#then I read Joy writing Elizabeth and realize where her roots are | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

callunavulgari · 3 years

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TOP 25 FICS OF 2021

1. Like Wildfire by makemadej | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej | 20k

“Is this gonna be a thing with you?” Ryan demands. “You can’t keep committing to stuff that no one else knows about! When people online say they want you to be more open and vulnerable, this is not what they mean.”

Heather Says: This was not the first fic that I read of 2021, but it IS the one that stuck with me the most out of the January lineup (which unfortunately usually gets glossed over). It's got all of my favorite tropes. Fake relationships, serious pining, and *squints* belly kink? Huh. Either way. Fantastic fic, great writing and characterization. 10 out of 10, champ.

2. μήτηρ, in the Greek by @kaikamahine | Hades | Nyx & Persephone | 37k

She went first to the hives of Silence and requested from them their beeswax. Then she found where the clay men had hidden their newfound fire, and took from their hearth the smallest burning scrap, which she used to light a wick. As the wax melted down it, its layers dripped and hardened upon themselves, and when it lengthened into a shape she could carry in her arms, she the Night bent her head and kissed life into it. This became the infant she called Charon, half-melted and smoking Promethean fire with every breath.

At the end of this recounting, she tilted her head and asked politely, Is this not how you have children?

Heather Says: Bear with me as I make tiny, squeaky noises of exquisite pleasure in your general direction, because goddamn, do I always love @kaikamahine's fics. I played Hades back in January and this fic was just one beautiful meandering walk through everything that I loved about the game itself, but so much MORE because Elizabeth always delivers on every front. The prose is lovely, but it's the relationship between Nyx and Persephone that keeps you rooted.

3. backdraft by broments | Promare | Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos | 32k

It happens in an instant, Galo gaping like an idiot while Lio presses forward to defend against the perceived threat, the weapon sparkling but not burning as it kisses Galo's throat.

Galo sees the moment Lio realizes who he is, that he’s not a threat, his eyes going wide, lips parting. Truthfully, he's not sure whether Lio’s shocked at the appearance of his weapon or that he’d drawn it against Galo. Both, maybe.

Heather Says: Promare was a thing that happened to me and it lit a fire under my ribs that I hadn't felt in months. I had the good fortune of discovering it just as I was getting over my covid longhauler symptoms and I honestly think that it was the first spark of joy I'd had since September of 2020. This fic is a delightful coda to the movie itself, expanding on the world of Promare and, of course, Lio and Galo's relationship in the aftermath.

4. Hungry Thirsty Roots by coolkidroland | Persona 5 | Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira | 56k

In which Akira absolutely does not learn to leave well enough alone. alternate title: A Fork in Want of a Light Socket

Heather Says: Possibly cheating a bit because this is a series of three fics, but you know, I'm going to let it slide because they're all bangers. I spent a huge portion of 2021 trying to slog my way through P5 Royal and have been flirting with this pairing every time it comes back onto my radar. I just... really love that dynamic.

5. breaking the same old heart by tardigradeschool | The Adventure Zone | Taako/Magnus Burnsides | 11k

Taako and Magnus in triptych: before, during, and after the Bureau.

Heather Says: Another thing that I discovered in early 2021 as I was slowly breathing myself back to life: The Adventure Zone. And yes, I am well aware that I'm late to the party. I went looking for fic after I finished it, because I basically fell in love with this rare pair the moment Taako dove after Magnus's soul, and ended up finding this gem. Absolutely glorious. Perfection.

6. never love an anchor by tardigradeschool | The Untamed | Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian | 31k

Wei Ying lets the oars rest and leans back, tilting his head to look at Lan Wangji. “Did you find what you’re looking for? On the docks today?”

Heather Says: Lan Wangji as a selkie. Pining! Hurt/Comfort! Selkies!!!!

7. to explore strange new worlds...! by tardigradeschool | The Untamed | Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian | 30k

“Have you ever heard of a mind meld?” Wangji keeps his voice as level as possible, as if he is not revealing foremost Vulcan secrets.

Heather Says: This is also technically cheating, because it is a series of three fics, as well. My favorite part is the third one, but it all deserves to be read. Star Trek fusion of the Untamed, which is quickly becoming one of my favorite things. And yes, this is the third of tardigradeschool's fics in one fell swoop.

8. Don’t be afraid. by @andthepeople | Star Wars | Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker | 12k

“Padawan Kenobi,” Yoda says, after a moment. “Complete your training, Master Skywalker will.”

Heather Says: Here we have another lovely writer that is going to show up on this list several times. This fic was everything I never knew I wanted from Obikin. A reversal AU with Jedi Master Anakin and Padawin Obi-Wan that absolutely blew my mind when I first read it sometime in the spring. It is a delight. Please, treat yourself.

9. Christ in Repose by @andthepeople | The Mandalorian | Luke Skywalker/Din Djarin | 19k

More on this story as it develops. Subscribe to HNN’s JEDI WATCH newsletter for instant updates on Jedi sightings throughout the galaxy.

Heather Says: To be quite honest, every single fic that @andthepeople has written are absolute bangers. I went and devoured most of their published work on Ao3 after I read the first fic and have been happily imbibing content ever since. The prose is great no matter the fic or fandom, but the atmosphere that they create is what really gets me every time. It's always unique to each piece of work, but feels deliciously lived in. This one features a Luke Skywalker if he'd been allowed to basically ascend to godhood. I LOVED it.

10. hear the monsters calling home by sundiscus | The Untamed | Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian | 8k

He breaks off, grimacing and covering his nose. “Sorry, that’s really a lot of blood.” When he drops his hand, Lan Wangji catches a flash of a sharp, white fang.

Heather Says: If you've been following me for a while, you already know that I'm weak for creature features. Vampires hold a special place in my heart, and I ended up marathon reading this threadfic as it was being published on twitter. I feel like threadfic gets a bad rep, but guys, it's so good. I'm so happy it's on ao3 now, too.

11. parasitic, parasocial by @brawlite | The Untamed | Xue Yang/Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen | WIP | 37k

Xue Yang stumbles upon the channel of Fuxue, a popular videogame streamer, and immediately becomes completely and utterly obsessed with him. Unfortunately, Fuxue has a boyfriend -- but that's fine: Xue Yang loves a challenge.

Heather Says: More threadfic that I devoured in a fevered haze as it was being published in late spring/early summer. This one isn't the FIRST SXX fic that really hooked me, but it was definitely the first one to get its claws into me this year. I usually don't read WIP until they're finished, but I made an exception for this one because I really love the way brawls writes these three. I always love their dynamic, but goddamn, this one was good.

12. you're the trouble that i always find by sundiscus | Word of Honor | Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishu | 27k

Jin Wang tries another way to get Zhou Zishu back.

Heather Says: I adore some good angst and this one has that in spades. A happy ending, sure, but it does spend - oh i don't know - a good 20k having one character kill the other one over and over again while continuously not-quite remembering who he is? One of the tags that is used is: 'falling in love with your soulmate all over again in the middle of a nightmare.' It is some GOOD food.

13. the agony and the irony by arostine | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej | 68k

Ryan has a lot on his plate right now. He’s one of three members of his species employed at BuzzFeed, and the only male omega, and his boss keeps asking him to do videos about being an iterant ‘to educate the humans,’ when what he really wants to do is videos about ghosts. So if, in the push to finish the pitch for BuzzFeed Unsolved, he forgot to renew his heat suppressant prescription—cut him some slack, okay? It happens.

Heather Says: I used to hate A/B/O fic, but over the last few years, I've developed a surprising weak spot for them. I think that's largely because so much of it in the early days was focused on the original aspects of the trope: very alpha vs omega. Lots of posturing and slightly uncomfortable vibes, but so much of the new stuff has done a great job of exploring the aspects - both traditional and not. This fic does a really great job of exploring that. It... also helps that this is lovers to enemies to lovers and I am SO weak for that. Always.

14. Vennen min by @andthepeople | Loki | Loki/Mobius | 12k

The day they let Mobius out of the infirmary, Loki gets assigned to a new handler. This, Mobius is pretty sure, is where the trouble starts.

Heather Says: More from spqr - and possibly my absolute favorite of the bunch. Definitely my favorite thing to come from the Loki fandom, with the exception of that other fic of theirs that's going to show up in a little bit here. This fic REALLY expands on the TVA in a way that is so delightful. That atmosphere back again, this one positively cozy.

15. If The Morning Light Sets In by by nagia | Castlevania | Alucard/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades | 78k

Save the Belmonts, save the world.

Heather Says: I read the majority of this in the bath one Saturday about mid-summer and was literally so in awe that I kept letting the water go cold because I just could not put it down. One of the best time travel/fix it fics that I've read. I love the characterization of Trevor through the early chapters, the fleshed out glimpses we get of his family, and a young Sypha and Alucard. I am technically cheating, because I have linked to the series itself while I've only read the first and second parts so far. I'm a marathon reader, and the third part is only a little over half way done, but I'm sure it will be just as amazing as parts one and two.

16. lonely lonely heart by @andthepeople | Loki | Loki/Mobius | 7k

Mobius looks down at the paperwork, gets a sort of flustered farmboy look on his face, looks back up at Loki and says, “You offered to give a cop fellatio in the middle of Central Park.”

