#inés of my soul

[yeahpeoplecallmeweird]

"A man does what he can; a woman does what a man cannot."

- Isabel Allende, Inés of My Soul

[and-her-saints]

Do you happen to have any resources on mysticism? I’m writing a short paper for one of my classes, and I want to bring in some outside sources <3

depends on what branch/type! i'm the most well-versed on Catholic mysticism, of course. so, that's what i'll share.

i illustrated Shannon K. Evans' new book: "The Mystics Would Like a Word." (out now!) It's about St. Thérèse of Lisieux, St. Catherine of Siena, St Teresa of Ávila, St. Hildegard of Bingen, Julian of Norwich and Margery Kempe. i think it's a brilliant intro to mysticism that also ties the practice to modern day. besides, these women are the quintessential mystic girlies within Catholicism, so you could look into them.

For St. Thérèse specifically, you could look into her autobiography, 'Story of A Soul'. For St. Teresa of Ávila, it could be 'The Interior Castle.' For Julian of Norwich, 'Revelations of Divine Love.' For St. Hildegard, her Scivias or her songs... etc. etc.

a dear buddy, W, has the podcast 'St. Anthony's Tongue" and it specializes in this topic particularly. i'd definitely recommend looking through his podcast and show notes.

since it's a small paper, you might find good sticking to a single mystic. mysticism is so so broad and found across many spiritualities, approaches, religions and cultures. you could also compare and contrast the experiences of two different mystics.

for "lesser-known" mystics, i think St. Gemma Galgani's or Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz' experiences could also be a fascinating subject for essays on mysticism.

(i'm too much of a lesbian to mention men who were mystics. they are uninteresting, in my opinion. the only ones i think i like are St. Francis of Assisi and, in small doses, St. Ignatius of Loyola)

if you need any sources that are even more specialized later on, let me know! i'd be happy to help! best of luck!!!!!!

[justrainandcoffee]

Sinners (James Delaney x fem!oc) II

Masterlist - Part I

Summary: Agnes and James finally see each other after all those years apart. || Agnes can't leave her thoughts about Zilpha behind her and plan something to see her. || James starts to think that the truth behind Inés' new identity is bigger than he believed at the beginning.

Warnings: Manipulation. || Catholic themes.||

Words: 2.2k.

1813

“In nómine Patris et Fílī et Spíritus Sancti…”

Two days of fasting was what Agnes did after she saw James Delaney. Just water and praying. God listened to her in the past and she was sure he was willing to do it again. Her soul, after all, belonged to him.

It was well known that some nuns and priests whipped themselves because it was a way to clean the soul through the pain, but she didn't do that. Not this time.

She looked through the window and watched the city. It was raining, it was humid and it was also cold.

How she could forget that face? His face was the one to blame for all the things that happened. Him but also her own stupidity.

.

"What do you know about Inés Serra?"

Brace saw the younger man scrutinizing the rooms. Whatever happened to him in Africa, the man in front of him wasn't the boy he knew. Physically he was there, his eyes were there looking at everything but James' mind wasn't.

"I don't know, never heard of her again. Last time I knew something was when her father died at least a year and a half after you left. Yours, wanted to give her a place in this house but the girl rejected the offer. She was so young to be alone. Maybe she died."

"No, no, she didn't. She's a nun."

Brace nodded "probably that was the best choice. Young women almost always end in the streets as whores, she did a right choice."

James just hummed. "Did she stay here after I left?"

"No. Both of you left almost at the same time, maybe "just months of difference. That man, Serra, became an alcoholic after the girl left. A good man but his last years alive, he was violent. Your father didn't have the heart to kick him out of his company, not after the years of service, but he should have. One day, a boy found him dead in his bed."

"You didn't see her?"

"No. Your father told me she was in the funeral and then left after refusing his offer to stay here."

"Mmh."

"I always thought that girl was in love with you. You were almost the same age and she was always looking for you."

"Yes, she was and it was good that she left in time. I need to go, Brace, see you later."

.

Ten years passed since he left the country and in many aspects everything was the same, but in many others, not. When he left England he was a boy, barely a man. He didn't understand the world the same way he did it now and that caused him to make mistakes. And Inés Serra was one of those mistakes. He asked himself if he could do that again knowing the damage he caused. Probably not, but that didn't mean he couldn't be willing to try.

She, for sure, was pretty. He liked the colour of her skin eternally kissed by the sun and her brown eyes that in summer days seemed to be the same colour as the honey. Inés was pretty, that was a fact that he as a young boy couldn't deny. The problem was that his feelings towards her weren't strong enough to be considered love. Love was another thing. It was a feeling that only one person received from him in his life. Forbidden as it was.

His white horse was waiting for him and he mounted on him to return to St. Bartholomew's hospital. If the circumstances had been different, then he couldn't waste his time on her, and could have left the young woman alone. But he did need to talk to her.

"I'm looking for Inés Serra," he said to one of the nuns outside the hospital. "She's a sister like you. I want to thank her for taking care if my old mother," James lied.

"There's no sister named Inés Serra here, sir. But if she's new maybe I don't know her, ask the Sister over there. Her name is Agnes, she has been working here for almost a decade. She knew almost everyone here."

The nun pointed at Agnes herself who was looking at him. That moment she was helping a little kid but left him with another one and turned around to go to the small church there.

She saw him.

James thanked the old woman and walked after Inés. Or Agnes. Why did she changed her name?

The church was silent except for the sound of the raindrops knocking on the stained glass windows. The smell of candles was mixed with the humidity outside and Agnes felt the vitiated air in her lungs.

In her mind.

She began to pray again. God needed to listen to her.

