#Health issues articles

[skunkes]

[enihk-writes]

[日久见人心]

characters: present!chung myung + afab!she/her!reader

baek cheon x afab!she/her!reader (implied and one-sided from the reader's end because they are not the main plot point for this fic lol)

summary: old habits die hard, even when you are born in a new body. to his credit, he does try not to seem like he is the reincarnation of the plum blossom sword saint, but his subconscious actions said otherwise. he didn't think you of all people would notice.

word count: 3.85k

author's note: the phrase 日久见人心 (rì jiǔ jiàn rén xīn) is part of the full saying 路遥知马力，日久见人心 (lù yáo zhī mǎ lì, rì jiǔ jiàn rén xīn) and i vaguely remember it was something my mother tongue teacher back in secondary said we could use in our composition essays or whatever,,,, and recently i saw it on those cringey rise-and-grind motivational crypto bro ig pages my ex-classmates are reposting on their stories which kinda gave me an idea lmao.... anyways the meaning of the quote is that we need to take time to understand a person's character (also the fic is the result of my caffeine overconsumption lol and not related to my previous cmxreader because i needed a break from all that angst romance i've been writing wwwwwwww)

═══════════════

chung myung has been starting to think that you were cut out from the same cloth as yu iseol.

quiet, aloof and always watching.

if someone said that you both were twins, he wouldn't be surprised. but then again, there were differences. the most obvious one was that iseol had more talent with the blade than you did, and the other was that iseol had no talent in actually taking care of herself. you were barely managing, but compared to your senior sister? it was far more decent. the two of you had tang soso to thank for not dying as fast as you could have.

chung myung. bowl.

he looks up to see your hand outstretched, waiting to pick up the empty bowl he'd cleaned off long ago. chung myung grunts and hands it over, propping his arm up and resting his head on it as he watched you go around the dining hall to collect the dinnerware.

you lived in mount hua, sure, but you weren't the fighting sort. maybe because anything you did could get you sick — if the weather dropped or rose a little too quickly, your body would tremble and shiver. did you move a little too much today? did you happen to sleep later than you were supposed to that night? by the next morning you were down with a terrible fever that kept you in your room for the rest of the day. but now that tang soso was here, she would drag you down to the medicine hall, grumbling under her breath, all while you looked at her teary-eyed and apologetic.

maybe it was out of shame or embarrassment that made you try to be yourself useful in other ways, though you would often fail and cause more trouble. everyone would just sigh and pick up after your mess, ushering you out to do something else.

during those days, he'd find you hunched behind the baths, sobbing in frustration. chung myung didn't know what to do or say, he'd always talked more with his fist before his heart, so he'd end up hiding in the trees to watch over you instead. and once you've cried it all out, you would stand, wash your face and go to bed. trying something else tomorrow.

chung myung gives credit where credit was due. for a sickly kid, you sure had a thicker skin than the others.

eventually, you stuck with being the cleaner. your weird, meticulous habits somehow working well in this job. the cups and plates were wiped till it shone, silverware were polished until you could see your own face and that hard-to-scrub dirt on the grout would be pristine and white when left in your hands. chung myung wonders secretly if maybe you'd picked this talent up from that neat freak baek cheon.

what are you thinking about?

he almost hits you out of instinct. you really were cut from the same cloth as yu iseol.

he lets out a shaky breath as he turns to face you, who had been sitting behind him. you look at him owlishly and he would have thought you weren't breathing if not for the movement of your nostrils. crossing his leg over the other, he juts his chin at you in acknowledgement.

what is it?

you're quieter, and thinking a lot more than normal today.

ah... this kid... how does everything that comes out of that mouth sound like an insult? chung myung tries to reign in his short temper, he didn't want to hit a frail person for no reason, and he knows that you just happen to always talk like that.

hm. i was thinking about you.

woah. pervert.

ah... maybe he should hit your head just once. just once and he'll never hit you again.

i'm kidding.

really? were you now?

i'm really kidding, don't go and look like you're going hit me like you do with our senior brothers.

okay, you were off the hook. for now.

hmph. you shouldn't tease your elders.

what elder.

chung myung forgets that you were the same age as him. well, in this body, not spiritually. but if he were to talk about life experience and reincarnation, he was the older one but fuck! you didn't know that! he didn't tell anyone he was the plum blossom sword saint ugh!

chung myung, are you going to have an aneurysm?

shut up!

