#aching for divinity

[xoxo-ares]

How To Survive Being a Godless Child

Being born is cruel. The act of being born is done without one’s consent. Where you were only moments before, for nine months, in a different world with a different God. A God that brought you into a new existence, and promptly kicked you out after a mere nine months. You small, scared, pathetic little thing. You cry out into the cold air; met with smiles and blessings that you cannot see or hear. Some of you made it out, others didn’t. Lucky you. Your world was quite different than this one; smaller than the one you have been dropped into now. It was a different life, one without thought. It was warm and fulfilling. You grew and kicked and your God fed you. Did you feel your God’s presence? You wouldn’t know now. When you were cast out, did you wonder why? Could you have begged for mercy to be let back into the world you had known since you existed? Obviously not, you are a helpless baby, covered in blood that is not yours but was yours once, crying in a voice given to you by someone you do not know, you are someone separated from your creator in a way that can never be reversed. You are a godless child. Welcome to your new life.

You are now alone, alone in the way that one can never fathom. No one could explain why you were removed from the only life you had ever known. You cry, and it is all that can be done. No human skin can feel as warm and safe as the world you knew before, but don’t worry, you’ll get accustomed to it soon. Very quickly you’ll forget where you came from, and before you know it, the ache you felt within you, longing for a way back home, will be gone.

Perhaps that ache never goes, perhaps we never stop yearning for the safety we once had. Perhaps that’s why we turn to a new God. 

I hear about this God, the invisible presence that seems to guide everyone else. It’s like hearing about a distant relatives’ overachieving child; the stories never stop coming. “I prayed to God to help me with an exam, and I passed!” “I was really struggling, but God helped me see past it. I feel so much better and at peace now.” They boast, and for a moment I envy them. It always happens around me, not to me. They seem so whole, their lives touched by something that brought them so much meaning. And here I am, still searching. Still wondering where my answer is.  

Sometimes when I am alone, I think about God. Not in the way they tell you to. I don’t get on my knees, nor do I join my hands, I don’t close my eyes either; but I think about God. In those quiet moments, when I feel the light breeze on my skin from my half open window, warmth of the light seeping through the blinds, the ticking of a clock older than me, I feel it. My lungs grasp for air and my heart aches, I feel an absence. The quiet in the room is not peaceful, it is loud. The breeze on my skin is unnerving. I feel the absence of God. It scares me. It drives me crazy. Why can’t I feel what everyone else feels? Am I not good enough? What makes them worthy of God’s presence? Is it the bruises on their knees or the way their lips remember prayers with words I do not understand? I can’t help but feel left out.

It's almost like the more I reach out, the farther I get away from God. Inside the womb, I kicked and kicked, and before I knew it, I was severed from a bond that I had formed for the entirety of my life. Now here I am, using my legs to run this time, and the more I chase for God, the farther God gets away from me.

So, the next time I hear a prayer, I bite my lip and don’t say anything. When I hear them speak of their God’s love, I nod and smile. I ask enough questions, and I join my hands along with them as they chant their prayers. In fact, I go as far as memorizing some of them. I celebrate with them. What I don’t do, which might come surprising to some who know me closely, is speak my mind. I don’t tell them how absurd their prayers sound. I don’t question the logic of their religious texts, or the stories they tell me. I don’t go to a place of worship and yell “Your God is not real. He never was.” If He was real, He’d let me know, wouldn’t He? Our Father, who art in heaven, what do You do when I call out Your name? Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven, is your will to let us fight amongst ourselves, let some starve for our rightful daily bread that we ask in our prayers every day?

I’ll envy those who say their prayers were answered. But nothing—and I mean nothing, compares to how much my heart weeps for those who call out to their absent Father. Those who scream into the nothingness till their voice goes hoarse, those who become a shell of who they were, and were to be, lost in prayers unanswered but hopes never lost.

To be human, is to be a child of a broken home. To be human is to call out for a father who will never return. To be human is to long for a home you don’t remember, or even know if it exists.