“In nómine Patris et Fílī et Spíritus Sancti…”

But he wasn't to listen to her prayers. Maybe because he was busy, maybe because she didn't deserve to be listened to.

Heavy footsteps broke the silence inside the sacred place and she knew who the person was.

Agnes saw a shadow behind her and the sound of coins falling in the moneybox the church had.

"I thought you were dead," she spoke looking at the dark tiles. The first words in ten years she said to him.

"I am, Inés."

"Inés is also dead."

"That's what I imagined."

"It seems this is a meeting for the dead, then."

"What better place to reunite two souls than a church?" James took off his hat and put it besides him. "Long time, sister Agnes."

"What do you want, James?"

"I'm looking for forgiveness."

"Father John will be here at five. He can pray for your soul."

"No, I don't want that kind of forgiveness and you know what I'm talking about."

"Then forgiveness is what you have, James. Long time ago, right? Everything is forgotten."

"Is that so?" James could sense some anger in her voice. Resentful, maybe.

"I'm a woman of God. I learnt to forgive."

James nodded. "Okay, then. Everything is forgotten."

The smell of candles in the church, was now the smell of fish and rum behind that cantina. The sound of the raindrops was now the mumbling of the people passing by while they were fucking there. Agnes shook her head.

"I heard your father died. I'm sorry. I have nothing but gratitude words for him because he helped my father, my brother and me when we had nothing. I hope his soul can find peace in Heaven."

"My father isn't in Heaven. He wasn't the man you think he was, Agnes."

Neither of us is destined to be in Heaven, thought Agnes but remained quiet.

"He was the cause my mother died. But I'm trying to fix the things."

"You can't bring back dead people."

"You're wrong. Not bring them back in a way that you and I are alive, but you can. They talk to you if you know how."

"That's against God's rules."

"So is lying, Agnes. And you're fucking lying to me," James put his hat on again. She lifted her head to look at him. "You can find me in my old house. I have an use for you." He stood up and walked towards the door but before he can leave he heard her once more.

"Are you still seeing your damn sister?"

"Are you sure everything is forgotten, Agnes?" he asked crossing the door.

He was still seeing her and Agnes had no doubt about it. It wasn't Delaney Sr. who should have died but his daughter. Agnes could stop her own thoughts but didn't regret it either. Sinners should die.

.

The good thing about being a nun was that usually people was willing to help them. They were one of the closest things they had to be next to God and most of nuns had a gentle soul. Why, then, anyone could distrust one of God's most loved servants? Agnes knew that and took advantage of it. And when she asked for information that was what she got.

Zilpha Delaney lived in a beautiful house and wore the surname Geary now.

Slim and mysterious as ever that was what Agnes thought when she finally saw her crossing the enter of her house. She was still wearing black, probably mourning the death of her father. Next to her was a tall gentleman, no doubts that was Mr. Geary.

Zilpha Delaney was even lucky to get a husband, a nice house and now she also had her brother back and still in love with her. All those feelings that Agnes believed were behind her reappeared, but now the one carrying them was an adult woman and not a naïve young girl.

She walked towards the Geary manor when he was sure enough that the couple was already settled inside and then knocked on the door.

A young maid, opened the door and greeted her with a smile that Agnes correspond.

"I'm looking for donations for poor children," she said. "Is the man of the house here?"

"Mr. Geary just arrived, Sister. But I don't know if he's interested in this. But please, come in, and I'll call him."

"You're really nice, darling. God bless you."

The inside of the house as pretty as Agnes believed. Only one of those paintings or sculptures could feed a whole school for years, she thought.

Mr. Geary didn't make her wait for that long and before she could realise, the man was standing before her. He didn't seem to be a smart one, probably inherited his money from his own father and his marriage helped him to built the rest.

Yet, he was exactly who she wanted to see.

"Thanks for wasting your time in our cause, sir."

"We don't make donations to charity. You understand that if we help one, we need to help all."

"They're just kids. Orphans. I want to believe that good people still exist."

"My father-in-law just passed away," he said "we're not in conditions to waste our money in bastards, with all respect."

Fucking asshole.

"It's okay. I'm sorry for wasting your time, sir. Are you married? I'd like to add your name and your wife's name to my prayers, maybe god can illuminate your hearts."

Just say it, she thought. And Geary replied exactly how she wanted to.

"Zilpha." Agnes repeated "That's an uncommon name. Zilpha Delaney? I heard of her when I was little. Same as her brother, James. I know he died long ago, I'm sorry, she lost everything she loved in her life."

"James Delaney is alive," Geary said and couldn't hide his hatred.

"Really? Are you sure? In that case, I'll pray for him too. Thanks for your time, Mr. Geary."

But the man stopped her. "What do you know about James Delaney?"

"Very few things. I had a friend who lived in a house that not longer exist next to the Delaney's one. All I know is because of her. And she's dead now, so…"

"What did she tell you?"

"Mr. Geary. In this world exist something worse that greed. Things that are better to keep it in the dark."

"Like what? Murder?"

"Murder is not a secret for humanity, Mr. Geary. It's also unforgivable but very frequent. Others…" Agnes looked down. "Better don't ask. May God help the soul of your wife, Mr. Geary, because I can't. Goodbye."

Agnes' heart was racing when she left the house. If she managed to implant a doubt in Geary's head, then for now it was enough.

Those thoughts that caused the death of Inés and her ulterior reborn as Agnes, invaded her soul and this time there wasn't any salvation.

Agnes didn't care. Envy wasn't a strong word to describe her feelings towards Zilpha. She hated her and was determined to destroy her perfect world forever.

.

James wasn't sleeping, he never really slept. But he was thinking in bed. 10 years. Math was a perfect science.