═══════════════

winter in mount hua was really cold. and chung myung, surprisingly, didn't do so well with the cold. though, he would rather die than let anyone ever find out about that.

he wakes up early to train as usual, but the cold this morning was so biting, he was tempted to just stay in bed, it wasn't easy being an old man. ah, but the other disciples would be celebrating if he didn't appear for morning practice and that was no good. after all, the future of the sect still depended on him, didn't it?

he got dressed and stepped out of his room —

chung myung.

fuck! couldn't you talk to people like a normal person? why do you love to sneak up on people like this? cheong mun sa-hyung please, please, please give him patience and strength.

you look cold.

he was! great observation! chung myung wants to yell that to you with gritted teeth. he was still, unfortunately, very unnerved by how he couldn't feel your presence.

follow me. i have something for you.

you didn't wait for him to reply, instead grabbing his hand as you dragged him to the kitchen. he didn't try to resist, letting you pull him wherever, like a parent going to see what their child just found.

the two of you walk across the training grounds that had been buried under a blanket of pristine snow, the dim light of your paper lantern showing you the way. treading past and leaving two sets of footprints behind.

you push him into the kitchen, hanging the lantern up on a hook in the wall. chung myung notices the fire in the stone stove, you had already started it before going out to find him, probably because you were boiling something in that pot standing over the fire. chung myung sits on the ground, huddling before the blaze, it felt warm and comforting in the kitchen. the sound of water boiling in the pot and the crackling of the charred wood its heat blowing across his frigid face was, unsurprisingly, giving him a boost of energy.

you carefully move the pot to the side, removing the lid to check the contents in it. looking pleased with the result, you take out a bowl still steaming into your hands and placed it on the ground between you and chung myung as quickly as you could.

he looks over curiously. it looked like some kind of pudding, he doesn't think he's seen it before —

it's milk pudding, with lotus seeds and almonds

oh? he pondered, eyeing the bowl as you handed him a spoon.

aren't these ingredients used to make mooncakes?

chung myung asks, folding his arms. he notices that you were avoiding his gaze. don't tell him you...?

did you steal these from the warehouse?

hey! steal is a strong word!

oh i'm sorry, your highness, did you perhaps take the ingredients from the fucking warehouse?

he scoffed mockingly, exaggerating his manner of speech in mild irritation. he laughed at your grimace and pouty expression. ah, he feels like he's making fun of a toddler, he should be ashamed for bullying a kid at his age.

hm, he hasn't done something this juvenile in a long time. it was oddly nostalgic, in a way. he mused, digging into the soft and smooth surface of the pudding with the spoon, trying to scoop up the lotus seeds and almonds in it too.

mmh. 's not bad.

wow, i didn't know you knew how to compliment people

should i take that back then?

i'm sorry.

═══════════════

you had been working hard in cleaning the floors for spring cleaning. but the boys were so heavy-footed and honestly far too uninterested in their surroundings that the well-polished wooden floorboards you were really proud of was always dusty.

should you just barricade the entrance of the dorms until nightfall? just so they wouldn't walk all over your hard work?

you sit on the steps, your hair tied into a scarf, head resting on the propped broom you held between your legs. thinking long and hard over your predicament while looking over at the training grounds where chung myung was drilling down on everyone else.

the sun hung high in the cloudless afternoon sky, its rays casting down on the compound harshly. you were beginning to feel dizzy and closed your eyes, hoping to relieve the pain growing in your head.

you didn't hear anything outside the constant ringing in your ears, so one can only imagine your surprise when the reddish tint you saw while your eyes were closed grew dark.

who?

you cracked open your eyes to try and make out the person standing before you, wincing when the bright light nearly blinded you.

a familiar chuckle graced your ears as the ringing grew quiet. ah, it was senior baek cheon.

he taps the bamboo flask against your forehead, the water in it swishing against the walls. you take it, grateful, chugging down the contents, choking on it a little when a few drops went down the wrong pipe.

hey, hey... slow down... no one's going to take it away from you...

