, reached vash's lips, and the train of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth, slack and blank like the rest of vash's face and wasn't that just awful. blank never was a good look on vash, on this bright, vibrant, alive, angel of a man. a smile was better. come on darlin', smile. you always look best wearin' a smile wolfwood traces those lips with his eyes what he wouldn't give to do it one last time with his fingertips, his tongue. God what he wouldn't give to kiss those lips again, always so petal soft despite decades in the sun

blood drips from vash's mouth, spilling like ruby tears onto that coat of red this tragic angel always wraps himself in. drops disappearing, hidden from view swallowed up and squirreled away like so much of vash's pain, as soon as they meet the crimson fabric.

wolfwood hums.

knives rages nai remembers.

and vash screams

[melissalencioni]

I've always felt like half of a whole, searching for my other self in a world that seems increasingly fragmented. The concept of twin flames once brought me hope, but lately, it's been a source of deep longing and frustration. Where are you, my mirror soul? I wander through life, feeling the emptiness of your absence, the incompleteness of my being.

The collective energy around me feels heavy, weighted down by fear, anger, and division. I absorb it like a sponge, my own vibration sinking lower with each passing day. The news, the conversations, the very air seems thick with negativity. I struggle to maintain my light, to hold onto the belief that there's a greater purpose to this separation and suffering.

Days blend into weeks, then months. I find myself withdrawing, seeking solitude as a shield against the world's chaos. But in this isolation, a realization slowly dawns – I am not separate from the collective. My pain, my longing, my search for completion – it's all part of a greater whole.

With this understanding comes a shift. Instead of focusing solely on finding my twin flame, I begin to work on raising my own vibration. Meditation, acts of kindness, connecting with nature – small steps that gradually lift my energy. To my surprise, I notice changes in those around me. Smiles come more easily, random acts of generosity become more frequent.

As I continue this practice, I feel a subtle but profound change in the collective energy. The weight begins to lift, replaced by a growing sense of unity and purpose. In this rising tide of positivity, I find my own heart opening, my spirit lightening. The ache for my twin flame transforms into a love for all beings, a recognition of the divine in everyone.

And then, when I least expect it, I feel a pull – a resonance unlike anything I've experienced before. Could it be? In this moment of collective awakening, have we finally aligned our energies enough to find each other? I don't know what the future holds, but for the first time, I feel truly whole, with or without my twin flame. The journey to raise the vibration of the collective has healed something deep within me, reminding me that in seeking to uplift others, we often find our own salvation.

[francesbeau]

The Culture of Narcissism - Christopher Lasch

American Life in An Age of Diminishing Expectations. 

Preface: 

The Awareness Movement and the Social Invasion of the self 

- Sense of Ending which has given shape to so much of twentieth century literature : as the twentieth century approaches its end, the conviction grows that many other things are ending too.’ . 

‘The contemporary climate is therapeutic not religious. people today hunger not for personal salvation, let alone for the restoration of an earlier golden age, but for the feeling, the momentary illusion of personal well-being, health, and psychic security.’ (pp.7)

‘Having displaced religion as the organizing framework of American culture, the therapeutic outlook threatened to displace politics aswell.; (pp13)

- surrender yourself to the latest products of modern technology 

The Narcissistic Personality of Our Time 

- ‘every age develops its own peculiar form of pathology which express in exaggerated form its underlying character structure.’ In Freuds time hysteria and obsessional neurosis carried to extremes the personality traits associated with the capitalist order at an earlier stage in its development - fanatical devotion to work. 

- ‘The ethic of self preservation and psychic survival is rooted the, not merely in objective conditions of economic warfare, rising rates of crime and social chaos but in the the subjective experience of emptiness and isolation.’ (0051) 

- ‘The ideology of personal grown, superficially optimistic, radiates a profound disrepair and resignation. ‘(pp51)

Changing Modes of Making It

- Protestant work ethic was one of the most important underpinnings of American culture. according to the myth of capitalist enterprise thrift and industry held the key to material success and spiritual fulfillment.’ 