Heather Says: Did you want to read about Loki the Art Thief falling in love with FBI Agent Mobius? Is that a thing that is secretly your catnip too? Because let me tell you, White Collar broke me years ago and this fic finished the job.

17. the red dark shifting by typefortydeductions | The Untamed | Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian | 15k

In the aftermath of the disastrous events on Tarsus IV, Wei Ying is rescued by none other than Lan Zhan, his former Vulcan best friend and now Starfleet Captain.

Heather Says: Another Untamed/Star Trek fusion! This one is a bit darker than the first one, but in a way that works perfectly for the characters. Tarsus fic always has teeth, and this one's is very good at cutting you. There is definite angst, hurt/comfort, ptsd, and an ambiguous ending, but one where it's very easy to imagine everything ending up all right.

18. raw silk and uncut wood by hisevilforest | The Untamed | Xue Yang/Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen | 55k

Xue Yang depends on the yin iron. When Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen take it from him, they'll have to deal with the consequences.

Heather Says: I'm a fan of the fuck or die trope, especially if it's handled particularly well. When I first heard about the SXX exchange this year, I went through and acquainted myself with all the material that came out last year. This one was my favorite of the bunch and contained a host of kinks that I am very, very fond of. Incidentally, this is also the fic that made me realize I really like it when Xue Yang cries during sex.

19. New and Used Boos by beethechange | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej | 36k

The guy’s teeth are large and even and starkly white—not Midwest white—and it’s then, at last, that Shane realizes who he’s talking to. Because that’s a distinctive smile. A famous smile. It’s Ryan Bergara.

Heather Says: I stayed up until stupid o'clock in the morning reading this the night it came out, and I don't even LIKE Notting Hill. But I do trust beethechange when it comes to fic, and god, this one was one of my favorites. The banter was spot on and I ended up laughing out loud during multiple parts of the fic. This fic warmed my heart like no other.

20. living in my memory/living in my mouth by tardigradeschool | The Untamed | Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian | 32k

Wei Wuxian dies at twenty-two and doesn’t come back. Lan Wangji dies in an “unfortunate accident” in a temple in Yunping at thirty-seven. The world moves on. Thousands of years later, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan have a senior thesis in cultivation to co-write on the Yiling Patriarch. It doesn’t go exactly how they were expecting.

Heather Says: This is somehow the FOURTH tardigradeschool fic that has made it to this list this year. They are all wonderful. This one explores reincarnation in a modern with magic au.

21. Existence is Chaos by blacktofade | Loki | Loki/Mobius | 10k

There's a recorded memory of them having sex, but Mobius refuses to admit that he and Loki have a sex tape. AKA the one where Mobius and Loki are destined to hook up.

Heather Says: I was SO delighted when blacktofade published this, because I've always loved their fic and Loki was the newest, shiniest fandom of the season. It did not disappoint.

22. No night as deep as my night. by orange_crushed | The Untamed | Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian | 17k

“Wei Ying,” he says. “Come in.”

Heather Says: I really adore fic that really leans into just how pants-wettingly terrifying Wei Ying really was at the height of his power as the Yiling Patriarch. This one is exquisite. Just the right amount of darkness.

23. out to get you (to get you) by iliacquer | The Untamed | Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian | 41k

In order to kill the Demon of Yiling, assassin Lan Wangji pretends to be courtesan. Falling in love with Wei Wuxian is an unfortunate complication.

Heather Says: Assassin Lan Wangji. Courtesan Lan Wangji. Delightfully complicated Lan Wangji. Canon divergent AUs are really great, and this one twists canon HARD in the best possible way to get this glorious outcome.

24. The Compact by @astolat | Harry Potter | Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter(/Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley) | 64k

Hermione frowned. “The real question is why the magic of Britain would be failing now, in fact.”

Heather Says: On November 25th, @astolat published 64k of Drarry fic that also just so happened to heavily delve into Arthurian elements, the world building of Harry Potter itself, and the utter galaxy brain idea of Draco Malfoy becoming High King of Britain. I... stayed up very, very late.

25. All Old Things are New Again by The Feels Whale | The Untamed | Lan Wangji/Wei Wuxian | 51k

Full-time necromancer and part-time cam boy, Wei Wuxian, finds himself unexpectedly homeless. An enthusiastic patron comes to his rescue. Conversely: Immortal Cultivator Lan Wangji has been waiting a long time for his deceased husband to be reincarnated again. In retrospect, he should have anticipated that this is how it would go.

Heather Says: I stayed up until 2 in the morning last night reading this. I am... very tired, but very content.

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queernarchy · 3 years

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Statement of Elizabeth Williams, regarding a box of tapes found in the basement of her student house. Statement given October 18th, 2018, 105 Hill Top Road, Oxford.

[INT. OXFORD, 105 HILLTOP RD, UPSTAIRS BEDROOM]

[TAPE CLICKS ON]

[SOUNDS OF BETH STUTTERING, APPARENTLY SEARCHING FOR SOMETHING TO SAY]

[A SHAKY INHALE]

BETH

Right. Um. I, uh. Right.

[PAUSE]

BETH

To be perfectly honest, I’m not really sure what I’m doing. I- I found this. It’s the only one I’ve found in the box that’s blank. You know, I’ve never actually seen a tape recorder, like in real life? It’s quite - Well, I’m not even sure I know how to use it. Except … I do. Because I turned it on. I hit the button and now I’m talking to it, like it’s a person. Like I’m crazy, which … I might be. God, I might be.

[BREATH]

BETH

I probably am. In fact, I hope I am. I hope I was just dreaming it all up. Another sign of an overactive imagination. Spending too much time with those books and not in the real world, as mum would say.

[PAUSE]

Even if it was real, there is no reason for me to be talking to you - no, to this. [TO HERSELF] It’s a tape recorder, Beth, it’s not a person. [BACK TO NORMAL] But I am. It feels right to, to tell you. So I’m going to. I’m going to tell you what happened and then it’ll be over. And I can go back to my life.

BETH (STATEMENT)

I’m not great at this. The talking, the explaining, the storytelling, it’s not really my thing, at least not anymore.

When I was a kid it was easy, you know? I was always latching onto one thing or another, letting it consume my brain and then going on and on about it to whatever poor soul I could corner long enough into listening. My parents didn’t let me use a computer until I was well into my teens - something about them making nightmares worse? It was all bollocks, really, how would they know that if they never actually let me use one? But, anyways, before that I used to spend hours in the Wokingham library touring the sections. Once, when I was twelve, I read a book on oceanography: Vanished Ocean: How Tethys Reshaped the World, and spent a solid week scouring the corners of every bookshelf for anything I could find on ancient supercontinents or vanished fault lines before giving my report to the first unlucky and unsuspecting librarian who happened to be out in the open. [LAUGHS] Poor Mike.

I never cared what the genre was, nonfiction, mystery, fantasy, that was never important to me. I just loved the pursuit, and the compelling joy of walking through a new world. It was like a secret between me and the writer, something that we knew that nobody else did.

I always dreamed of being a writer too one day, but like I said, the storytelling part never actually came natural to me, no matter how many books I consumed. I suppose it must have been that lack of skill that bugged the people around me to no end. My father spent most of his time at work and I didn’t really get along with my brother or sister, but let’s just say that my mum was never as ... enthusiastic about my new interests as I was.

It wasn’t her fault, I was deeply, deeply irritating. But to my credit, the minute I realized that, well, that’s when I finally started to shut up. Thinking back, I think that’s where it started. I had always kind of been afraid of pretty much anything and everything. But when I got old enough, I started to routinely feel a gripping terror bubbling up through my stomach, my chest, shaking my limbs and rooting me to the spot whenever I spoke for more than a minute at a time.

All this to say, a few years ago I graduated secondary school with absolutely no skill in writing, the one thing I actually enjoyed, and a lot of anxiety. It seems inevitable that I would end up studying library sciences, doesn’t it? It’s practically what I’ve always done anyways - sorting and researching. And a future as a librarian with a couple cats and a cozy cottage, surrounded by books, well … there are worse things. Much worse.

I moved into student housing right before my first term started at Oriel. I call it student housing, but it’s not, not technically. The actual dorms were a bit out of my price range, so when I saw an ad looking for flatmates in Cowley, only a 20 minute bus ride from the college, it seemed meant to be. There were ten living here all together, to start. George moved into his boyfriend’s place last year, leaving nine of us. [DARKLY] Well, eight, now, I suppose.

It was a proper house, renovated a few years back, I think, but it was already thoroughly trashed by the time I showed up. It was one of those places that, the minute you walked through the door, you could just feel the grime lurking between the worn couches and stained mattresses, that musty smell of overuse. I tried to ignore it, I did, but one Friday night a couple weeks after I’d settled in, I waited until everyone had gone and walked to the closest shop to buy a blacklight. It went about as well as you’d expect. I spent that entire weekend scrubbing this house from top to bottom. I even cleaned Sam’s room. It’s not like I’m a germaphobe or anything, I just like to know where things have been. And if they dirty again, well, at least I know it’s the slobbery of my friends rather than that of strangers.