you cough, turning away in embarrassment. baek cheon sits down next to you on the steps, watching your antics in quiet amusement. you didn't want to look at him, not when he was practically topless, with his hair tied up high and swept over his shoulder.

chung myung looks at the scene from afar, not really clocking anything in his mind until he sees the way you were trying to scoot a little further away like a snail touching salt and your hands covering up your cheeks.

oh.

oh?

so you and baek cheon huh?

chung myung feels the cogs in his brain turn. at times like these he wishes he had someone to talk about this with, maybe tang bo. he would have loved to hear about petty gossip like this, and they could have teased the kids like the old men they were.

so you think something is going on between her and baek cheon sasuk too, huh?

jo-gul's voice comes up from behind, and chung myung didn't need to look over to see the guy's eyes trained on his targets.

if you have so much free time to discuss other people's love lives, i think we can continue with our training right, sahyungs?

chung myung called out loudly for everyone to hear.

jo-gul you fucking bastard!

you and your big mouth...

ugh... i can't get up...

the poor guy could only hang his head in quiet embarrassment. baek cheon laughed at the antics of the others, getting up to walk back to the training grounds. but not before he reached out to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

if you're going to rest, do it in the shade. i don't think you want to fall ill again tomorrow, do you?

he asks, and you shake your head in response.

mmh. i'll see you around?

see you...

you wave meekly as he left, your insides going through an entire acrobatics routine. wondering what that short exchange was all about. it couldn't be that he liked you back? or did he catch onto your growing crush? you wanted to throw yourself off the cliff.

═══════════════

i didn't take you for a guy that had habits like this.

chung myung gulped down the last of the warm water in his cup, setting it down on the counter, and looked at you quizzically. your elbows were propped up over the edge of the counter and you were perched on the stool in a rather un-ladylike manner.

it's good for your health you know.

psh... isn't that an old wives tale?

he scoffs and shakes his head.

haah...

he sighs.

the young people these days.

you look at him, head tilted in confusion. humming for a bit, you let your thoughts simmer before you decided to pose the question.

hey, why'd you speak like that?

chung myung pauses.

like what?

you know... like an old man?

he sucks in a quick breath. there was no way you of all people would have figured it out, right?

he felt like he was spiralling into a bit of a panic.

hey.

you snap your fingers in his face, moving to stand beside him while he was deep in thought.

earth to chung myung?

he looks at you.

he takes a good look at you.

you were not the brightest bulb in the bush, or however that saying goes, at least when compared to him. there was no way you connected the dots and figured out he was the plum blossom sword saint. yeah, this was for sure a case of the right formula and the wrong answer.

he had to divert your thoughts before you start to think deeper.

i think i hear baek cheon sasuk coming over.

huh?

it was your turn to panic a little, and he darts out of the kitchen to escape what would have been your incoming torrent of scrutiny. you realise just then that you had been completely bamboozled by the bastard chung myung.

running to the door, you yell out a string of curses at the run-away instigator. ah, your blood pressure...

═══════════════

you think chung myung might have been raised by old people. because there was no other plausible reason that he acts the way he does.

sometimes he walks with his hands behind his back, and while most people your age would stand straight and position their arms in a stiff way, chung myung puts his hands on his lower back — like he was supporting it. you know who else does this? the sect leader and the other elders. and it doesn't help his case that he was always slouching a little.

another thing you notice was how his taste in food was a few notches blander than the rest of you. he wasn't fond of anything too salty or sour or anything undercooked. he'd always pick out the softest parts of any cooked meat, saying it was the juiciest, which was somewhat believable. but then wasn't it also nearest to where the animals organs used to be before it was gutted? wouldn't it taste bitter?

speaking of bitter, chung myung liked to eat food that made you squeamish. he'd nag at the nutritional value of them and when nobody wanted to try it out, he'd mumble something about kids these days not knowing what's good for them and scarf it down by himself.

that was another thing about him, why was he always calling you a kid when you were the same age as him? it wasn't that big of a deal for you. but calling the other seniors kids? you wondered if it was his way of showing his martial superiority in a twisted way, or if it was another underlying reason.

surely, it must be because he was raised by the elderly.

god, you were so smart, weren't you? connecting the dots like that?