- ‘The self made man, archetypal embodiment of the American dream owed his advancement to habits of industry, sobriety, moderation self discipline and avoidance of debt.’

- In the age of diminishing expectations the protestant virtues no longer excite enthusiasm.’ (pp.53)

- ‘Self preservation has replaced self improvement as the goal of earthly existence.’ 

The Eclipse of Achievement: 

- ‘In a society in which the dream of  success has been drained of any meaning beyond itself, men have nothing against which to measure their achievements except the achievements of others.’ (pp.59)

‘Self-approval depends on public recognition and claim, and the quality of this approval has undergone.’ ‘Today men seek approval the kind of approval that applauds not their actions but their personal attributes. they wished not so much to be esteemed, but admired.’ 

‘They crave not fame, but the glamour and excitement of celebrity. they want to be envied rather than respected. pride and acquisitiveness, the sins of an ascendant capitalist have given way to vanity.’ 

‘Success in our society needs to be ratified by publicity.’ (pp.60) 

‘The propaganda of death and destruction emanating ceaselessly from the mass media, adds to the prevailing atmosphere of insecurity.’

- Absence of continuality in the converge of events .... 

Ironic Detachment as an escape from routine

- I’m our society, anxious self criticism only serves to regulate information signaled to others. It also established an ironic distance from the deadly routine of daily life.’ (pp94)

- ‘He takes refuge in jokes, mockery and cynicism. - by refusing to take seriously the routines he has to perform, he denies their capacity to injure him.’ (pp.95)

- ‘by demystifying daily life, he conveys to himself and others the impression that he has risen above it, even as he goes through the motions and does what is expected of him.’ (pp.95)

The socialization of reproduction and the collapse of authority

- ‘as the child begins to perceive his mothers limitations he relinquishes the image of maternal perfection and begins to take over many of her functions to provide for his own comfort. Any idealized version of the mother lives on the child’s subconscious. Diminished however by the daily experience of maternal fallibility’

- the Marcus stick mother incessant yet curiously perfunctory attentions go her c go of interfere with the mechanism of optimal frustration.’ Because she so often sees the child as an extension of herself she lavishes awkward out of touch attentions onto the child

- by treating her child as an exclusive Possession she encourages an exaggerated sense of his own importance.’ Pp173

- ‘co fixed her child deserves the best of everything she arranges every detail of his life with a zeal that undermines his initiative and destroys his capacity for self-help’ (pp.173)

-Women with "otherwise well-integrated personalities, according to Dr. Reich, unconsciously seek to please a narcissistic mother by replacing the missing father, either by elaborating grandiose fantasies of success or by attaching themselves to successful men.’ (pp.174)

The flight from feeling: sociopathology of the sex war

Russel once predicted that the socialization of reproduction - the super session of the family by the state- would make def move itself. Orr trivial ‘en courage a certain trivia Ty in all personal relate so

 ‘the cult of intimacy conceals a growing despair of finding it.’ (pp.188)

[kaijuposting]

Recognition of the Self through recognition of the Other

Rejection of the Self through rejection of the Other

Destruction of the Self through destruction of the Other

Salvation of the Self through salvation of the Other

[agapewizard]

➝ THE CLEAN HAND. 🔑

The clean hand has no drama. People are emotionally addicted to drama, thus they will do ANYTHING to run in the opposite direction of the clean hand. This is why reality TV shows are rising off the charts. We have 800 cable TV stations, 350 sports channels, 150 News channels, and the rest are trivial bullshit – so called “Reality” tv and vampire monologues, etc. The clean hand has no care about that trivial non-sense. The clean hand cares about the greater good…

The REAL greater good. The greater good that does not involve profit, greed, lust, twisted desires of the flesh, robbing someone to get ahead in a dog eat dog world, worrying about death, worrying about bills, worrying about your children, stressing out over offending someone, fearing getting pulled over for a violation of “the code”.

The clean hand does not concern itself with that NONSENSE nor does it concern itself with the little ego self! The clean hand is only concerned with equality, prosperity for all, abundance, TRUE Order, TRUE care, TRUE principles. Natural law, original essences of things, pure substances, purity of self leading to purity of actions leading to purity of the world. Pattern Recognition. Logical methods. Ascending structures leading to more and more freedom.