I didn’t touch the basement, though. None of us ever did. I’m not sure why, it was always just an unspoken agreement between us. I must have asked about it when I moved in. I must have. I mean, it would be one thing if it just never came up, if it was just an unfinished and unsafe part of the house we didn’t go down to and that was that. But, you know, thinking about it now, we didn’t even mention it, not once. It’s amazing, isn’t it, what you can ignore. Right up to the moment you’re devoured by it.

I don’t remember the exact moment things started to feel wrong. Can’t have been more than a couple weeks ago. It was subtle, at first. Doors swinging closed on their own, misplaced items, shadows that didn’t really ... fit. All things that could be chalked up to the mind playing tricks out of boredom, or fatigue - just a consequence of one too many sleepless nights. I didn’t really think about it too hard, even when Sam brought it up at breakfast, started insisting the place was haunted. That was easy to dismiss, she’s always going on about some supernatural this or that and I don’t believe in ghosts, but even that would have been easily digestible as an explanation.

It was like that for a few days, and all the while, that feeling of wrongness lurked in the background, pulsing beneath us. I honestly don’t know if I would have even taken notice if Milton hadn’t started behaving the way he did. Milton is - was - every bit the hipster film student of your wildest imaginations. I swear, I saw him wear a beret once, completely unironically. We’d been friends, as I was one of the few people who would listen to him ramble on about whatever arthouse film had caught his attention that week. We got on fine, well, actually, for flatmates at least. That’s not to say that I always liked him - I’d acted in a few of his student films, just by convenience, and he wasn’t exactly the most easy to work with. Everything always had to be just the way he wanted it, down the most minute detail. I swear, if he could have tied strings around our limbs and puppeted us from afar, he would have. [PAUSE] Sorry, that’s … that’s poor taste.

It had to do with the cassettes. You see, Milton had always insisted on using magnetic tape for his recordings, refusing to even entertain the idea of a digital camera. Something about being more authentic - I never understood it, but far be it from me to get in between a film major and their precious ‘analog charm.’ He loved those tapes, and we all got used to seeing dozens scattered throughout the house at any one time. Which is why it struck me as odd when last week, they vanished entirely. When I asked him about it, he just said that he'd been editing a new project that he needed them for. I wasn’t sure what kind of project would require that many cassettes all at once, but he certainly spent enough time working on it. He’d be locked away in his room for hours, sounds of whirring machinery coming from behind his door. When he did come out, he was exhausted, gaunt. I tried talking to him about it, you know, but he’d just ignore me.

It was strange behavior, sure, but not supernatural. Perhaps I would have chalked it up to stress, just a bad week, but that’s when the nightmares started. I had always had them, just a side effect of my anxiety, but they’d died down a couple years ago, after I moved to Oxford. One sleep after this started, though, I saw Milton. He was sat at a desk, a mess of cassettes unspooled into piles of thin black magnetic tape scattered across it. He was tangled in tape as well, almost every limb bound by it. He stared at the pile in front of him with dull eyes, completely still.

I didn’t realize until the tape began to lift his arms that he wasn’t just tangled in it. The long, metallic strands were embedded directly into his skin. The strands controlling every movement, he grabbed a spool, and, very slowly, raised it to his mouth. His jaw unhinged, farther than anything natural, and he began to stuff the tape down his throat. Again, and again, and again, until the entire pile was gone. I had never felt relief the way I had when I finally woke from that dream. I didn’t know that was only the first time that I would have it.

I woke from one of these nightmares late one night, heart beating fast and body sticky with sweat. I climbed downstairs, trying to clear my head, and found Milton sitting in the living room, staring at our small television screen playing his movie. At least, that’s what I assumed it was. There was no coherence, no audio, just rapid, violent black and white images that flashed across the screen sporadically and bits of static that faded in and out at random. Occasionally, I’d see the corrupted and disjointed image of my own face cross the screen, along with the other actors. The pattern was hypnotic. Every few minutes, the images would perfectly align, shaping spindly, bony legs that almost seemed to reach beyond the glass face of the TV.

After a while, I finally managed to ask him if he was alright, if the cassette had become corrupted somehow, if there was any way to fix it. He had always been so fiercely protective of his tapes, and with the state it was in I expected him to be furious, or devastated, at least concerned. But when he turned, there was none of that written into his face. Just a calm, blank expression. He studied me carefully for a long moment, before finally speaking. ‘We should feed our guest. She’s so happy to have arrived, and she is very hungry.’ He smiled after he said that. When he did, I could have sworn I saw that thin black film tape weaved inside him - webbed in the back of his throat and threaded right through the fleshy center of his tongue. I went back up the stairs immediately and locked my door, sat in bed until the sun came up.

I managed to avoid him the days after that. I thought about telling the others, trying to explain it to them, but I knew it wouldn’t end well. They wouldn’t believe me, why would they? I wasn’t even sure that I believed me. I thought about moving out, of course I did, but I had nowhere to go. No money, no real friends outside of the ones I already lived with. And who knows if I was just overreacting, imagining it all. So I decided I’d just ignore him as much as I could until he went back to normal or I’d saved up enough money for a new place.

It didn’t last, though. It was three days ago that it happened. It was late, and I had carelessly lost time sitting in the kitchen, studying for my history exam. I was alone when he walked in. He didn’t say a word, just, met my eyes with that calm look, like an invitation. Then he turned, with a finality I had never seen before, opened the door to the basement, and vanished down the stairs.

I shouldn’t have followed him. I could have just walked away, went upstairs and buried my head in my pillow. But I didn’t. I had to know. To see.

So, I walked down those old stone steps, dodging cobwebs. I don’t remember if I closed the door behind me, or if it did that part on its own. The cellar was warm, far too warm for October. It was unfinished, and empty save for an old, lidded cardboard box that sat neatly in the center of the room. A long, jagged crack ran through the floor and up into the far wall, as though the foundation had been damaged in an earthquake or something. Milton stood facing away from me, towards the crack in the wall, whispering something I couldn’t quite make out. I called out to him, and he turned to face me, expression wild with … something. Excitement? Panic? He had started to say something before, all at once, dozens of shadowy, spindly tendrils, adorned with what looked like coarse hairs crept from the crack and began to wrap themselves around him.

I felt that familiar terror bubble up, running cold through my veins, stronger than I’d ever felt it before. I wanted to run or scream, but I couldn’t. He didn’t scream either, but I could see the fear growing in his eyes, silently pleading. He didn’t move, not even as the tendrils began to … unspool him. They reached into him, breaking into his body like plaster, and pulled. He was hoisted from the ground, his limbs yanked in different directions and elongated. They just dangled there, arms and legs and head only still attached by threads of dark, magnetic tape, like an old, torn doll hanging together by string. And then the tendrils began to move him. They took their time puppeting him, and at the end, they pulled up his head, forcing his gaze to meet mine. His cheeks were strung up into a grin, but I saw the tears that flowed freely down his contorted face.

I don’t know how long I stood there, watching him stripped him apart, piece by piece, slowly and deliberately. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I felt hot tears roll down my cheeks, although I couldn’t tell if they’d come from the terror of it all or simply because I no longer possessed the ability to blink. I watched and watched. And when it was over, and he was gone, I waited. I waited for them to take me, a part of me just relieved that I didn’t have to watch anymore. I had already shut my eyes tightly before I understood that I could. I felt my hands twitch, regaining their will. When I finally opened my eyes again, I was alone, in that old, dank basement, with nothing but that long dark crack, and, in the center of the floor, the cobweb covered cardboard box, now open, and filled to the brim with tapes.

I don’t remember the rest of the night with any real clarity. I know I stood there for a while. I know at some point I calmly bent down, picked up the box, and walked it upstairs. I spent most of the last two days just staring at it. I’ve missed all of my classes. Sam has come to see me a couple of times, to ask how I am. This morning she actually brought me a plate of spaghetti. Imagine that, spaghetti for breakfast. I do appreciate the thought, even if it makes no practical sense whatsoever. Must be an American thing. She did mention that a man stopped by yesterday. Short, greying hair, lots of weird scars, asking about ‘strange happenings’ in the house. Sam told him about her hauntings, and apparently he had been, less than impressed. He told her he was sorry, and that she should move out, and then left without another word. [LAUGH] Creep.

I finally got up the nerve to look into the box. It’s pretty much what it says on the tin: Tapes and stationary. And cobwebs. So many goddamn cobwebs.

Nobody has said anything about Milton. I expect in the next few days someone will notice he’s gone. How do you explain something like that? I’ve been seeing it again, though. My nightmares … my nightmares have been getting worse. I keep ending up back there. I just watch, and watch, and watch, and I can’t turn away.

BETH (POST STATEMENT)

Statement ends, I suppose.

[STATIC RISES]

[STUTTERS, CONFUSED]

…. Statement? I, I don’t, I didn’t -

[STATIC FALLS]

[A SHORT SIGH]

I don’t feel better. I really thought I would. I don’t know why. Why in the world did I think that telling my stupid story to this thing would make me feel better?

The box is still sitting at the foot of my bed. I want to get rid of it, I do. So why don’t I just toss it? It would be so easy. Just … throw it out. But I can’t.

[RIFLING THROUGH THE TAPES]

Oh, huh -

[STATIC RISES]

This tape’s blank as well. I thought I’d sorted through them all, but I guess I missed one. Hm.