But inside him, he knew it. That kid, Robert… he wasn't product of his father and a whore. His father couldn't care less if a whore got pregnant of his bastard. But Horace Delaney could care if his reputation was in trouble.

Robert was James' son. And the only two girls he fucked were his sister and Inés.

Why, why did Inés change her identity? Girls all the time ended with a broken heart but not because of that they hide from the world and pretend to be a new person. They didn't kill themselves figuratively speaking.

And why his father offered her a place in the Delaney's house after her father died? He had no obligation. She was no one but the daughter of his friend.

Unless she was also the mother of his grandson.

[baldwinivmybeloved]

(মন্দ)⠀Charper VI , Jerusalem ⸺ Allishah x Baldwin IV

The king and the rose

The dawn broke in soft shades of pink and gold, bathing Jerusalem Castle in an ethereal light that promised a day of splendor. The bustle of preparations filled the air, with servants and artisans working diligently to transform the great hall into a haven of opulence. Garlands of white and lilac flowers hung from the arches and ceilings, filling the air with a sweet perfume that evoked the promise of new life.

The tables were covered with crimson velvet tablecloths, adorned with gold candelabras and floral arrangements that glowed in the glow of the candles. The soft music of harps and flutes filled the air, creating an atmosphere of serenity and celebration. In the center of the room, a white marble altar, decorated with intricate carvings and lit candles, waited to witness the union of two souls.

Allishah, dressed in a delicate blue silk dress that enhanced her youthful beauty, walked around the room with a mixture of awe and nostalgia. Her heart was pounding as she took in every detail, knowing that the moment her mother had waited for so long had finally arrived. He approached Silvia, who was being prepared in an adjacent room.

Silvia, radiant in her ivory lace bridal dress, looked at her daughter with eyes full of love and pride. Her dark hair, tied up in an elaborate bun adorned with small pearls, shone in the candlelight. Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted the last details of her outfit.

“Allishah, my dear daughter,” Silvia said in a soft voice, taking her daughter's hands in hers. “Today is a day of new beginnings, not only for me, but also for us. I want you to always remember to be brave and follow your heart, no matter what fate has in store for us.”

Allishah, with tears in her eyes, nodded. “Mom, I promise you I will be strong. “I am so happy for you and what is to come.”

When the doors to the great hall opened, a wave of excitement ran through the guests. Silvia, with her dress that seemed to float above the floor, walked down the aisle accompanied by Allishah. The murmurs of admiration and warm smiles from those present created an atmosphere of pure happiness.

Reynald waited at the end of the hallway, his hardened face softening at the sight of his future wife. Dressed in ceremonial armor and a red cape, he stood out as a noble warrior, ready to protect and love. Upon reaching the altar, he took Silvia's hands and looked into her eyes with an intensity that promised eternal devotion.

The priest, dressed in gold and white robes, began the ceremony with a resonant voice that filled the hall. “Today we gather to unite Silvia and Reynald in holy matrimony, in a pact of love and loyalty before God and these witnesses.”

Allishah, standing next to her mother, watched every moment with a mixture of admiration and melancholy. The vows exchanged resonated in his heart, reminding him of the strength of love and the hope for a better future.

“Silvia,” Reynald said, his voice deep and solemn, “I promise to love you, respect you, and protect you every day of my life. “You are my strength and my inspiration.”

Silvia, with tears of joy, responded, “Reynald, I accept your love and I promise to be faithful, support you and walk by your side in all the trials and triumphs that life brings us.”

Inés and Sibylla, sitting in places of honor, watched with eyes full of emotion and pride. Baldwin, although present only briefly due to his failing health, smiled approvingly, his eyes shining with a mixture of wisdom and tenderness.

Finally, the priest raised his hands in blessing. “May the love of God guide you and protect you always. I declare that you are now husband and wife.”

The room erupted in applause and cheers, and Reynald bowed his head to gently kiss Silvia, sealing their union before everyone's eyes. Allishah, watching with a bright smile, felt a mix of hope and determination. He knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in their lives, one that promised to be full of challenges, but also love and strength.

The afternoon sun filtered through the castle's tall windows, bathing the courtyard in a warm golden light. The sound of horses' hooves and the bustle of servants preparing to leave filled the air. Reynald and Silvia, now united in marriage, were preparing to leave for Kerak, their new home.

Silvia, in her ivory traveling dress, adjusted the last details of her outfit while chatting with some of the servants. His face, although serene, showed a mixture of excitement and apprehension at the separation that was about to occur. Reynald, always the imposing warrior, supervised the preparation of his horse, his face hard but with a slight softness that only Silvia could provoke.

Allishah, wearing a simple but elegant dress, stood to the side, watching every movement. His heart was pounding, and his thoughts swirled in a mixture of sadness and anxiety. The idea of ​​staying in Jerusalem without her mother filled her with uncertainty, although she knew it was the best for both of them.

Silvia approached her daughter, her eyes full of love and concern. He took Allishah's hands in his and looked at her tenderly. “Allishah, my dear, I promise you that everything will be okay. I trust that you will know how to take care of yourself and make the best decisions. Jerusalem is a safe place and you will be surrounded by people who love you.”

Allishah, feeling tears gathering in her eyes, nodded bravely. “Mom, I promise you I will be strong. I will miss you every day, but I know this is the best for you and Reynald.”

Silvia smiled and hugged her daughter tightly, transmitting all her love and security. “And I will miss you, my little one. But remember that I will always be with you, in your heart and in your thoughts.”

Reynald, observing the scene with a slight smile, approached both women. “Allishah, I will take care of your mother and Kerak. And you take care of Jerusalem and yourself. I am sure you will do wonderful things here.”