This is not some fancy “ideology” or “Utopian” fantasy. This is the true nature of the operational structure of our Universe. The Ancient Greeks named the Universe KOSMOS which literally means harmony; order. Compare that to how science depicts our Universe today: Random and “by chance”. If you study the clean hand, you will come to find that our so called “enlightened” people of today are actually dumber than they’ve ever been. The so called “Illuminati” are actually disseminating darkness and destruction.

The Clean hand is about building something that is lasting, forever, and true. The Bible speaks of heaven on Earth to come, and it will come. This post here is a trumpet call to usher in that heaven on Earth. The clean hand will not get dirty in the process of the destruction of the hand holding the pile of manure. That hand will simply be cut off like the parable illustrates in Matthew 5:30 “If your right hand makes you stumble, cut it off and throw it from you; for it is better for you to lose one of the parts of your body, than for your whole body to go into hell.” An allegory regarding deception. It must be removed otherwise it will infect the Truth and overcome it.

The clean hand is about victory over the desires of the flesh and these selfish desires must be attended to with painful exertions. But it must be done. All our senses and powers must be kept from those things which lead to transgression against the clean hand. Those who lead others into temptation to commit transgressions against the natural order of the universe make themselves guilty of their errors, and will be accountable for it.

Accountable for it through the reaping of what they sow. Sowing Negative thoughts, emotions, and actions in the world reap negative consequences as a result. This is the simple truth of nature and her gentle laws. If painful withdrawals from nasty habits are submitted to, that our lives may be saved, what ought our minds to shrink from, when the salvation of our souls is concerned? There is tender mercy under all the sacred requirements, and their IS REQUIREMENTS to receiving the outcomes that we “claim” to want. Grace and consolations of the clean hand will enable us to attend to them.

To demystify what I am conveying here, the clean hand is the spirit and the filthy hand is the flesh. The clean hand is truth and the filthy hand is sin/ error/ transgression against the clean hand. Our minds contain elements of both hands simultaneously. Our best defense against poison entering our minds is learning the structural method of logic as laid out by Aristotle and expounded upon by Thomas Aquinas and John Locke.

And our best route for conveying pure wisdom into the world is the structural method of rhetoric as laid out by Aristotle. Aristotle himself, held truth to be the highest aspiration whereas the sophists held the “selfish desire” of “appearing” correct to be the highest. The Sophists do not elevate truth, they elevate errors, selfishness, egomania, vanity, pride, wealth, power… all the same exact forces of demons we are contending with today.

The clean hand is God, holy, whole, holistic, righteous, Right, is where our Rights spring from… whereas the filthy hand lays down seeds of evil, spawns satanic ideologies, confused thoughts, foolish actions, emotional outcries, theft of rights, issues “privilege”, and declares authority. The clean hand washes the filth away. The filthy hand spreads germs, disease, malcontent, and distress. The clean hand is Sovereign unto responsibility, integrity, honesty and respect whereas the filthy hand is sovereign by “prestige” only.

[madewithonerib]

The Prodigal Son and GOD’s Awaiting Embrace

Clint Baldwin, Executive Director

This last weekend, my pastor offered a sermon on a topic that has been near to my heart for a long time and has also been part of Word Made Flesh discussions for a long time, too. He spoke about the parable of the Prodigal Son and throughout referenced Henri Nouwen’s classic text that explores Rembrandt’s painting related to the parable.

In connection with this parable, I’ve been pondering again the vital and wonderful Upside-Down Kingdom, Gospel idea that none of us are the heroes or heroines of our story. Our Lord takes this role. The root of anything truly/authentically/genuinely good, heroic, beautiful, etc. about us is derived/bestowed/gifted; it is not original to us. That is, we were made/created to be able to manifest such qualities, but as much as we might like to believe in our own capabilities these qualities are not self-engendered.