[TOSSES THE TAPE ASIDE]

They’re quite interesting, you know. I haven’t played any of the tapes yet, but I glanced at a few of the written accounts. Some of them are so illegible I can’t even read them but others are. Compelling. They make me feel, right. Scared, but [SIGHS]. I don’t know how to explain it.

I did some research on them, the ones I read anyways. I say research, I mean some quick Googling, a bit of asking around. They’re not real. The Magnus Institute, that’s the logo printed onto the stationary, isn’t a real place. And, as far as I can tell, these people … these people don’t exist. Anywhere. I mean, I found a few names that match but nobody who lines up to the descriptions and when I reach out to them they claim to know nothing about any of it. One of the people I called, Timothy Hodge, his name is, actually gave me the number of his psychiatrist. [LAUGH]

So maybe it’s fiction. A collection of short stories about fictional people and fictional suffering. Just a practical joke. Except, I know that it’s not. I can’t explain how, I just … Know.

I should probably move out. Only an idiot would stay in this place, after something like that. When I leave this room, I’m going to have to walk by that basement door. Every single day.. I should leave. I want to leave. I will leave. Just, not yet.

I need to understand, to unravel the mystery, and I’m getting the feeling that there is something in this box that’ll help me do just that. I’ll try to record whatever I find out. I do have another blank tape, after all. [HM] End recording.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF]

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fanfic #writing #horror #okay this is the thing i've been doing obsessively sjkdlfsf #i recorded it for myself because it's so fun to and also genuinely spooks me to listen to #anyways i should probably go make a spreadsheet for my internship bye guys #probably nobody is gonna read this so i dont even need to say but just in case ...please dont take her from me she took so much time #unreality #short story

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dumbkombuchakid · 4 years

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I’m finding more and more that mindfulness and awareness play a massive role in everything. All the growth I’ve undergone has been rooted in cultivating those skills in myself.

Getting curious instead of judgmental, asking questions and being objective, letting go of outcome and expectations. All of these things seem tiny and maybe insignificant on paper; but in practice have made all the difference for me.

This past Thursday, I met with my therapist (as I usually do on Thursdays) and she told me she was proud of me. I am so grateful for that feedback, for her helping to contribute to my awareness of myself. Awareness extends beyond the present moment, it encompasses patterns and trends and habits and intentions and consequences. It informs decisions and aids processing and understanding. Awareness is the key to it all.

She commended me for staying in wise-mind while telling her about a situation that was upsetting me. She noted that though I had the opportunity to allow my emotions to take control, to pull me into a spiral, I made a choice to remain in control. That’s not what I would’ve done a year ago. That might not even be what I would’ve done a few months ago. Her providing that feedback about my new patterns and trends, specifically my ability to abstain from following old, maladaptive patterns and trends, brought that new data into my awareness. It’s very difficult to be cognizant of your own patterns. It requires parallel processing of data about several versions of yourself in different but comparable situations across a timeline. That’s not a skill that comes naturally; that depth of data about each version of ourselves just isn’t stored.

I am proud of myself. I’m proud of my ability to say that I’m proud of myself; proud of my capacity to believe that I’m proud of myself. For the larger majority of my life (I’m talkin 1st 19 years) I refused to allow pride to penetrate my consciousness. I grew up fearing that I’d slip into narcissism and lose who I was, instead developing into some spawn of my father; a figure I’d associated with all things self-centered and antisocial. Any shred of pride or self-esteem was too great a risk; I’d rather be humble and miserable but secure in my pro-social self-appraisal. I vividly remember the day I felt true self worth for the first time. It was in june, a month before I’d turn 20. That day came a few years after another significant (in hindsight) day when I began working with my current therapist. I fear I may accidentally catalog the past several years here for the sake of clarity and continuity, but the main takeaway point is that I’ve undergone immense growth, all a result of my own innervism.

Innervism is a term I’m borrowing from Elizabeth Lesser, the author of the book Cassandra Speaks. It refers to inward awareness and intentional growth. Tuning in to tune up. If not for facing the things about myself that I didn’t want to get true, I’d never have reached a point where I’m able to act with intention and display a self of whom I’m proud.

I’m far from perfect, and I’ve made a personal vow to never stop growing, learning, listening, and adapting. I will never reach my final form; there is always room for growth.

My point in writing right now is to address some of the cognitive behaviors I’ve noticed myself exhibit when in relationships. In the beginning, when things are wonderful and new and affection has a strong presence, I latch on. I start to fantasize about the future and how my life could play out with this other individual by my side, treating me the way they do at the beginning.

This tendency to idealize based on that first impression, that best-behavior scenario, extends into the period when things begin to slip. When the negligence begins, when manipulative tactics begin being employed. When I am expected both to change myself and also to unilaterally accept the other’s lack of change. I am projected to grow into a mould that aligns with their current state, rather than the two of us developing into a new shape, together.

Internally, this is accompanied by a fear of communicating my feelings. A hesitation to go against the grain and a tendency to shrink and abide by these new terms of engagement. I get quiet and small and they become all powerful. I am aware of the red flags and harm and damage and yet I remain docile and strive for perfection in their eyes.

This is how I’ve always done it, it’s how I’ve been conditioned to behave in relationships. I’ve been conditioned to accept that A) there will be a power imbalance and B) it will not favor me.

I no longer accept that. Today I did something that past me would not have done.

A few important things to note about the situation that allowed me to make this development are that:

1. my “picker” is getting pickier. I’ve always fallen into relationships with narcissists in the past, not because I chose them, but because they chose me and I only knew how to go along. This time, in my current relationship, I made a choice as much as they did. The quality of their character actually had a chance to play a role in deciding whether or not the relationship was worth pursuing.

2. I trust them. I trust that they care about me and want this to work. I trust that they want me to be happy and healthy and that they’re willing to grow.

We didn’t talk much today because he had a big day of doing things that I won’t get into, but then tonight when we did finally get to talk, we spent a long time discussing his day in depth and then never shifted to talking about me. Instead, he started multitasking and doing other things and talking and singing to himself. I told him if he wanted to do those things that was fine, but if we were going to be on the phone that I wanted to him to talk to me, to pay me attention. This didn’t actually turn a result, which hurt me.

Eventually, he got tired and said he was going to turn in, and wished me a goodnight. I said goodnight too, without my typical enthusiasm or affection, and he noticed that those were missing. Instead of asking why though, he simply told me to say it like I meant it, since he didn’t believe me. He has a tendency to make jokes when I’d really rather he be serious, and I’ve stopped laughing along and instead stay true to the tone I want to be received. I don’t want to diminish the weight and value my thoughts and feelings deserve. I’ve decided to not accept less than I deserve.

We hung up and I journaled a bit and felt myself getting worked up, and this is where I did a few things I’m proud of.

I called him back. He didn’t answer, so I recorded a snapchat video and told him how certain aspects of our conversation made me feel, and how I had realized that if I didn’t tell him then he’d have no way to know that those things had hurt and upset me.

This was honestly terrifying, and sending it (and not getting an immediate response) made me feel a whole other type of awful.

I decided to set a timer for 15 minutes and meditate. During my meditation, I focused on a few things. I repeatedly reminded myself that I must let go of outcome; remind myself that I spoke only about my feelings and my feelings deserve to be heard. Silencing all the spiraling thoughts about the conversations that could follow was hard, and I noticed the colors in my awareness shift as more potential outcomes forced their way in. I repeated the mantra “I deserve love” to myself and focused hard on not allowing expectations or theories about what could or may happen in. Those things aren’t real, they’re imagined. I forced myself to choose to refrain from processing events until an event actually occurred.

15 minutes passed and I felt a little lighter. Part of me still really just wanted to cry, but then eventually I got a notification. He said he was sorry, that it was more of a mental hiccup than a true representation of how he feels.

I thanked him - intentionally rerouting from a typical path of saying “it’s okay” in response to an apology. I then wished him sweet dreams and told him we’d talk tomorrow, and I meant it.

It was uncomfortable, I’ll admit. It’s never fun to confront something that hurts you, especially when it’s something or someone that you don’t want to lose. During my meditation I had to remind myself that if someone doesn’t value my feelings or have respect for me, then they aren’t the person I should be with. That’s terrifying - holding people to a higher standard. Choosing to not accept less than what I deserve is something almost completely foreign to me and is fucking scary, but it’s also sort of exhilarating. The idea that mutual respect is now a requirement, that my partner needs to give a shit about me and express that through their behavior is something I deserve. I never used to think about myself as deserving anything - at least not anything good. But now? I put so much effort into who I am and how I treat others. I’m a good, kind, caring person. I know that I am because I do it on purpose. I think that qualifies me as deserving someone who treats me the same.

It’s 5am now. My sleep schedule is off kilter in a big way. I’m going to finally stop and allow this day to end. I’ve already made a to-do list for tomorrow and I hope the day brings joy. I appreciate you reading what I have to write; it helps me to do this and I hope it helps you to read.

Goodnight and sweet dreams, remember that you deserve love.

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suits-of-woe · 5 years

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Hi! Favorite portrayal of Edmund? Favorite Shakespearean king or queen? Favorite Shakespearean comedy? Favorite portrayal of Goneril? Thank you, love!

Thank you for asking!! I always appreciate your questions so much!

Favorite portrayal of Edmund?