Allishah nodded again, trying to maintain her composure. “Thank you, Reynald. I wish you the best in your new home.”

With a final farewell glance, Silvia and Reynald mounted their horses and headed towards the castle gate. The guards lifted the heavy gate, and the couple advanced slowly, surrounded by a small retinue of knights and servants. Allishah watched from the courtyard, her heart heavy with the impending separation.

Sadness filled Allishah's eyes as she watched her mother walk away. I felt a mixture of desolation and determination. She knew she had to be strong and brave, just like her mother had taught her. As the horses rode away, a light breeze lifted her hair, taking her fears with it and whispering promises of a bright, hopeful future.

Allishah stood there, watching until the last gleams of the knights' armor disappeared in the distance. He felt a lump in his throat, but also a spark of resolve. She knew she had a role to play in Jerusalem, and that her mother trusted her. With one last look toward the horizon, she turned around and walked back to the castle, determined to face her destiny with courage and grace.

The echo of the hooves of Silvia and Reynald's horses faded into the distance, leaving a heavy silence in the Jerusalem castle. Allishah, with her gaze still lost on the horizon, felt a soft hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Ines, Baldwin and Sibylla's mother, looking at her with a warmth that only a mother could have.

Inés, a woman with an elegant bearing and eyes full of wisdom, smiled tenderly at him. "Allishah, dear, you are not alone. Come with us." Beside Agnes, Sibylla, with her serene beauty and caring nature, nodded, inviting her to enter the castle.

As they walked through the wide hallways adorned with tapestries and sculptures, Allishah couldn't help but feel a little lost, like a child in a world that was too big and complex. Inés and Sibylla, sensing her concern, made sure to keep her close, wrapping her in a bubble of warmth and security.

In a cozy room, with a crackling fireplace and comfortable seats, Ines sat next to Allishah, taking her hands in hers. "Dear child, we know that this change is difficult for you. But I want you to know that this castle is now your home as much as it is for us. You will be well taken care of here."

Sibylla joined them, gently stroking Allishah's hair. "We are very excited to have you with us, Allishah. Your presence brings a special light to this place. We promise that we will do everything we can to make you feel happy and comfortable."

Allishah, with tears in her eyes, looked at the two women with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. "Thank you, Inés. Thank you, Sibylla. I don't know what I would do without you. I'm... scared and alone, and I miss my mother. But you make me feel safe."

Inés hugged her firmly, as only a mother can do, filling the void left by Silvia. "My dear, we all feel scared and lonely sometimes. But here, we support each other. You are part of our family now."

Sibylla, with a comforting smile, added, "And we will always be here for you, Allishah. This castle is full of life and adventure. We will find many ways to keep ourselves busy and happy."

Allishah, with her childish and playful spirit, began to relax and smile. "Really? Will I be able to explore and discover new things here?"

Inés and Sibylla laughed softly, pleased to see her joy. "Of course, little one. There is much to discover in this castle, and we will be with you every step of the way," Ines said.

"And don't worry about the fun," Sibylla added. "We have many stories to tell and adventures to live. We are excited to share them with you."

Allishah, feeling lighter and encouraged, hugged both women tightly. "Thank you, really. I'll do my best to be good company and learn from you. I'm looking forward to this new adventure!"

Inés and Sibylla exchanged a look full of love and satisfaction. They knew that although the road ahead would be challenging, they had the strength and love to face any obstacle together. And with Allishah by their side, they knew the future would be brighter and full of hope.

The morning sun filtered its golden rays through the stained glass windows of the castle's great library, creating a mosaic of light and shadow on the stone floor. Allishah, with her innate curiosity, walked through the hallways, exploring every corner with the same excitement as a child discovering a new toy. It was then that his eyes landed on a familiar figure, leaning over a table full of books.

There was Baldwin, the leper king, surrounded by ancient volumes and scrolls. Despite his illness, his majestic bearing and dignity remained intact. Allishah watched him for a moment, marveling at his dedication to books and knowledge.

“Your Majesty,” he said with a playful smile as he approached, “it seems that books are your most faithful companions.”

Baldwin looked up, his eyes shining behind the mask that hid his face. “Allishah, good to see you. Books have been my most constant friends, it's true. Here I find comfort and wisdom.”

Allishah sat next to him, so close that their knees touched. “I've always liked stories, you know. Long, complicated stories are for very smart people,” he said with a mischievous laugh. “But the stories... those are magical.”

Baldwin smiled under his mask. “Do you know any special stories that you like?”

“There in France, they told me some stories. But I'd love to hear one from you. Could you tell me one, Baldwin?” Her words were a sweet whisper, filled with innocent flirtation.

Baldwin nodded, touched by her enthusiasm. “Sure, Allishah. Let me find a suitable story.”

Allishah gushed like a child, leaning on Baldwin's shoulder, her eyes fixed on him in admiration. While searching for the right book, she couldn't help but notice the mask that covered his face, imagining the stories that were hidden behind it.

Finally, Baldwin found an old tome and began to read in a soft, melodious voice, filling the library with the magic of his words. Allishah listened attentively, her eyes shining with excitement, each word a note in a lullaby that enveloped her.

The story was of princesses and dragons, of brave knights and enchanted kingdoms. As Baldwin's voice narrated, Allishah sank into a sweet sleep, her breathing soft and calm. At the end of the story, Baldwin closed the book and looked at the young woman, now asleep next to him, a tender smile curling his lips under the mask.

Careful not to wake her, Baldwin settled himself better, allowing Allishah to rest against him. At that time, the library seemed a haven of peace in the midst of a turbulent world, and Baldwin, the leprosy-scarred king, found solace in the company of the innocent and charming Allishah.