The scriptures remind us that our salvation, our righteousness, our belonging, our belovedness and the like come by grace. Such characteristics are gifted by God. They are not produced by us (as per Romans, we learn that none are righteous of their own making). A status of goodness cannot be achieved by our efforts; this alleviates both the possibility of boasting and the need for shame. The book of Isaiah reminds us that to God our righteousness is as rags. Paul the apostle in the book of Philippians shares that he considers even the best of his striving to be rubbish.

Recognition of our limitations and inabilities is not at all meant to bring us shame. Rather, the Lord means us to be free of the burden of the shackles of performance. Our worth is ultimately not based upon any form of imaginable self-(fill-in-the-blank). Instead, our worth is based on the fact that we are Loved by the One who made and sustains us. This applies to everyone, everywhere, always. This reality is one of the major messages of the parable of the prodigal son. While our unhealthy actions will at times set certain negative consequences in motion, above, beyond, and deeper, is Love that remains welcoming of us.

This is the message of Joy and Freedom that we seek to share everywhere we go with everyone that we meet. From the foundation of the world, before anyone anywhere could do anything about it, pervasive, unquenchable Love permeated every single aspect of existence at its core. Anything not fully expressing Love is a deviation from the ultimate norm that governs the universe.

Understanding that we will not ever be the ultimate heroines/heroes of our story fosters a healthy sense of Humility that assists us in guarding against an aggrandizing pride that is harmful to self and others. It allows us to simultaneously have Grace for others and for ourselves.

Having done harm and having experienced hardship, the Prodigal Son comes back to the Father. The Father with open arms welcomes and celebrates this choice of return. The son remained loved by the Father while leaving and while far off, but through all kinds of misunderstanding the son’s comprehension of his inestimable and intrinsic value was obscured. False ideas that we hold about ourselves sometimes keep us from God, but they do not keep God from us. As false ideas are erased, our need for God becomes apparent – as it became apparent to the Prodigal Son that his place was in his Father’s home. As false ideas are erased, our propensity toward unhealthy action dissipates, and we find ourselves leaning into and held in God’s awaiting embrace. These arms sustain us even when we are not pursuing being embraced, but there is a profound sweetness in reciprocated relationality. It is a beautiful thing when we find ourselves in the Embrace of God that at every moment awaits our return to consciously accepting its Presence.

Considering the topic, I am reminded of a chapter titled “Jesus the Healer” by Jean Vanier in his book, Be Not Afraid. The chapter well showcases both our need for the Savior and His love for us. If you have time, I highly encourage you to read it.

In closing, I leave you with the prayer that has been called “The Romero Prayer” after Oscar Romero. However, the prayer was actually written by another. I know that many of you have come to love this prayer. I offer it here because the whole prayer is wonderful and it poignantly fits this reflection. I particularly appreciate the succinct reminder that, “We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.” That is, it’s not principally who we are, but Whose we are.

Oscar Romero

So, friends, grace to you today. May you continue in your work and ministry recognizing that you are Loved by your Creator and Sustainer. In such recognition of God’s Love for you, may you continue to offer to others paths into understanding the availability of God’s unfailing Love for them too.

May God who is the Hero of each of our stories, guide us as we seek to learn to be His disciples, friends, and children.

It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view. The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision. We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work. Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us. No statement says all that could be said. No prayer fully expresses our faith. No confession brings perfection. No pastoral visit brings wholeness. No program accomplishes the Church’s mission. No set of goals and objectives includes everything. This is what we are about. We plant the seeds that one day will grow. We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise. We lay foundations that will need further development. We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities. We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and to do it very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker. We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.

__________________ This prayer was first presented by Cardinal Dearden in 1979 and quoted by Pope Francis in 2015. This reflection is an excerpt from a homily written for Cardinal Dearden by then-Fr. Ken Untener on the occasion of the Mass for Deceased Priests, October 25, 1979. Pope Francis quoted Cardinal Dearden in his remarks to the Roman Curia on December 21, 2015. Fr. Untener was named bishop of Saginaw, Michigan, in 1980.

[reginrokkr]

■ ■ ■ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐊𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐈'𝐀𝐇.