Okay I’m gonna cheat and do two, because Edmund is a character I have so many specific ideas about that I’ve never quite seen a portrayal I thought totally got it right. I feel like actors tend to either not lean enough into the emotional, conflicted, sympathetic elements of Edmund or they get that right but never get that any of that smug delightfully self-aware villain energy that makes Edmund so fun to watch.

So in the first category, I have to go with Pedro Pascal in the absolutely legendary Broadway production I saw this spring starring Glenda Jackson. He was absolutely heart-wrenching, even playing against a fairly so-so Edgar, his death honestly had me shaking with a hand pressed over my mouth and in general he just really captured the stress that Edmund is under so brilliantly. He had a great rapport with the sisters (and they got very sexy in that production, oh man) but my one complaint was his character rarely seemed to be enjoying himself. It was odd watching him in Game of Thrones as Oberyn Martell because that character was all the unapologetic boldness and charisma and sex appeal I expect to see from Edmund in certain moments, but in the play that just wasn’t what he went for.

For the second category, I’ll go with one of the first Edmund performances I ever saw, Philip Winchester from Trevor Nunn’s King Lear (2008) starring Ian McKellen. Unlike Pascal, he was so obviously having fun in his soliloquies, smug and amused and wonderfully charming and cynical. His chemistry with both sisters is electric, and he’s got a bit of a temper too which I really enjoyed, this was really the portrayal that first made me fall in love with the character. That said I think he was a little too in the vein of self-aware monologuing villain sometimes, and didn’t come across nearly as conflicted and sympathetic as I would’ve liked, so his turnaround at the end of the play fell a bit flat for me. So yeah, still hoping to see that perfect Edmund who manages to balance both someday!

Favorite Shakespearean comedy?

So...I was gonna say Measure For Measure, which is probably my favorite of the plays classified as comedies in the Folio. But then again it’s hard to think of a play that’s less funny and happy than Measure, I’m pretty sure King Lear is funnier and happier than Measure. And then I was thinking of The Winter’s Tale but mostly for the first half and basically I think I’m proving my point that I maybe hate happiness SO I’m gonna try to pick an actual classic non-problem play, non-romance comedy. Which is Twelfth Night. While Hamlet introduced me to the wonderful world of Shakespearean queer theory, Twelfth Night really cemented it for me, which was honestly a huge step in me realizing just how wonderfully applicable these plays are to the modern day. Viola is just such a great heroine, she’s just so genuinely likable, and she’s funny and she can be tragic and she’s just so easy to root for and so many of her scenes are just jam-packed with incredible lines. And just in general that play has just a great ensemble, I love Orsino in all his melodramatic glory, the ethereal and melancholy Feste, endlessly loyal but badass Antonio, Olivia who might be one of my favorite female romantic leads in the canon, Malvolio who’s so easy to hate until it goes too far and the poignant notes of grief and trauma that run under this play really hit home. It’s just such a solid comedy, and while there’s no one character I’m super attached to in particular, I love the play as a whole.

Favorite Shakespearean king or queen?

Henry VI!!! My baby boy. Ironically he’s probably one of the worst kings in Shakespeare, but I love him so much. I’m actually writing this between reading chapters of The Shadow King right now haha. I just have so much sympathy for him, both in Shakespeare and in history. In a world of increasingly ambitious, fiery, corrupt political rivals he’s this little island of peace and mildness and genuine kindness. But he’s also such a horrible study of how wrong that can go when the world is violent and constantly in chaos. He manages to remain uncorrupted, but that almost ends up being as much a blessing and a curse. And in general I just think it’s so interesting to think about the kind of impact it must have on a person to be king before you can walk or talk or even know what such a title means. I feel for him so deeply.

If I had to pick a favorite queen, it would probably be Gertrude. She’s a character with a million questions behind her, but I’m intrigued by her relationships with almost every character in that play, especially Claudius. I’ve seen Gertrudes who become viscerally disgusted by him after 3.4, refusing to even get near him, and I’ve seen Gertrudes who are still very much in love with him after that, who aren’t so much evil as just genuinely moved on and willing to pay the price for happiness, whatever it may be. There’s just so much you can do with her, I find her endlessly fascinating, especially in a play that’s so lacking in female characters.

Favorite portrayal of Goneril?

Okay for this I have to go hands down with the Glenda Jackson Broadway production again, still can’t believe that that was a real thing I got to see. Elizabeth Marvel was an absolutely brilliant Goneril in that show, a complete powerhouse who managed to be wonderfully sympathetic and amazingly badass at the same time. She killed 1.4, showing just enough emotion to absolutely break me, and in general her relationship with Albany was a joy to watch, especially in 4.2, where she followed up an intense full-on sex scene with Edmund where she totally let loose with one of the most intense portrayals of their argument I’ve ever seen -- she seemed half unhinged, but half like she was finally, finally feeling free. And all the while she was sweeping around in floor-length capes and killer heels and was just always such a presence onstage, she was such a joy and one of the highlights of that show.

#mine #asks #king lear #twelfth night #3 henry vi #hamlet

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tpanan · 4 years

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My Saturday Daily Blessings

December 19, 2020

Be still quiet your heart and mind, the LORD is here, loving you talking to you...........

Saturday of the Third Week of Advent Lectionary: 195, Cycle B

First Reading: Judges 13: 2-7, 24-25a

There was a certain man from Zorah, of the clan of the Danites, whose name was Manoah. His wife was barren and had borne no children. An angel of the LORD appeared to the woman and said to her, “Though you are barren and have had no children, yet you will conceive and bear a son. Now, then, be careful to take no wine or strong drink and to eat nothing unclean. As for the son you will conceive and bear, no razor shall touch his head, for this boy is to be consecrated to God from the womb. It is he who will begin the deliverance of Israel from the power of the Philistines.” The woman went and told her husband, “A man of God came to me; he had the appearance of an angel of God, terrible indeed. I did not ask him where he came from, nor did he tell me his name.

But he said to me, ‘You will be with child and will bear a son. So take neither wine nor strong drink, and eat nothing unclean. For the boy shall be consecrated to God from the womb, until the day of his death.’”

The woman bore a son and named him Samson. The boy grew up and the LORD blessed him; the Spirit of the LORD stirred him.

Responsorial Psalm: Psalm 71: 3-4a, 5-6ab, 16-17

"My mouth shall be filled with your praise, and I will sing your glory!"

Verse before the Gospel:

R. Alleluia, Alleluia.

"O Root of Jesse’s stem, sign of God’s love for all his people: come to save us without delay!"

R. Alleluia, Alleluia.

**Gospel: Luke 1: 5-25

Zechariah was troubled by what he saw, and fear came upon him. But the angel said to him, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, because your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall name him John. And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He will drink neither wine nor strong drink. He will be filled with the Holy Spirit even from his mother’s womb, and he will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God. He will go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah to turn the hearts of fathers toward children and the disobedient to the understanding of the righteous, to prepare a people fit for the Lord.”

Then Zechariah said to the angel, “How shall I know this? For I am an old man, and my wife is advanced in years.” And the angel said to him in reply, “I am Gabriel, who stand before God. I was sent to speak to you and to announce to you this good news. But now you will be speechless and unable to talk until the day these things take place, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled at their proper time.” Meanwhile the people were waiting for Zechariah and were amazed that he stayed so long in the sanctuary. But when he came out, he was unable to speak to them, and they realized that he had seen a vision in the sanctuary. He was gesturing to them but remained mute. Then, when his days of ministry were completed, he went home. After this time his wife Elizabeth conceived, and she went into seclusion for five months, saying, “So has the Lord done for me at a time when he has seen fit to take away my disgrace before others.”

*Meditation:

Do you believe that God will fulfill all his promises just as he said? Advent is a time to renew our hope and confidence in God's faithfulness to the covenant he made with his people. In preparing the way for a Savior, we see the wondrous miracle of two barren couples who conceive and bear sons - Samson in the Old Testament (Judges 13) and John the Baptist in the New Testament (Luke 1:5ff) - who are called by God to bring hope and deliverance at a time of spiritual darkness and difficulty for the people of God.

A blessing beyond expectations Zechariah was a godly man who was tuned to God's voice. He was born into a priestly family and it was his privilege to be chosen to enter the inner court of the temple to offer sacrifice to God. Luke records that the people wondered at Zechariah's delay and were amazed that he was speechless when he withdrew from the inner sanctuary. They rightly perceived that he had a special encounter with God. God's angelic messenger greeted Zechariah with a blessing beyond his expectations.

"Your prayer is heard! You will have a son! And his mission will be great for all of Israel." Now that seemed like a lot for Zechariah to take in all at once. Could God really do a miracle for his barren wife, Elizabeth? The angel somewhat wisely put Zechariah in his place before God's mighty action. He became speechless until the day the infant was dedicated to the Lord and given the name, John. When God draws us into his presence, he wants us to be still and quiet before him so we can listen to his voice as he speaks to our hearts and reveals his mind to us. Do you listen attentively to the Lord and do you ponder his word in your heart with trust and confidence?