I am nothing if not human, and like many, I have grown tired. I am tired of asking questions whose answers I know won’t come. I can’t bring myself to poke holes in someone else’s fabric of faith, everyone’s pattern different, yet they produce the same design. I will continue to participate in something I know I’ll never have, an imposter among the believers. I come from a mother, and the only home I remember is here, on earth. Perhaps if I was born in a different circumstance my heart would be full, or maybe I wouldn’t know this ache to begin with. The more time passes, the less I feel it. On some days it’s almost gone. But other times, when the breeze hits my skin just right, or the clock ticks a second too slow; I hold my breath, almost instinctively, but then I ask myself,

“Who am I waiting for?”

[shisasan]

June 11, 1914 [From Lou Andreas-Salomé to Rainer Maria Rilke] Rilke and Andreas-Salomé: a love story in letters (1897-1926)

[divine-draws]

Take me to the docks, there is a ship without a name there And it is sailing to the middle of the sea The water there is deeper than anything you've ever seen Jump right in and swim until you're free

[mooniluvyou]

MEEEEEE

[sainteclectic]

The Mediator, the Sacrifice, and the Devotee

"Nous is the basic understanding or awareness that allows human beings to think rationally. [...] arranged all other things in the cosmos in their proper order, started them in a rotating motion, and continued to control them to some extent [...] argued that the human understanding (nous) somehow stems from this cosmic nous, which is however not just a recipient of order, but a creator of it."

"The word [thymos] indicates a physical association with breath or blood and is also used to express the human desire for recognition. [...] Thymos was a permanent possession of living man, to which his thinking and feeling belonged. When a Homeric hero is under emotional stress, he may externalize his thymos and converse with or scold it."

"[...] a vehicle for transformation of consciousness and union with the Divine. In Symposium, eros is described as a universal force that moves all things towards peace, perfection, and divinity. [...] eros can help the soul to "remember" beauty in its pure form. Even when it seems to give, eros continues to be a 'desire to possess' [...] Eros is thus the way that leads man to divinity, but not vice versa."

[edensvessel]

me, doing a shufflemancy reading with King Asmodeus: so what should i focus on next?

the song: "show me those pretty white jaws" /lyr

me: ohh okay, so i should open up with you more than i already have been and i should allow myself to open up with my friends more too, so that i can solve some potential communication issues and hopefully help myself feel better?

King Asmodeus, looming over me last night while i was asleep and opening my mouth and keeping it wide open for at least an hour or two while i slept: some things are much more literal than you think.

[arthur-lesters-spinal-cord]

Lie to me

After the order Kayne wants to talk with the detective, who does not want to talk with him.

This is my way of coping with Kayne calling Noel "insolent detective" in malevolent 52.

My first Noel/Kayne fic, im shocked it took me this long.

[sweetestfaiszts]

my fucking stomach hurts.

[kvrosawaaa]

[theweightofdivinity]

He calls me undeserving. Says I am useless.

But how can a man, made of flesh, bone, and blindness, name the worth of something carved from storm, stone, and stardust? He does not know the weight I carry in silence, how I mother the world and return to a body that aches just to be seen. Men like him were never taught how to touch the sacred without trying to own it. I am not here to be measured by usefulness or obedience. I am ruin. I am rebirth. I am what the old mystics feared, and worshipped, in equal measure. If he cannot see me, if he cannot feel me, if he cannot kneel before what is divine, then it is not I who am unworthy. It is he who has not earned the sight. He does not see me, but gods, how I burn to be seen by something real.

[shisasan]

20 June 1914, Rilke and Andreas-Salomé: a love story in letters (1897-1926) [ID: Date — 20 June, 1914 Text —Work of the eyes is done, begin heart-work now on those images in you, those captive ones; for you conquered them: but you still don’t know them. END ID]

[soupyloopyx]

the milk pours down the sink and i'm having Big Feelings

[wintvies]

yeah man im fine (a tornado is currently rearranging my stomach as we speak)

[forgivenfolly]

my problem is i don't find dnd as a system's concept of good and evil remotely compelling but i DO find the general durge backstory fun

[lifenconcepts]

can I like.. tear apart your flesh then sob into it and whimper like a sad wolf pup or would that not be cool with you like.. do I have your consent.. or?

[dlrge]

made and drank entirely too much hot cocoa tonight.....my stomach is killing me....please pray for my recovery 🙏