⭑ Default age: 23+     ✩ Timeline: Thousands of years ago      ⭑ Status: Nobleman

Receiving visitants from the continent of Teyvat in the Khaenri'ah denizens' mind was a rarity in itself given the difficult circumstances under which one must travel. Even more so it was when said visitant had no recollections whatsoever of the reason why he visited the lands within the perpetual crimson moon's reign. Naturally, suspicions fell upon this "traveler" that stirred from the roof of the society, the nobility which were kept under shadows upon hearing word that Dáinsleif possesses the distinctive eyes of a pure-blooded Khaenri'ahn: star shaped pupils.

Together with other five prominent figures in Khaenri'ah, he became one of the pillars of Khaenri'ah— a man who would carry the hopes and dreams of its people. Nevertheless, as years passed by, he was witness of the fall to the Abyss his newfound brother and the other four experienced, which would later lead to a fallout between the group as each of them pursued their own goals while Dáinsleif continued to see for the world's safety as well as Khaenri'ah's prosperity, vigilant of the inevitable that would the Vinster King rocking the foundations of the world and eventually the cataclysm to come.

■ ■ ■ 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑.

⭑ Default age: Thousands of years      ✩ Timeline: From thousands of years ago to 500 years

Dáinsleif, in all his might as the Twilight Sword, was insufficient to face on his own the overwhelming powers of the gods as he was abandoned by the other five who once sought Khaenri'ah's glory and prosperity. Not only that, among the gods who brought desolation to Khaenri'ah was a figure that stirred something untold within him, a recognition in his heart that a divine spell prevents from reaching his mind until the goddess speaks of betrayal and failure to save her. It was in that moment when Dáinsleif reminisces at her will that he was supposed to rescue his lost sister but forgot about her instead and projected his protective instincts towards a nation filled with “sinners”.

Overwhelmed by negative feelings of guilt, self-hatred and powerlessness, the same which transformed the people he once protected was slowly tainting his body until he listened to the voice of Teyvat’s core and his corruption came to a halt for a price: an immense pain shook his body to the very core as his skin cracked everywhere to make room for blue veins within which resin emanating from Irminsul would run. A connection was made, one he would never think it would be possible.

From this connection it is that a network of information gathered by the many roots that reach every corner of Teyvat alongside its flowers became possible to him in order to have a better understanding of the world’s workings— Irminsul’s voice was a call to assist to the world’s protection and with it, salvation came with curative powers implanted in his beating heart. Now, Dáinsleif was not only forced into existence against his will, but a burden that does not belong to him became part of his will through his connection to the heart of this world.

■ ■ ■ 𝟏𝐎𝐎 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄.

⭑ Default age: 30-130+     ✩ Timeline: From 400 years ago to 300 years ago

When the phase of utmost darkness punctuated with attempts to verify that he’s indeed immortal and he accepts it at long last, Dáinsleif traverses the darkness to find Irminsul and face the truth of this world and thus consider what he can do to find a purpose. Before doing that, he subjects himself to repetitive reproductions of the events that happened in Khaenri'ah to reach to the root from which the nation would fall, to understand the practises of the Khemia practitioners as well as the royal house and ultimately, to see if there was something he could’ve done to avoid this tragedy that he blames himself for.

Upon confirming that —to his relief— there was nothing he could’ve done to avoid it (even though in his moments of sorrow he would still blame himself), Dáinsleif moves to the next phase of informing himself about the truth of the world by going even further back in time to analyze Celestia’s deeds throughout history, their common pattern to destroy civilizations and everything that there is for him to know to found a decent conclusion with which to act upon it.

■ ■ ■ 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐊.

⭑ Default age: 530+     ✩ Timeline: Present

Five centuries had passed since the tragedy that would forever mark Dáinsleif’s eternal life. Now, his memory has almost faded. The man who he once was forgotten forever, for it was of little import what he was now all byproduct of the self-hatred that emanated from long bygone events he refuses to repeat.

Now, a war looms over against the heavens, the gods gather their chosen allogenes to fight in the name of god. Who will be victor? What has the core of the world chosen as its fate? There is no choice but wait and see the events transpire while Dáinsleif continues in his pursuit to stop the Abyss Order from the shadows.