The Lord is gracious In the annunciation of the birth of John the Baptist, the angel explains to Zechariah the role his son is to play in preparing the way for the Messiah. John will be great in the sight of God. He will live as a Nazarite (see Numbers 6) - a person set apart for the Lord. He will be filled with the Holy Spirit even within his mother's womb. And he shall be sent to the people of God, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of fathers and children to God and one another, by turning the "disobedient to the wisdom of the just." The name John means "the Lord is gracious". When God acts to save us he graciously fills us with his Holy Spirit and makes our faith "alive" to his promises. Do you pray that "the hearts of parents and children may be turned to God and one another"?

Lord Jesus, you bring hope and restoration to your people. Restore and strengthen Christian family life today. Help me to love and serve my family. May your love rule in all my relationships and remove any barriers to peace and harmony.

Sources:

Lectionary for Mass for Use in the Dioceses of the United States, second typical edition, Copyright © 2001, 1998, 1997, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine; Psalm refrain © 1968, 1981, 1997, International Committee on English in the Liturgy, Inc. All rights reserved. Neither this work nor any part of it may be reproduced, distributed, performed or displayed in any medium, including electronic or digital, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

**Meditations may be freely reprinted and translated into other languages for non-profit use only. Please cite copyright and original source at dailyscripture.servantsoftheword.org

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justforbooks · 7 years

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On Not Knowing (Modern) Greek

By Johanna Hanink

Virginia Woolf’s essay “On Not Knowing Greek” was published in 1925, the same year as Mrs Dalloway. The title gestures not to Woolf’s (nor to anyone’s) ignorance of Ancient Greek syntax, morphology and vocabulary, but to the impossibility of knowing today “how the words sounded, or where precisely we ought to laugh, or how the actors acted.” The essay is nevertheless an encomium of ancient Greek thought and literature, and, ironically, a testament to Woolf’s own fine command of the ancient language.

I think of it sometimes when I reflect on two frustrations I have about “not knowing” Modern Greek: a version of Greek in which you can, in fact, hear words, laugh on cue, and watch actors act. The first is with myself, because I wish I knew the language better. The second is with the field of Classics, for not institutionally valuing—and for even dismissing—any aspiring classicist’s efforts to learn it. After all, the thinking goes, those hours would be better spent on Homer and Thucydides (or even “German for Reading”: leave it to us to kill off a living language).

Classicists like equally to brag and complain that they have to learn a lot of languages. Most American PhD programs require exams in Ancient Greek, Latin, German, and either French or Italian: if you know either French or Italian, the thinking goes, you can fake your way through the other.

These languages are the tools of the trade, but they are also metonyms for the philological traditions that we are expected to put on a convincing show of knowing—with, say, the occasional name-check of Wilamowitz. Once you decide to get serious about the field, you learn to take these traditions for granted as the most inherently valuable. The history of European classical scholarship is entangled with the esteem that Greek and Latin have enjoyed in countries where German, French, Italian, or English is spoken. Many scholars who identify with the European classical tradition assume that any scholarship worth reading, or at least citing, will be in one of those four languages.

On the one hand, the modern language requirements of Classics PhD programs should really start to reflect that interesting and important things have been said and are being said about Greco-Roman antiquity in countless languages other than English, German, French, and Italian (why not accept Turkish or Arabic or Chinese—isn’t, after all, scholarship really just a form of “reception”?). On the other, the absence of Modern Greek from the list of discipline-approved languages is itself curious, and stranger still if you consider how classicists love to spend time, and to talk about spending time, in Greece.

Like fourteen European countries and two other former British colonies (Canada and Australia), the United States has a home base for its archeologists and classicists in Athens, at the American School of Classical Studies. It should go without saying that plenty of scholarship has been and continues to be written in Greek; Greek universities often have enormous Classics departments. There is simply more information in Greek about Greek archeological sites, both at the sites and in print. And for better or for worse Greek antiquity is more urgently present in national conversations (and at bookstores and on social media) in Greece than anywhere else.

So why does Modern Greek still not have a seat at the classicists’ table? This is, bluntly put, largely because our discipline continues to take a colonialist view of, among other things, Greece, Greeks, and (Modern) Greek. Historians and anthropologists who work on Greece have been much more willing than classicists to acknowledge the country’s legacy of metaphorical colonization: not by the Ottomans, but by the early European antiquaries and travelers who planted their flags in the ruins of Greek antiquity.

At a time when European powers were scrambling to expand their empires, the travelers’ influential approach to the Ottoman-held “Classical Lands” was, as historian K.E. Fleming points out, “representative of a different form of colonialism, in which the history and ideology, rather than territory, of another country” is “claimed, invaded, and annexed.” Viewed through the lens of the present, the people who undertook this more “symbolic” colonization of Greece look a great deal like early versions of classicists.

Thanks to their proprietary attitude toward antiquity, they largely discounted local knowledge and described local people as apathetic to the ancient past whose ruins they seemed to live so blithely among (see here for evidence to the contrary). This kind of thinking was in turn used to justify, among other things, the removal of antiquities from Greece to countries where, supposedly, they would be better appreciated and cared for. All of this makes for a very long and complex story—one in which Greeks were hardly passive participants.

One of the story’s many legacies is that classicists trained in the “Western” classical tradition tend to disregard Modern Greek as a scholarly language, while Greeks who want to participate in the tradition—to have their voices and ideas heard abroad— earn degrees in other countries and publish their research in English, German, or French. Granting Modern Greek a more valued place in the professional conversation would be a positive step for a field that, on the point of colonialism, has a lot to answer for.

Beyond the political argument—and on the more personal, spiritual level that Woolf evokes in her own essay—the struggle to learn Modern Greek can bring a special kind of joy to those of us who first came to the language in its ancient form. That joy is the main reason I recommend that classicists spend at least a little time on Modern Greek, and ignore the gnawing voice that will say it’s a waste of time.

In a recent blog post (“What does the Latin actually say?”), Mary Beard makes an important point: for a lot of people it is hard for people to learn dead languages because we learn them passively. “It is both the plus and the minus of Latin,” she writes, “that we never have to ask for a pizza, or the way to the swimming pool, in it.”

My own learning style is certainly more “verbal” than “logical.” I like to talk, so I make much slower progress at learning dead languages passively than at learning living languages actively (my German is bad, but I could think of no greater waste of my own time than a “German for Reading” class). Modern Greek, of course, is not Ancient Greek: the linguistic politics here are particularly delicate and complex for historical reasons. The pronunciation can be a psychological barrier, and the language has changed since antiquity: classicists are often especially surprised to learn that infinitives have long since passed out of use. Greek also brims with borrowings from Turkish, Albanian, Italian, French, English…. But so what? Classicists’ own modern language requirements count Italian and French as substitutes for each other.

There’s no denying that having to decline Greek nouns when I order a pizza, or manipulate Greek verbs when I ask the way to the swimming pool, has brought even the ancient language to life for me. After years of studying Modern Greek, I have a far better recall for vocabulary, handle on verb forms, and instinctive sense for accentuation. The time I have dedicated to Modern Greek is some of the best I have spent as a classicist, since it has given me a sounder, more internalized sense of the ancient language (a better Sprachgefühl, as a more responsible classicist might say).

It’s fun, too, to learn how meanings of words have changed over time. For years ὁφόρος was, in my mind, the tribute paid to Athens by its Delian League allies. Now the word just means “tax” (inasmuch as tax ever “just” means tax). Being αγαθός nowadays is not usually such a good thing. A στήλη can be a “column” in a newspaper (or on Eidolon). In chapter 4 of thePoetics, Aristotle observes just how much pleasure people take in learning and inferring: in looking at an image of someone and recognizing, “Oh, that’s him” (οὗτοςἐκεῖνος, 1448b).

Making connections between two things—hearing a new word and realizing you already know it, just differently—sends a spark of joy through the brain. And anyway there is something to be said for a language that allows you to describe a tall, fit guy as a kouros in everyday conversation.

The twists and turns of Greek linguistic history also mean you can play specifically with avoiding Ancient Greek. Oftentimes there is a choice between describing something with a “high-register” word with ancient roots or a “low-register” vernacular or foreign word. Liver, for example, is συκώτι (derived, like Italian fegato and French foie, from a word for “fig”), but when the matter is a disease of the liver the more classicist-friendly ήπαρ is common. Speaking of liver, who would you buy it from: the κρεοπώλης or the χασάπης? The one features in beginning Ancient Greek textbooks; the other comes from Turkish. A Greek professor of Latin once told me that he revels in speaking English precisely because it offers similar opportunities to play with the nuance of register: between Anglo-Saxon, French and Latinate diction (to use a classic example, does Elizabeth II strike you as queenly, royal, or regal?).

The Facebook page Ancient Memes exploits the space between these levels by captioning “high-register” artworks with dialogue in very modern, “low-register” Greek. Reading things like Ancient Memes, or my few copies of “Aristophanes in Comics,” has introduced new playfulness into my approach to Ancient Greek. And play, of course, is one of ways we learn best.

So what is still keeping many classicists (again, leaving the more political argument aside) from seizing the real practical benefits that Modern Greek has to offer: the opportunity to spend time in Greece more comfortably, the chance to collaborate with Greek colleagues more substantively, the opportunity to bolster our grasp of the language and its extremely longue durée, and to procrastinate by laughing at Ancient Memes?