═══════════════

chung myung was sure you were dropped on the head as an infant.

you had cornered him in the toilets. broke down and the door and everything, just to ask him who he was raised by. it was ridiculous, the scene that was folding out right then and he chooses to ignore that your weak body had somehow broken down a fucking wooden door. he has to ignore that, for his own sanity.

you were on the walls, hands clawing and feet digging on the rough surface. chung myung shirks away, exasperated. somewhere in the afterlife, he thinks he could hear the loud cackle of his friends at his predicament.

chung myung.

he tries to evade eye contact.

chung myung.

oh man, look at that spider on the ceiling spinning a web.

hey where are you looking? i'm over here.

he finally looks at you turning his head slowly.

uh... i think... you might be a bit too close...

a bit too close was a forgiving statement. your head had craned forward far enough that your face was almost less than a centimetre away from his.

you lean back at his reply. still not keeping your eyes off him. after all, he still hadn't answered your question.

you know that i'm an orphan... right?

yeah. so am i.

i wasn't raised by anybody...

oh.

you step back, pondering for a moment. chung myung feels the breath he was holding leave his lungs. you caused him so much anxiety. remember when he thought you were cut from the same cloth as yu iseol? he stands corrected, but you were insane in the opposite direction.

okay. so who raised you?

chung myung feels his eye twitch. why were you asking the same thing? he already told you!

i'm telling you—!

nuh-uh. that's not what i want to know. i want to know if you grew up with old people.

then you should have asked that from the beginning!

i panicked, okay?

he sighs, deeply, and covers his face in his hands. he feels his miraculous second life leaving his body at this exchange.

to answer your question. no, i didn't.

huh. i see.

you answer simply.

chung myung peeks at you through his fingers, surprised at your unusual silence. you, on the other hand, had grown more confused by his answer. if he hadn't been raised by the elderly, then how would anybody act the way he did? not to mention, he had knowledge of niche historical facts that nobody other than a person living in that time would have known of.

can i go now?

huh? oh yeah... sure...? oh! wait—!

you had answered too absentmindedly! you weren't done questioning him! shit! the slippery bastard had gotten away!

you jog out the door, only to bump into someone when turning a corner. a pair of arms catch you from falling. looking up you were met with baek cheon's worried gaze, which morphed into confusion when he realized at the same time as you did that you had ran out of the boys' toilets.

uh... wait... i can explain...

you wondered if a lighting bolt could strike down in broad daylight.

═══════════════

you were sulking in the kitchen.

the guy you had a somewhat infatuation with caught you in an embarrassing moment. you had convinced yourself all chances you had with him were ruined. this was all chung myung's fault. every time you had the slightest inconvenience you would secretly curse him out a little in your heart. you used to feel bad when you still had a working conscience, but not anymore though.

speak of the devil, and he comes walking in.

chung myung came in to ransack the cellar behind the kitchen for wine. he had been craving it for the past few days after his own stash ran out. he had waited for everyone else to be asleep before sneaking in as quietly as he could.

so one can only imagine the shock he felt, even though he swears he had already seen it all, when he finds your shadowy figure sitting crossed-legged on the counter and your two eyes staring right back at him in the darkness.

keugh—!

chung myung bites back a scream. fuck! can he please have one, one. peaceful day where you didn't fuck around with his psyche?

you didn't know he was coming in so soon. but you didn't care much since you had something to give him anyway.

shoving the lacquer box engraved with floral designs into his chest, you motion for him to take a look inside. chung mying complied, hesitantly lifting off the lid to find rows of thin mooncakes, without the egg yolks probably, and another layer under that was filled with a flaky-looking biscuit.

it's called tau sar piah.

he hums, taking the round ball out to inspect it. shrugging, he popped it into his mouth and chews down on the pastry. the flavour, it was familiar. he thinks, was it—?

dried mung bean paste?

you nodded, grinning.

what's this for though?

don't tell me you forgot.

forget? what did he forget?

it's your birthday you goon. well, in a few hours but still.

oh. he had forgotten, momentarily. you really were a good kid, remembering this old man's birthday and making something for him. shit, chung myung thinks he might tear up. was this what it was like to have grandchildren? he thinks he understands why cheong mun sa-hyung might have suggested he take on disciples of his own, or well, trusted him enough to babysit the children of the sect back then. ugh, he was a grandfather after all, and you were somehow his most troublesome child.