Allishah was still asleep, leaning against Baldwin, her breathing calm and even. Baldwin watched her silently, his mind filling with thoughts as he admired her angelic face.

Allishah's long, curled eyelashes moved slightly with each breath. Baldwin thought of the vitality and youth that the young woman radiated. It was as if everything he touched was filled with life and light.

"She's so young and full of life," thought Baldwin. "Her laugh, her energy... it's all I'm missing. How can someone be so pure and bright in such a dark world?"

Allishah's pink lips, like a freshly unbuttoned flower, fascinated him. "His words are like soft petals," Baldwin mused. "Each phrase of his is a caress for the soul, a reminder of the beauty that still exists in the world."

Allishah's silver hair, so similar to that of angels, fell in soft waterfalls around her face. Baldwin ran his fingers lightly through a strand, marveling at its softness. "That innocence, that purity... it reminds me of what I once was. Before the leprosy, before everything changed."

Baldwin looked at his own hands, one of them so marked by the disease. "What right do I have to be around someone so perfect?" he wondered. "My life is marked by pain and struggle. And yet, here she is, trusting me, showing me that there is still hope."

Baldwin's mind was filled with memories of his childhood, of days when he had also been full of life and dreams. "Every day I spend with her, I feel a spark of who I once was. Her presence gives me strength, reminds me that even in the midst of darkness, there is light."

Finally, Baldwin felt an unexpected peace. "Maybe, just maybe, her light can illuminate even my darkened soul. And even though I know I don't deserve her affection, I can't help but want to protect her, care for her. Because in her I see the possibility of redemption, of finding a purpose beyond my illness. "

With those thoughts in his mind, Baldwin let the young woman continue to rest against him, knowing that, although their time together might be brief, each moment was a treasure that he would cherish forever.

[ariendiel]

What are some songs/lyrics/quotes that remind you or make you think of Noah and Inés?

Thanks for the ask about them, I miss my two boring dorks (I've not forgotten about my TTT rewrite either, but work has been kicking my ass the last year so things are just... slow) 🤍

Anyways, I've actually got whole tumblr posts about which songs/lyrics that remind me of Noah and Inès, as well as a new playlist I'm working on.

Here are ten songs and lyrics I associate with Noah in particular, and here's the same but for Inès.

I'll also always associate this poem by Nikita Gill with them:

We have calcium in our bones, iron in our veins, carbon in our souls, and nitrogen in our brains. 93 percent stardust, with souls made of flames, we are all just stars that have people names.

[ingridkepkova]

Séria Iné svety – linoryt / 2012-2013

Vyťahujem obrazy z mojej mysle, snov, nepoznané priestory duše – vesmíru. Spojenie s prírodou môjho vnútra, dešifrovanie symbolov a vlastných pocitov - autoterapia. Nachádzanie pokoja v procese tvorby.

Series Another Worlds - linocut

Extracting images from my mind, dreams, unknown spaces of the soul - universe. Connection with the nature of my inner self, decoding symbols and deep personal feelings - self-therapy. Finding peace in the process of creation.

[campbluelake]

From the bottom of my broken heart | MM.2 | Jo | Re: Super Powerful Evil Wizard

There it is, in a beautiful display of dramatics and hellfire, a part of the truth. A whirling fire of regret, tears, and pain that Jo can't seem to bring any hate for. Even if this person hates her, even if this person is just as bloody and ugly as her, someone so deeply hypocritically, Jo can't feel any hate for Malyce. 

No, she sees this man and feels that small tug in her heart. A relatability. She understands why you did it, Malyce. For fame and money? Maybe that was the surface level reason he had doomed so many of them here but there has to be a deeper one, right? No way someone would do this for something as stupid as fame. Malyce wanted attention, he probably wanted the love he thought he could get from fame and fans, he wanted recognition that he is here and he is worthy of praise and acceptance. It's a very familiar feeling. 

When people start spitting their rage at him, Jo understands but she also doesn't. Doesn't anyone else understand he's in pain? He did something monstrous, yes, but that's still Malyce. He's been our friend all summer, our friend who made us smile, our friend who slipped up and pissed us off. He was desperate and made a lot of bad choices. He hurt so many people because that's what hurt people do and sometimes they take it too far. Why doesn't it feel like anyone understands that? They want him to stand with his head held high and proud... Would that have made anything better? Would that make anyone else here happy? Would they rather have someone proud of their evil actions with no chance to be a decent person or someone who is regretful with a chance to be better? 

She can't stand all the yelling and venom, even if it is deserved. If the people here are supposed to be the good ones then why can't they understand what happened in Malyce's heart, and what is changing in this very moment? Jo wants nothing more than to go over to him and hug him, tell him that she understands and that he needs to fix this if he has any chance to just be a little bit better for his own sake... But would that just hurt him more? She's mostly a monster in everyone else's eyes. Everyone's words will affect how Malyce moves on in this moment. Her trying to defend him could just make him look worse. How can a monster make another monster feel better when the pitchforks and torches grow closer? 

Jo doesn't know, so she doesn't say anything and silently wish she was a good person so her words could mean anything to him and these people. 

A feeling in her chest washes over her, making her jaw clench and her fists ball up. It's a feeling that only a chosen few held in Jo's very soul, but now that feeling is spreading for every good and decent person here. 

Inés really hates everyone here. 

[twilightbeauty]

A Feminist Analysis of "Two Words"

A young Belisa discovering a newspaper with words. Artwork by Ratterree (2014).