When I posed a version of the question to a professor in Thessaloniki, he had a good answer. Classicists, he suggested, are easily embarrassed and afraid to make mistakes. Making mistakes is crucial for language acquisition, and sometimes the mistakes will be horribly embarrassing ones (I have, in polite conversation, said τσιμπούκι when I meant τσιμπούρι). Once, after I paid for books at a bookstore in Greece, I overheard the woman who had just rung me out ask a colleague with genuine bewilderment: “What does she want with an Ancient Greek book if she can’t even speak Greek?” In a field that already demands so much posturing, so much pretense of knowing Greek and Latin, risking mistakes and “not knowing” means risking a lot of your ego.

But it’s worth it. Learning Modern Greek, at least to the extent that I have managed to learn it, has made both my life and my relationship with my work all the richer. I haven’t even mentioned the unique pleasure that modern Greek literature offers the classicist. That sheer enjoyment aside, few people have been more influential in shaping modern views of Greek antiquity than George Seferis, or have problematized the periodization of Greek poetry more than Constantine Cavafy (translated into English most recently by critic and classicist Daniel Mendelsohn). I first came to Modern Greek after reading Seferis’ essay “Delphi” (Greek here), but since then have actually come to prefer paddling around in Greek literature’s less classical waters.

Nevertheless, since I’m teaching ancient Greek mythology again this semester, the text I’m most excited about right now is Auguste Corteau’s Νεοελληνική Μυθολογία. It is a parodic re-imagining of ancient Greek myths: on one page, Erebus makes a move on his sister Nyx: “Hush you idiot,” she replies, “Mom’ll hear and call Social Services.” Later, Kronos appears on the beach and informs his father he’s come to play paddle ball. “But I don’t see any balls,” says Ouranos. “Nor will you ever again,” says Kronos.

Now, with the prospect of a long plane ride ahead of me, I’m looking forward to having a few quiet hours with the book—no matter how much of it I manage to understand, or how often I know when I ought to laugh.

Johanna Hanink is Associate Professor of Classics at Brown University, US.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS

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iprayunceasingly-blog · 6 years

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Wednesday of the Third Week of Advent

New Post has been published on https://pray-unceasingly.com/catholic-living/daily-readings/wednesday-of-the-third-week-of-advent/

Wednesday of the Third Week of Advent

Reading 1 Jgs 13:2-7, 24-25a

The woman went and told her husband, “A man of God came to me; he had the appearance of an angel of God, terrible indeed. I did not ask him where he came from, nor did he tell me his name. But he said to me, ‘You will be with child and will bear a son. So take neither wine nor strong drink, and eat nothing unclean. For the boy shall be consecrated to God from the womb, until the day of his death.'”

The woman bore a son and named him Samson. The boy grew up and the LORD blessed him; the Spirit of the LORD stirred him.

Responsorial Psalm Ps 71:3-4a, 5-6ab, 16-17

R. (see 8) My mouth shall be filled with your praise, and I will sing your glory! Be my rock of refuge, a stronghold to give me safety, for you are my rock and my fortress. O my God, rescue me from the hand of the wicked. R. My mouth shall be filled with your praise, and I will sing your glory! For you are my hope, O LORD; my trust, O God, from my youth. On you I depend from birth; from my mother’s womb you are my strength. R. My mouth shall be filled with your praise, and I will sing your glory! I will treat of the mighty works of the LORD; O God, I will tell of your singular justice. O God, you have taught me from my youth, and till the present I proclaim your wondrous deeds. R. My mouth shall be filled with your praise, and I will sing your glory!

Alleluia

R. Alleluia, alleluia. O Root of Jesse’s stem, sign of God’s love for all his people: come to save us without delay! R. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Lk 1:5-25

Once when he was serving as priest in his division’s turn before God, according to the practice of the priestly service, he was chosen by lot to enter the sanctuary of the Lord to burn incense. Then, when the whole assembly of the people was praying outside at the hour of the incense offering, the angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing at the right of the altar of incense. Zechariah was troubled by what he saw, and fear came upon him.

But the angel said to him, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, because your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall name him John. And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He will drink neither wine nor strong drink. He will be filled with the Holy Spirit even from his mother’s womb, and he will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God. He will go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah to turn the hearts of fathers toward children and the disobedient to the understanding of the righteous, to prepare a people fit for the Lord.”

Then, when his days of ministry were completed, he went home.

After this time his wife Elizabeth conceived, and she went into seclusion for five months, saying, “So has the Lord done for me at a time when he has seen fit to take away my disgrace before others.”

– – – Lectionary for Mass for Use in the Dioceses of the United States, second typical edition, Copyright Â© 2001, 1998, 1997, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine; Psalm refrain Â© 1968, 1981, 1997, International Committee on English in the Liturgy, Inc. All rights reserved. Neither this work nor any part of it may be reproduced, distributed, performed or displayed in any medium, including electronic or digital, without permission in writing from the copyright owner. USCCB Daily Readings

#Advent #Third #Wednesday #Week #Daily Readings

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geetanand · 6 years

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Scared Shitless

In January, I moved for the 15th time in 14 years into a place where I'd hoped I could finally establish solid roots. After all, I had the steady boyfriend. The storefront. The local yoga following. I even had gotten the puppy.

During and after that move, it seemed that I was hit with one stressful event after another. A weird stomach concern put me in the hospital, my father struggled with his addiction and was diagnosed with stomach cancer, a few weighty financial setbacks, landlord trouble, neighbor disputes, complications from a wisdom tooth surgery coupled with lock jaw. I was burned out and felt suffocated, as though I was trying to read a book that was held at the tip of my nose, and all I could make out was one letter at a time. Everything was so in my face, I just couldn’t make sense of anything.

I was laying in bed one night, moments from falling asleep, when the clarity arrived: I needed to take a month off from teaching my Tuesday night kundalini class. This class is an offering that I love, however it takes a great deal of my energy and time (I know one class a week might not seem huge, but this is a pretty epic community, and it’s pretty much a spiritual rager every week). Space needed to be created so I could breath, and step back to read the complete story.

As soon as I took that break, what became clear was that the relationship I was in, sadly, needed to end. I won’t get into the details (they are pretty boring actually, nothing juicy to report!) We are still friends who still support each other in important ways. I realized that I really craved some deep solo time for personal exploration.

So I created the space, which created some clarity, which created more space, which resulted in more clarity: It’s time to close the store. I'd had a brick&mortar space in Newport for over 4 years and had poured my heart and soul into opening it. Even though I acknowledge there’s more life to live and many more experiences to be had, this was my biggest accomplishment thus far. I was super proud of it. The shop also wasn’t failing miserably, which made it even harder to let go of. For a multitude of reasons, mostly logistical, (that are also pretty boring) it was just time.

By June, I had changed my mind about buying the condo I was living in because of circumstances I couldn’t control (the neighbor disputes are actually pretty juicy, but in effort to stay classy, I will have to leave them out), I was no longer in a relationship, and I had decided I was going to close the store. I had made space, gained some clarity, and then - creativity started to flow.

I’m not even sure when this idea popped into my head, or how, or why. But, I love Elizabeth Guilbert’s book "Big Magic” and her take on how creative ideas find a person. “So this, I believe, is the central question upon which all creative living hinges: Do you have the COURAGE to bring forth the treasures that are hidden within you?” She writes about ideas inhabiting the planet as disembodied energetic life-forms that look for a human partner to collaborate with and come to life. Ideas swirl around and visit people waiting for one of them to grab on and agree to co-create. The idea comes in... and then depending on where you are in your life, you say something like, “No thanks, the timing isn’t right” (and the idea will float on to the next person) or you fasten your seatbelt, embrace the vulnerability and fear, and say “HELL YES.” For me, it happened just like that. Well, sort of.

I will simplify my life. Pack everything up, and live one month in 12 cities: teaching yoga, mindfulness, and meditation in jails, rehabs, shelters, eating disorder treatment facilities, and other in-need populations.

In this particular case, I actually kept trying to shoo the idea away like an annoying gnat flying around my face. “I can’t, I just bought a new beautiful couch. I will get too lonely. Am I crazy? I have a great thing going in Newport, why would I risk losing it? I will be single forever! I don’t even like traveling that much!” But the idea just continued coming back around.

I processed and explored ideas with all of my close friends and mentors, toggling (and still toggling) between scared shitless and excited beyond words. Mostly scared shitless. It seemed as though part of my mind was obsessing over talking me out of it, while the rest of me started going through the motions of making all the plans for this big adventure. Thankfully, it feels like the more expansive part of me is steering the ship on this one, even with the continual limiting and fearful chatter going on.

With three months to prep for this tour, I was knowingly headed toward an insanely stressful and chaotic time. I was to close and move out of the store, buy a van to create a mobile warehouse for my online business, change locations of my Tuesday night yoga class, take two trauma-informed yoga trainings, and move out of my condo. Then, I got the call that my father had passed away.

I’m having trouble writing about how I felt when I got the call, the days to follow, and how I feel now. I have yet to really processed it all, but perhaps writing this is the very beginning, or at least a small step. My dad and I had a super special connection. He had times in his life where he was sober, super successful, and present. And there were other times, especially towards the end, when he was in the grips of his addiction, messy, self centered, and unpredictable.