he sniffles. closing the lid on the box and grabbing the wine. well, it would be lonely to eat all of this on his own, and waking up the others would be too much of a hassle. suppose you would make do as his drinking buddy tonight. hooking an arm under your knees, he slings you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. the other grabbing the food and drink.

he jumps on the roofs until he brings you to a spot where the moon felt the closest. he drops you on your feet as you balance yourself on the uneven shingles. chung myung plopped down, leg crossed over the other, as he began to down the wine straight from the bottle.

he hands you the lid of the box, picking out the mooncake and biting into it.

wow. tastes kinda ass.

ugh, ungrateful much?

i never said i wouldn't eat it.

can't you just say your appreciation like a normal person?

a pause.

...thank you.

chung myung replied in a softer voice.

hmph. see? that wasn't so hard?

you huffed, teasing him.

chung myung only scoffed and rolled his eyes.

the night drudged on, and you spent the time talking about everything and nothing. things that happened that week, gossip you've heard, events that had happened in the past, antics of the other sect members...

chung myung feels his eyelids grow heavy. was it alright to rest his grieving heart for a while on his birthday? cheong mun sa-hyung and the others' surely wouldn't mind.

and as he feels himself drifting off to sleep, your voice quips up.

hey, do you think i should confess to sasuk?

psh—!

chung myung spits out the wine in his mouth, choking on the liquid that went up and out his nose. it felt as though he was vomiting out blood from that question alone.

you were really his most troublesome kid.

[xxx-ang3l-w1th-a-sh0tgun-xxx]

i love the manic pixie dream girl aesthetic/character trope when it's not problematic <3 /gen

[arospecsyourblockdudes]

cant go too far from tumblr its the only website that isnt horrible to people with npd

[corbenic]

Can I say something with your comment about “Kate doesn’t go to weddings so she doesn’t outshines the bride”? I don’t think you meant it that way, and I’ve seen other have the same reasoning in the past, but it doesn’t make her come across in a good way.

The people who invite her to things knows who she is, and they still invite her. They obviously want her there, so if her thinking is that she won’t go because she brings too much attention? It makes her sound arrogant and conceited. If that is the case I’d tell her to get over herself and go and celebrate with her friends.

Agreed, anon! I think she should go to more weddings. Especially since having royals attend is generally seen as an honor.

I’m going to push back on the idea that her not going—which has widely been explained as “not outshining the bride” for as long as I’ve been royal-watching—makes her seem arrogant and conceited. This is Catherine we’re talking about. If she was either of those things, I think there would have been an inkling in the 20 years she’s spent in the public eye.

So I don’t think it’s fair to characterize it that way. Assuming the reasoning for her not attending weddings is true (and I have no ability to confirm that it is, so this is conjecture on my part), I think it’s more accurate to paint it as a naturally shy and respectful woman having endured a decade of paparazzi and public attention, seeing that attention amplified after the engagement announcement, and deciding she doesn’t want to bring that storm bearing down on her loved ones.

[rosymiel]

i have finally finished the paper i’ve spent 10 hours on today

[blackmoldmp3]

w multiple health professionals telling me dental issues can cause long term damage to your heart etc it seems so fucked up that in a country with 'universal' healthcare im still stuck paying thousands of dollars getting this shit taken care of. even w some amount of private dental insurance

[lil-lycanthropy]

Hate looking up info on personality disorders. Especially when comparing them to other non-personality disorders or conditions.