A web version of this essay is available at: https://bit.ly/42c9lrx

The Twilight Beauty Society Needs

The Chilean author Isabel Allende (2006) once remarked, “A man does what he can; a woman does what a man cannot.” This principle is illustrated in her short story “Dos Palabras” or “Two Words,” written in 1973. It revolves around a presidency-aspiring Colonel hiring a young woman named Belisa Crepusculario, whose power is gifting words that can even drive away sadness, into making his campaign speeches. With her power, not only the people were touched but also the Colonel’s heart. As magical as the story appears, its elements expose the misogynistic standards of society.

The story shows the unbalanced power dynamic between men and women. In the story, men like the Colonel and El Mulato could aspire for positions of power. On the other hand, women were left with low-level occupations, such as “a prostitute or a servant in the kitchens of the rich” (p. 2). Even the gifted Belisa was forced to serve under the whim of the Colonel, “fearing that El Mulato would shoot her” (p. 4).

This power dynamic was shown to be a hindrance in Belisa’s expression of her strength as a woman. At the beginning of the story, Belisa was mentioned to have “survived to cross the [hellish desert]” (p. 1) on her own, showcasing her raw strength. However, the sudden appearance of El Mulato and the Colonel, unfortunately, made her a submissive individual. Had she not possessed the gift of cleverness, she might’ve not taken advantage of her situation to make the Colonel’s “voracious-puma eyes soften” (p. 7).

It is Belisa’s situation that exposes how women are valued. Often, women are seen as objects of lust, just as “El Mulato could not take his eyes from [Belisa]” (p. 4). They are subjected to abuse like Belisa being “thrown like a sea bag” (p. 3). How they are treated is based on the importance of their service. After all, the Colonel would not have valued Belisa had she not written a good speech nor given him the two words he needed in his life.

Overall, the story shows how society creates an uphill battle for women. The patriarchal society dictates that women cannot progress if they cannot immediately prove their worth. However, when given a chance, women can surpass even the titanic contributions of men and fill in society’s missing gaps.

Thus, beauty and twilight are to the Colonel as women are to society.

References: Allende, I. (1989). Two words. For The Love of Short Stories. https://fortheloveofshortstories.wordpress.com/2016/09/01/two-words/ Allende, I. (2006). Inés of my soul. Chile: HarperCollins Publishers. Ratterre, A. (2014). Belisa Crepusculario [Illustration]. Alice Ink. https://aliceink.com/weeks-inspiration/

[workingonmoviemaps]

Popular Locations Wednesday

Spain’s Castillo de La Calahorra

Castillo de La Calahorra was constructed in 1512 and is one of the first Italian Renaissance castles built outside Italy.

The castle can be seen above in Action of the Tiger, Assassin's Creed, The Maidens' Conspiracy, The Wind and the Lion, Emerald City, Inés of My Soul, and Stardust.

It will also be used in the upcoming House of the Dragon.

[wedarkacademia]

“And I am not one of those women who trips twice over the same stone.”  ― Isabel Allende, Inés of My Soul

[melis-ash]

[when-i-sing-you-shout]

Elena Rivera ig story

[myownprivatebelljar]

A man does what he can; a woman does what a man cannot.

Isabel Allende, Inés of My Soul

[gladiates]

175+ non-Western literature recommendations to diversify your academia, organized by continent + country

I love world literature, and I’ve been frustrated by the lack of representation of it in literature + academia communities on tumblr, so here are some recommendations. I haven’t read all of these myself yet, but the ones I have are excellent and the ones I haven’t come highly recommended from Goodreads and are on my to-read list! 

With the exception of anthologies of older works, all of these books were written before 2000 (some literally thousands of years earlier), since I’m less familiar with super contemporary literature. Also, I only included each writer once, though many of them have multiple amazing books. I’m sure there are plenty of incredible books I’m missing, so please feel free to add on to this list! And countries that aren’t included absolutely have a lot to offer as well--usually, it was just hard to find books available in English translation (which all of the ones below are.)

List below the cut (it’s my first post with a cut so let’s hope I do it right... and also warning that it’s super long)

ASIA:

Bangladesh:

Pather Panchali by Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay (1929)

China:

Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu (6th century BCE)

The Art of War by Sun Tzu (5th century BCE)

The Analects by Confucius (circa 5th-4th century BCE?)

The Book of Chuang Tzu by Zhuangzi (4th century BCE)

Mencius by Mencius (3rd century BCE)

The Songs of the South: An Anthology of Ancient Chinese Poems by Qu Yuan and Other Poets (2nd century AD)

Li Po and Tu Fu: Poems by Li Po and Tu Fu (written 8th century AD)

Poems of Wang Wei (8th century AD)

Romance of the Three Kingdoms by Luo Guanzhong (14th century AD)

Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio by Pu Songling (1740)

Dream of the Red Chamber by Xueqin Cao (1791)

Six Records of a Floating Life by Shen Fu (1809)

Diary of a Madman and Other Stories by Lu Xun (1918)

Mr Ma and Son by Lao She (1929)

Family by Ba Jin (1933)

Love in a Fallen City by Eileen Chang (1943)

A Source Book in Chinese Philosophy by Wing-Tsit Chan (1963)

Red Sorghum by Mo Yan (1987)

Soul Mountain by Gao Xingjian (1989)

The Big Red Book of Modern Chinese Literature edited by Yunte Huang (anthology, 2016)

India:

The Rig Vega (1500-1200 BCE)

The Mahabharata and the Bhagavad Gita (around 400 BCE but not known exactly. The Gita is part of the Mahabharata)

The Upanishads (REALLY wide date range)

The Dhammapada (3rd century BCE)

The Fundamental Wisdom of the Middle Way by Nāgārjuna (2nd century AD)

The Recognition of Sakuntala by Kālidāsa (4th century AD)

The Way of the Bodhisattva by Santideva (700 AD)

Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore (1910)