Throughout our relationship, even when I was a young girl, we flip-flopped back and forth between who was playing the parent role and who was playing the child role. Wherever our relationship was, complicated, simple, cohesive or unhealthy, the one thing I always knew about my dad was that he loved me more than anything. I never doubted that for a second. He would have given me the world if he could. He also wholeheartedly believed that I could do anything I set my mind to.

I had the opportunity to tell him about my plans to close the store and takeoff for a year teaching to the underprivileged. He was very sick and in the hospital when I shared this with him and showed him the promo video I'd just filmed. He didn’t have a lot to say, except for “make sure you get a van you can stand up in.” I’m glad he was able to give me some good parental advice before we both took off on the next phase of our individual journeys.

So here I am. Letting go of a lot. A FUCKING LOT.

Pema Chodron’s take on these kind of transitions resonated with me:

“Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy. When we think that something is going to bring us pleasure, we don’t know what’s really going to happen. When we think something is going to give us misery, we don’t know. Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all. We try to do what we think is going to help. But we don’t know. We never know if we’re going to fall flat or sit up tall. When there’s a big disappointment, we don’t know if that’s the end of the story. It may be just the beginning of a great adventure.”

I take off in two months, so much has changed, and there are so many unknowns. It’s like, you can create space, get that book out of your face so you can read the letters on the page, and get some direction, but you still have no idea how the story is actually going to end up. Letting there be room for not knowing is the most important thing of all. This has been one of the hardest transitions of my life, but the wise part of me knows this is where all the juicy stuff happens. One foot in front of the other. One day at at time. One breath at a time, my dad and I are going on a pretty epic road trip.

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tpanan · 6 years

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My Wednesday Daily Blessings

December 19, 2018

Be still quiet your heart and mind, the LORD is here, loving you talking to you...........

Wednesday of the Third Week of Advent (Roman Rite Calendar)

Lectionary:195

First Reading: Judges 13: 2-7, 24-25a

Now, then, be careful to take no wine or strong drink and to eat nothing unclean. As for the son you will conceive and bear, no razor shall touch his head, for this boy is to be consecrated to God from the womb. It is he who will begin the deliverance of Israel from the power of the Philistines."

The woman went and told her husband, "A man of God came to me; he had the appearance of an angel of God, terrible indeed. I did not ask him where he came from, nor did he tell me his name. But he said to me,'You will be with child and will bear a son. So take neither wine nor strong drink, and eat nothing unclean.

For the boy shall be consecrated to God from the womb, until the day of his death.'"

The woman bore a son and named him Samson. The boy grew up and the LORD blessed him; the Spirit of the LORD stirred him.

Responsorial: Psalm 71: 3-4a, 5-6ab, 16-17

"My mouth shall be filled with your praise, and I will sing your glory!"

Verse before the Gospel:

Alleluia, Alleluia

"O Root of Jesse's stem, sign of God's love for all his people: come to save us without delay!"

Alleluia, Alleluia

Gospel Reading: Luke 1: 5-25

In the days of Herod, King of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah of the priestly division of Abijah; his wife was from the daughters of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. Both were righteous in the eyes of God, observing all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord blamelessly. But they had no child, because Elizabeth was barren and both were advanced in years. Once when he was serving as priest in his division's turn before God, according to the practice of the priestly service, he was chosen by lot to enter the sanctuary of the Lord to burn incense. Then, when the whole assembly of the people was praying outside at the hour of the incense offering, the angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing at the right of the altar of incense. Zechariah was troubled by what he saw, and fear came upon him. But the angel said to him, "Do not be afraid, Zechariah, because your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall name him John. And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He will drink neither wine nor strong drink. He will be filled with the Holy Spirit even from his mother's womb, and he will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God. He will go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah to turn the hearts of fathers toward children and the disobedient to the understanding of the righteous, to prepare a people fit for the Lord." Then Zechariah said to the angel, "How shall I know this? For I am an old man, and my wife is advanced in years." And the angel said to him in reply, "I am Gabriel, who stand before God. I was sent to speak to you and to announce to you this good news. But now you will be speechless and unable to talk until the day these things take place, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled at their proper time." Meanwhile the people were waiting for Zechariah and were amazed that he stayed so long in the sanctuary. But when he came out, he was unable to speak to them, and they realized that he had seen a vision in the sanctuary. He was gesturing to them but remained mute. Then, when his days of ministry were completed, he went home. After this time his wife Elizabeth conceived, and she went into seclusion for five months, saying, "So has the Lord done for me at a time when he has seen fit to take away my disgrace before others."

**Meditation:

"Your prayer is heard! You will have a son! And his mission will be great for all of Israel."

Now that seemed like a lot for Zechariah to take in all at once. Could God really do a miracle for his barren wife, Elizabeth? The angel somewhat wisely put Zechariah in his place before God's mighty action. He became speechless until the day the infant was dedicated to the Lord and given the name, John. When God draws us into his presence, he wants us to be still and quiet before him so we can listen to his voice as he speaks to our hearts and reveals his mind to us. Do you listen attentively to the Lord and do you ponder his word in your heart with trust and confidence?

**Prayer:

"Lord Jesus, you bring hope and restoration to your people. Restore and strengthen Christian family life today. Help me to love and serve my family. May your love rule in all my relationships and remove any barriers to peace and harmony."

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tpanan · 7 years

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My Tuesday Daily Blessings

December 19, 2017

Be still quiet your heart and mind, the LORD is here, loving you talking to you...........

Tuesday of the Third Week of Advent (Roman Rite Calendar)

Lectionary: 195, Liturgical Year B

First Reading: Judges 13:2-7, 24-25a

As for the son you will conceive and bear, no razor shall touch his head, for this boy is to be consecrated to God from the womb. It is he who will begin the deliverance of Israel from the power of the Philistines."

The woman went and told her husband, "A man of God came to me; he had the appearance of an angel of God, terrible indeed.

I did not ask him where he came from, nor did he tell me his name. But he said to me, 'You will be with child and will bear a son. So take neither wine nor strong drink, and eat nothing unclean. For the boy shall be consecrated to God from the womb, until the day of his death.'" The woman bore a son and named him Samson. The boy grew up and the LORD blessed him; the Spirit of the LORD stirred him.

Responsorial Psalm: Psalm71:3-4a, 5-6ab, 16-17

"My mouth shall be filled with your praise, and I will sing your glory!"

Verse before the Gospel:

Alelluia, Alelluia

"O Root of Jesse's stem, sign of God's love for all his people: come to save us without delay!"

Alelluia, Alelluia

Gospel Reading: Luke 1:5-25

Once when he was serving as priest in his division's turn before God, according to the practice of the priestly service, he was chosen by lot to enter the sanctuary of the Lord to burn incense.

Then, when the whole assembly of the people was praying outside at the hour of the incense offering, the angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing at the right of the altar of incense.

Zechariah was troubled by what he saw, and fear came upon him. But the angel said to him, "Do not be afraid, Zechariah, because your prayer has been heard.

Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall name him John. And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He will drink neither wine nor strong drink. He will be filled with the Holy Spirit even from his mother's womb, and he will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God. He will go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah to turn the hearts of fathers toward children and the disobedient to the understanding of the righteous, to prepare a people fit for the Lord."

Then Zechariah said to the angel, "How shall I know this? For I am an old man, and my wife is advanced in years." And the angel said to him in reply, "I am Gabriel, who stand before God. I was sent to speak to you and to announce to you this good news. But now you will be speechless and unable to talk until the day these things take place, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled at their proper time." Meanwhile the people were waiting for Zechariah and were amazed that he stayed so long in the sanctuary. But when he came out, he was unable to speak to them, and they realized that he had seen a vision in the sanctuary. He was gesturing to them but remained mute.

Then, when his days of ministry were completed, he went home. After this time his wife Elizabeth conceived, and she went into seclusion for five months, saying, "So has the Lord done for me at a time when he has seen fit to take away my disgrace before others."

**Meditation:

Do you believe that God will fulfill all his promises just as he said? Advent is a time to renew our hope and confidence in God’s faithfulness to the covenant he made with his people. In preparing the way for a Savior, we see the wondrous miracle of two barren couples who conceive and bear sons – Samson in the Old Testament (Judges 13) and John the Baptist in the New Testament (Luke 1:5ff) - who are called by God to bring hope and deliverance at a time of spiritual darkness and difficulty for the people of God.

A blessing beyond expectations Zechariah was a godly man who was tuned to God’s voice. He was born into a priestly family and it was his privilege to be chosen to enter the inner court of the temple to offer sacrifice to God. Luke records that the people wondered at Zechariah's delay and were amazed that he was speechless when he withdrew from the inner sanctuary. They rightly perceived that he had a special encounter with God. God’s angelic messenger greeted Zechariah with a blessing beyond his expectations.

"Your prayer is heard! You will have a son! And his mission will be great for all of Israel."

Now that seemed like a lot for Zechariah to take in all at once. Could God really do a miracle for his barren wife, Elizabeth? The angel somewhat wisely put Zechariah in his place before God’s mighty action. He became speechless until the day the infant was dedicated to the Lord and given the name, John. When God draws us into his presence, he wants us to be still and quiet before him so we can listen to his voice as he speaks to our hearts and reveals his mind to us. Do you listen attentively to the Lord and do you ponder his word in your heart with trust and confidence?

**Prayer:

Sources:

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