Like I was comparing OCD with OCPD, and it’s like “people with OCD have anxiety :( and they hate that their compulsions affect them :( and it’s tragic that they have to deal with obsessions :( so you have to be compassionate with them :) and let them know that their OCD is tough, but they’re tougher :)”

And then the next paragraph is like “yeah people with OCPD don’t believe there’s anything wrong with them and they don’t see any issue with being controlling monsters”

[oysters-aint-for-me]

maybe when the spanish subtitles for “dennis takes a mental health day” are released, his doctor will say at the end “eso es bueno sr. reynolds. todavía tienes hipertensión” instead of whatever bullshit the english dub tried to pull

[mickgaydolenz]

so, i was reading 17° Aquarius which is what Micky's Mars is in and it was... interesting. i mean it's main theme is egotism and being dependent on others for stimulation; corruption and selfishness at its very worse. there's some merit to this but i only say that confidently because his Mars is in his 12H.

while the 4H represents the hidden life, and 8H represents the hidden mind, the 12H represents just being hidden in general; whether its abilities, emotions, opinions, the past, whatever is placed there. it's only accessed/activated -- other than for a profection year -- either willingly, or being forced to tap into it. especially so if there's aspects to it. it's also the last house which often represents endings and closure, answers given, and healing from old wounds.

majority of the time people will either totally ignore whatever's in this house or they'll escape into it to avoid reality. sure, you can ignore or run to your 12H placements for as long as you want, but they will always come back to bite you in the ass. everyone like's to throw karma around here, but that word has become so overused that it overtime lost it's original meaning, to which i cannot even define, as it's been bastardized to fit the white person's spiritual lexicon (thank you colonialism very cool /s). soooo a better way of describing this house is a house of personal retribution.

the reason im bringing this up is not to talk so much about Micky's 12H, since it's only his Mars there ...so sorry worldwide Micky girls nation <\3. although i will say, when i read "susceptibility to physically illness if frustrations grow intense" i got worried, so my eyes are closer than ever on that old man. watching him like a hawk as we speak.

i'm bringing this up because i've mentioned before about Mike's 12H and how that might've came into play when he had that "i got it" moment in his life. we actually have some telling placements here. he has three: his South Node, and asteroids Vesta and Pallas.

im actually not gonna talk about his asteroids because it's not why i'm here in your inbox. why i'm here is to discuss his South Node. this is extremely important, Mike girls. you should take notes. its gonna get melancholic.

in astrology, we have these things called Moon Nodes. you have a North and a South Node, and they will always be opposing each other in opposing signs, because they're supposed to; the North Node represents the present life, the quest, growth, while South Node represents the past life, the resource, our blockages. do you see where this is going?

i could explain the Nodes themselves, as it does give way to fully realizing their curriculum in his chart, but ive honestly hadn't gotten around to fully understanding them just yet because i'm still stuck on degree theory. i'm only sharing what i know and what i'm currently reading on them so that i can explain this correctly. you can read here and here if you sincerely need to know the details. all you have to know for this is that his NN is in Leo 6H and his SN in Aquarius 12H. i've already explained the 12H, but the 6H deals with daily living, organization, service and health. now you are bueno *whip crack effect* 👍

tw death mention coming up here//

i've been quietly busy piecing things together to see what important placements were there in-around the times of death for the three. mistakenly, at first, i would focus heavily on their profection year they died and the aspects to it, without even considering the years before that would lead up to that. those prior years do in fact play a role here. what i've found is that there's no one important placement, aspect or degree that can encompass a death-like sentence to someone's astro makeup. while astrology cannot predict when or even how someone will die, what we can do is posthumously see what important factors lead to their passing.

in Mike's case, he passed in his 7H profection year; the year before, he was in his 6H; to note, he actually has a stellium here, which are all entirely retrograded, but that's not important to this. and guess what was there? because this was the year of 2020, when everyone was isolated and recollecting themselves; this was his Node's last attempts to sober him up before it all ended, and it had to do so by sheer force.

you know what happened next? he stopped hiding.

even after Davy had passed and he gave in to touring with his surviving band members, he still seemed to isolate himself after the show was over. barely showing for interviews with the others. didn't spill himself too much that wasn't about what was going on around him. he kept to himself as always and no one tried too hard to pry him. the usual Michael Nesmith routine.

but after Peter had passed, i think something just snapped in him. for some reason i feel like he found himself more comfortable being vulnerable after Peter was gone... really strange stuff. almost like he was afraid of being or feeling similar to him? ffs i wish he was still alive so i could ask him cause it's gonna kill me otherwise.