[influencermagazineuk]

Colman Domingo's captivating performance in Sing Sing earned him the coveted Best Actor award at the 2024 Gotham Awards, outshining formidable nominees like Nicole Kidman, Adrien Brody, and Demi Moore. This win not only solidifies Domingo's position as a standout performer but also underscores the growing momentum of the Oscars race. Domingo is the lead in Sing Sing, a prison drama that brings to life a man, Divine G, who is wrongly accused and eventually finds redemption through the arts when he becomes part of a prison theater group. This poignant exploration of the power of art was premiered at the Toronto Film Festival in 2023 but has been released after careful timing to avoid competing with another notable Domingo film, Rustin. Accepting his award, Domingo expressed heartfelt gratitude, saying, "I'm just very grateful for this, to be seen in this way, to do the work that my heart desires, and my soul desires, making work that I truly believe can make a difference in this world." Vbrunophotog, CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0, via Wikimedia Commons Gotham Awards Celebrate Independent Cinema The Gotham Awards, which take place annually in New York City, honor independent films. While not the Oscars or Golden Globes, Gothams often seem to act as a referendum on awards season, signaling when and which films and performances may find an audience beyond small groups. This year's saw an all-male field of winners, a rare enough occurrence in its own right that its gender-neutral acting categories are continuing to rile the industry. The highest prize in the ceremony for Best Feature was A Different Man, a thought-provoking film on the themes of identity and self-perception. The film centers around an actor suffering from neurofibromatosis, a condition causing facial disfigurement. This character undergoes a transformation through a medical procedure, and the physical change transforms into an existential crisis because he confronts a new identity with the emergence of another character who accepts his condition confidently. The win surprised director Aaron Schimberg, who humbly remarked on the strength of the competition. Standout Performances and Bold Stories Domingo's win was accompanied by recognition for his co-star, Clarence Maclin, who earned Best Supporting Actor for his portrayal of himself in Sing Sing. Maclin, a former inmate of the Sing Sing prison, brought authenticity to the film, which Domingo praised for its depiction of individuals finding salvation through creativity. Other notable wins for the night were RaMell Ross, who took home the Best Director prize for Nickel Boys, which is an adaptation of a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel by Colson Whitehead, telling a gripping story about friendship and resilience in the context of a Florida reform school. Brandon Wilson, a star of the film, was also recognized as Breakthrough Performer, yet another accolade for the film. Ross's innovative approach to storytelling, presenting events entirely through the characters' perspectives, has drawn critical acclaim, even as the film battles to maintain visibility during awards season. The Best Screenplay award was given to His Three Daughters, a poignant, emotion-filled story of sibling bonding as they come together to nurse their terminally ill father. With Natasha Lyonne, Elizabeth Olsen, and Carrie Coon, among its stars, the script penned by Azazel Jacobs had truly stood out in the portrayal of the complexities of family. A Night of Surprises The Gotham Awards often celebrate bold and unorthodox films, and this year was no different. In addition to Sing Sing and A Different Man, other nominees such as Anora, Babygirl, and Nickel Boys highlighted the diversity of independent cinema. International filmmaking was also recognized with All We Imagine as Light winning Best International Feature and No Other Land taking Best Documentary Feature. As Zendaya received the Spotlight Award, she described the honor as "quite the privilege." Meanwhile, other Hollywood luminaries such as Jessica Chastain, Zoe Kravitz, and Saoirse Ronan attended the event and lent their glamour to the celebration of cinematic artistry. Oscars Outlook With the Golden Globe nominations just days away, the Gotham Awards have only added to the hype around the Oscars. This year's race remains an open affair, with no clear front-runner for Best Picture. Films like Sing Sing and A Different Man are starting to make some noise, but others, like Nickel Boys, might gain traction from the momentum that has resulted from their Gotham wins. As the awards season unfolds, the recognition of Colman Domingo and other Gotham winners highlights the profound impact of authentic, emotionally resonant storytelling. These films not only captivate audiences but also spark meaningful conversations, reaffirming the enduring power of cinema. Read the full article