Annihilation of Caste by B.R. Ambedkar (1936)

The Discovery of India by Jawaharlal Nehru (1946)

Train to Pakistan by Khushwant Singh (1956) 

A Source Book in Indian Philosophy by Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan and Charles Alexander Moore (1957)

Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie (1981)

A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth (1993)

Women Writing in India: 600 BC to the Present V: The Twentieth Century by Susie J. Tharu and K. Lalita (1993)

A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry (1995)

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy (1996)

Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri (1999)

Indian Philosophy in English: From Renaissance to Independence (anthology, 2011)

Indonesia:

The Weaverbirds by Y.B. Mangunwijaya (1981)

Iran:

Shahnameh: The Persian Book of Kings by Abolqasem Ferdowsi (11th century AD)

The Essential Rumi by Rumi (13th century AD)

The Blind Owl by Sadegh Hedayat (1936)

Savushun by Simin Daneshvar (1969)

My Uncle Napoleon by Iran Pezeshkzad (1973)

Missing Soluch by Mahmoud Dowlatabadi (1979)

Iraq:

Fifteen Iraqi Poets edited by Dunya Mikhail (published 2013 but the poems are 20th century)

Japan:

The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Ono no Komachi and Izumi Shikibu (9th-10th century AD)

The Pillow Book by Sei Shōnagon (1002 AD)

The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu (1008 AD)

The Tale of the Heike, unknown (12th century AD)

One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each: A Treasury of Classical Japanese Verse (not sure of year)

Essays in Idleness by Yoshida Kenkō (1332)

Kokoro by Natsume Sōseki (1914)

No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai (1948)

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata (1948)

The Makioka Sisters by Jun'ichirō Tanizaki (1948)

Confessions of a Mask by Yukio Mishima (1949)

Masks by Fumiko Enchi (1958)

The Woman in the Dunes by Kōbō Abe (1962)

A Personal Matter by Kenzaburō Ōe (1964)

Silence by Shūsaku Endō (1966)

Korea (written before the division into North/South):

The Memoirs of Lady Hyegyong (written 1795-1805)

Lebanon:

Samarkand by Amin Maalouf (1988)

Gate of the Sun by Elias Khoury (1998)

Pakistan:

We Sinful Women: Contemporary Urdu Feminist Poetry (1991)

The Rebel's Silhouette: Selected Poems by Faiz Ahmed Faiz (1991)

The Taste of Words: An Introduction to Urdu Poetry edited by Raza Mir (2014)

Palestine:

Men in the Sun and Other Palestinian Stories by Ghassan Kanafani (1963)

Orientalism by Edward Said (1978)

I Saw Ramallah by Mourid Barghouti (1997)

Mural by Mahmoud Darwish (2000, which technically breaks my rule by a year but it’s great)

Philippines:

Noli Me Tángere by José Rizal (1887)

Saudi Arabia:

Cities of Salt by Abdul Rahman Munif (1984)

Sri Lanka:

Funny Boy by Shyam Selvadurai (1994)

Syria:

Damascus Nights by Rafik Schami (1989)

Taiwan:

Last Words from Montmartre by Qiu Miaojin (1996)

Turkey:

My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk (1998)

Vietnam:

Spring Essence: The Poetry of Hô Xuân Huong by Hô Xuân Huong (1801)

The Tale of Kieu by Nguyen Du (1820)

Paradise of the Blind by Duong Thu Huong (1988)

Miscellaneous Asia (country unclear or multiple current day countries):

The Epic of Gilgamesh (circa 1800 BCE)

Myths from Mesopotamia translated by Stephanie Dailey

The Arabian Nights (as early as the 9th century AD, lots of changes over the years)

The Qur’an

AFRICA:

Algeria:

Fantasia: An Algerian Cavalcade by Assia Djebar (1985)

The Bridges of Constantine by Ahlam Mosteghanemi (1993)

Cameroon:

Houseboy by Ferdinand Oyono (1956)

Egypt:

The Tale of Sinuhe and Other Ancient Egyptian Poems 1940 - 1640 B.C. translated by R.B. Parkinson

Palace Walk by Naguib Mahfouz (1956)

The Sinners by Yusuf Idris (1959)

Woman at Point Zero by Nawal El Saadawi (1975)

The Map of Love by Ahdaf Soueif (1999)

Ghana:

Our Sister Killjoy by Ama Ata Aidoo (1977)

Two Thousand Seasons by Ayi Kwei Armah (1979)

In My Father’s House: Africa in the Philosophy of Culture by Kwame Anthony Appiah (1992)

Guinea:

The Radiance of the King by Camara Laye (1954)

Kenya:

A Grain of Wheat by Ngugi wa Thing'o (1994)

The River and the Source by Margaret A. Ogola (1995)

Libya:

The Bleeding of the Stone by Ibrahim al-Koni (1990)

Mali:

The Fortunes of Wangrin by Amadou Hampâté Bâ (1973)

Nigeria:

The Palm-Wine Drinkard by Amos Tutuola (1952)  

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe (1958)

Efuru by Flora Nwapa (1966)

The Joys of Motherhood by Buchi Emecheta (1979)

Aké: The Years of Childhood by Wole Soyinka (1981)

Sozaboy: A Novel in Rotten English by Ken Saro-Wiwa (1985)

The Famished Road by Ben Okri (1991)

Senegal:

God’s Bits of Wood by Ousmane Sembène (1960)

So Long a Letter by Mariama Bâ (1981)

Somalia:

Maps by Nuruddin Farah (1986)

South Africa:

When Rain Clouds Gather by Bessie Head (1969)

Fools and Other Stories by Njabulo S. Ndebele (1986)

Sudan:

Season of Migration to the North by Tayeb Salih (1966)

Tunisia:

The Colonizer and the Colonized by Albert Memmi (1957)

Zimbabwe:

The House of Hunger by Dambudzo Marechera (1978)

Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga (1988)

Miscellaneous Africa:

The Granta Book of the African Short Story edited by Helon Habila (2011)

The Penguin Book of Modern African Poetry edited by Gerald Moore and Ulli Beier (1963)

AMERICAS:

Antigua and Barbuda:

A Small Place by Jamaica Kincaid (1988)

Argentina:

Ficciones by Jorge Luis Borges (1944)

Hopscotch by Julio Cortázar (1963)

The Museum of Eterna’s Novel (The First Good Novel) by Macedonio Fernández (1967)

Kiss of the Spider Woman by Manuel Puig (1976)

The Sixty-Five Years of Washington by Juan José Saer (1985)

How I Became a Nun by César Aira (1993)

Thus Were Their Faces by Silvina Ocampo (2015 but written earlier)

Brazil:

Dom Casmurro by Machado de Assis (1900)

Chronicle of the Murdered House by Lúcio Cardoso (1959)

Dona Flor and her Two Husbands by Jorge Amado (1966)

Pedagagy of the Oppressed by Paulo Freire (1968)

The Hour of the Star by Clarice Lispector (1977)

Vast Emotions and Imperfect Thoughts by Rubem Fonseca (1988)

Chile:

The Obscene Bird of Night by José Donoso (1970)

Emergency Poems by Nicanor Parra (1972)

The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende (1982)

Colombia:

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez (1967)

Cuba:

The Kingdom of This World by Alejo Carpentier (1949)

Cold Tales by Virgilio Piñera (1958)

Dominican Republic:

In the Time of the Butterflies by Julia Alvarez (1994)

Guatemala:

Men of Maize by Miguel Ángel Asturias (1949)

I, Rigoberta Menchú by Rigoberta Menchú (1985)

Guadalupe (part of France but overseas):

I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem by Maryse Condé (1986)

Haiti:

Breath, Eyes, Memory by Edwige Danticat (1994)

Jamaica:

No Telephone to Heaven by Michelle Cliff (1987)

The True History of Paradise by Margaret Cezair-Thompson (1999)

Martinique (part of France but overseas):

Discourse on Colonialism by Aimé Césaire (1950)

Wretched of the Earth by Frantz Fanon (1961)

Poetics of Relation by Édouard Glissant (1997)

Mexico:

Pedro Páramo by Juan Rulfo (1955)

Aura by Carlos Fuentes (1962)

The Hole by José Revueltas (1969)

Underground River and Other Stories by Inés Arredondo (1979)

The Collected Poems, 1957-1987 by Octavio Paz (1987)

Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel (1989)

Nicaragua:

Azul by Rubén Darío (1888)

Peru:

The Cardboard House by Martín Adán (1928)

The Time of the Hero by Mario Vargas Llosa (1962)

The Complete Poems by César Vallejo (1968)

St. Lucia:

Omeros by Derek Walcott (1990)

Trinidad and Tobago:

The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L'Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution by C.L.R. James (1938)

A House for Mr. Biswas by V.S. Naipaul (1961)

Uruguay:

Open Veins of Latin America by Eduardo Galeano (1971)

Venezuela:

Doña Bárbara by Rómulo Gallegos (1929)

Indigenous Writers from Canada and the United States:

American Indian Stories by Zitkála-Šá (Dakota) (1921)

Winter in the Blood by James Welch (Blackfeet and A’aninin) (1974)

Emplumada by Lorna Dee Cervantes (Chumash) (1982)

She Had Some Horses by Joy Harjo (Mvskoke) (1982) 

Love Medicine by Louise Erdrich (Chippewa) (1984)

Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko (Laguna Pueblo) (1986)

Custer Died for Your Sins by Vine Deloria Jr. (Dakota) (1988)

The Grass Dancer by Susan Power (Dakota) (1997)

Miscellaneous Americas:

And We Sold the Rain: Contemporary Fiction from Central America edited by Rosario Santos (1988)

Short Stories by Latin American Women: The Magic and the Real edited by Celia Correas de Zapata (2003)

Bordering Fires: The Vintage Book of Contemporary Mexican and Chicana and Chicano Literature edited by Cristina García (2006)

[apenitentialprayer]

A beautiful merging severed in Laura, O immortal soul, O glorious spirit, why did you leave a body so beauteous and why to that soul have you bid farewell? But now it has penetrated my reason that you endure so rigorous a divorce so that on the last day you can with joy once again become eternally joined. Begin your rapid flight, O fortunate soul, and released now from your beauteous prison, leaving its rosy hue turned to ice, rise up to be crowned by luminous stars, for all of boundless heaven is required so that you will not miss your beauteous home.

- Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz (Sonnet 188, "On the Death of the Most Excellent Señora Marquesa de Mancera), trans. Edith Grossman. Original Spanish below, with favorite parts bolded in both correspondingly.

Bello compuesto en Laura dividido, alma inmortal, espíritu glorioso, ¿por qué dejaste cuerpo tan hermoso y para qué tal alma has despedido? Pero ya ha penetrado mi sentido que sufres el divorcio riguroso, porque el dia final puedas gozoso volver a ser eternamente unido. Alza tú, alma dichosa, el presto vuelo y, de tu hermosa cárcel desatada, dejando vuelto su arrebol en hielo, sube a ser de luceros coronada: que bien es necesario todo el cielo para que no eches menos tu morada.

[maximumphilosopheranchor]

it makes no sense to suffer in advance a misfortune that may never occur

Isabel Allende, Inés of My Soul