but now, amidst the chaos of 2020, instead of running away into comfort and escaping from being vulnerable, he brought those vulnerabilities out instead, especially so on stage. if i had to guess anything about Mike during this time, is that he just wanted to heal. he so badly wanted to mend things even after things were too late & far gone, which i would also include his physical health here too, as 6H rules physical health -- Micky did say he had health issues for a long while. but his struggles trying to communicate that among other things made it a too-little-too-late issue (uh-oh girls, it's his Saturn Rx 3H eating him alive!).

but what he could mend at that moment, he did, and what he was able to mend was his relationship to his audience. remember when we talked about this before with Peter? sighs. Mike went YOINK and took those lessons without directly discussing him, whether he knew it or not. he is sooooo irritating ❤

i'll end this off by sharing this: in one of my sources i have that actually talks about the Nodes, there's a section where the author explains the Nodes through the lens of different religious and cultural mythologies. of course, since we're talking about Mike, the Christian version stood out to me most for this case, which brings in the story of Adam & Eve. at first i passed it off cause it's only a short paragraph in a sea of much more lengthier mythologies, but the more i read it the more enlightening it became to me.

here's the direct quote:

"Eve draws Adam into the world of duality, relationship and further incarnation, by listening to the serpent. Later, Eve having given birth to Mary, God enters mankind through her, thus bringing the Christ out of Adam. Here I would understand Eve and Mary to be representing two different facets of the cosmic feminine principle. So by listening to the serpent, we move further into duality and the world of form, and by listening to God, we are reconnected with unity."

and in the end, Mike finally listened to God. properly. for once in his life.

.

[torchickentacos]

can fucking harvard maybe not try to sell me weight loss diets?

[zeawesomebirdie]

What if I just put my entire life on hold to read Unrestrained again

[asmita-das-blog]

My Angle Towards Yoga & Satvic Lifestyle

Do let us know your take on Satvic food and lifestyle

I’m a Bengali, a pseudo-Bengali and a pure non-vegetarian Bengali. Fish-swim-in-my-blood kind of Bengali. Since my birth, I have been into proper non-vegetarian food and not to mention, I do have weight issues too. However, that’s purely because of my carelessness and not focussing on my health, body, hair, face, skin at all. And the result – well! acne, weight gain, back pain, aches, etc,…

[fastaspasta]

it would be very nice to know how many times i’m allowed to express that i dislike something/want something to change for each relationship i have. and i think a little notification bubble telling you when a boundary is a personal problem to work on rather than expecting the other person to change would be helpful too

[urlocallesbiab]

sometimes i feel my story nagging at the back of my mind, gnawing, clawing, breathing down my neck, demanding "i need to exist", "i want to exist"; its desire and will powerful and overwhelming.

when it will be written, it won't be the most beautiful or smart or sophisticated story ever, i know that even now, it may even come to be overall unremarkable; and yet towards it i feel sheer, unfiltered awe, simply for the fact that it is a story and posseses a will to exist, a great and awesome will, and i am the sole witness of it, the sole prophet and worshipper to this decisive power. a story, it feels to me, is a separate mode of being, something vaguely and imcomprehensibly conciousness-like, but abstract and untethered, while human conciousness is unseparable from the intimacy and realness of us being animals. a story needs us, our animal bodies and lives and minds, our hands and mouths and neurons, to help it become real, to take it and bring it onto earth: something halfway between a symbiotic relationship and a religious experience. i find myself subservient to it, to art as universal divinity and to my story as my personal deity that embodies the former.

this loyalty to sublime makes me feel more at peace and in tune with the mundane than anything ever before it. i realize, in a sudden grace of acceptance, that in order to serve my story, to write my god i need to be alive, a blessed animal, and to be alive i need to take care of myself, which means i have to do the dishes and find a job and various et cetera; everything shifts and makes perfect sense. i no longer feel confused or burdened as to "why should i bother", and my body moves lighter and easier.

but the thing about unwritten stories is that they don't yet exist in any physical sense, not as electronic signals or pigment on paper or air vibrations or projected light or anything else; my story in its full form resides only in my head, and thus my awe and loyalty and service towards it are directed, ultimatey, unto myself, in the most sefless and selfish fashion simultaneously — self-love through division and synthesis. to serve art is to love yourself, and to love yourself is to make sure you're alive; to want your story to exist is to want yourself to exist. it's a complex system, but beautiful. with that thought, i'll go finish the dishes, and maybe cook something.