#mara auster

[talonabraxas]

Buddhism Siddhartha Gautama, the founder of Buddhism who later became known as “the Buddha,” lived during the 5th century B.C.

Gautama was born into a wealthy family as a prince in present-day Nepal. Although he had an easy life, Gautama was moved by suffering in the world.

He decided to give up his lavish lifestyle and endure poverty. For nearly six years, he undertook fasting and other austerities, but these techniques proved ineffectual and he abandoned them. He eventually promoted the idea of the “Middle Way,” which means existing between two extremes. Thus, he sought a life without social indulgences but also without deprivation.

After regaining his strength, he seated himself under a Bodhi tree in west-central India and promised not to rise until he had attained the supreme enlightenment. After fighting off Mara, an evil spirit who tempted him with worldly comforts and desires, Siddhartha reached enlightenment, becoming a Buddha at the age of 35. He spent the rest of his life teaching others about how to achieve this spiritual state.

When Gautama passed away around 483 B.C., his followers began to organize a religious movement. Buddha’s teachings became the foundation for what would develop into Buddhism.

In the 3rd century B.C., Ashoka the Great, the Mauryan Indian emperor, made Buddhism the state religion of India. Buddhist monasteries were built, and missionary work was encouraged.

Over the next few centuries, Buddhism began to spread beyond India. The thoughts and philosophies of Buddhists became diverse, with some followers interpreting ideas differently than others.

In the sixth century, the Huns invaded India and destroyed hundreds of Buddhist monasteries, but the intruders were eventually driven out of the country.

Islam began to spread quickly in the region during the Middle Ages, forcing Buddhism into the background. Nonetheless, Buddhism eventually spread to Central and Southeast Asia, China, Korea, Japan and, in the 20th century, to the West.

Buddhism Beliefs and Practices

Some key Buddhism beliefs include: Followers of Buddhism don’t acknowledge a supreme god or deity. They instead focus on achieving enlightenment—a state of inner peace and wisdom. When followers reach this spiritual echelon, they’re said to have experienced nirvana.

The religion’s founder, Buddha, is considered an extraordinary being, but not a god. The word Buddha means “enlightened.”

The path to enlightenment is attained by utilizing morality, meditation and wisdom. Buddhists often meditate because they believe it helps awaken truth.

There are many philosophies and interpretations within Buddhism, making it a tolerant and evolving religion.

Some scholars don’t recognize Buddhism as an organized religion, but rather, a “way of life” or a “spiritual tradition.”

Buddhism encourages its people to avoid self-indulgence but also self-denial.

Buddha’s most important teachings, known as The Four Noble Truths, are essential to understanding the religion.

Buddhists embrace the concepts of karma (the law of cause and effect) and reincarnation (the continuous cycle of rebirth).

Followers of Buddhism can worship in temples or in their own homes.

Buddhist monks, or bhikkhus, follow a strict code of conduct, which includes celibacy.

There is no single Buddhist symbol, but a number of images have evolved that represent Buddhist beliefs, including the lotus flower, the eight-spoked dharma wheel, the Bodhi tree and the swastika (an ancient symbol whose name means “well-being” or “good fortune” in Sanskrit).

Types of Buddhism Today, many forms of Buddhism exist around the world. The three main types that represent specific geographical areas include:

Theravada Buddhism: Prevalent in Thailand, Sri Lanka, Cambodia, Laos and Burma

Mahayana Buddhism: Prevalent in China, Japan, Taiwan, Korea, Singapore and Vietnam

Tibetan Buddhism: Prevalent in Tibet, Nepal, Mongolia, Bhutan, and parts of Russia and northern India

Zen Buddhism is a form of Mahayana Buddhism that’s practiced in many of the same areas. It emphasizes simplicity and meditation—the word “zen” means meditation—in lieu of religious scripture, ceremonies or doctrines.

Nirvana Buddhism is closely related to Theravada Buddhism, but the concept of nirvana is also central to many paths of Buddhism. The term nirvana means “blowing out,” as a candle is blown out, thus ending all attachment and desire to achieve a state of pure enlightenment.

Each of these types reveres certain texts and has slightly different interpretations of Buddha’s teachings.

Some forms of Buddhism incorporate ideas of other religions and philosophies, such as Taoism and Bon.

Dharma Buddha’s teachings are known as “dharma.” He taught that wisdom, kindness, patience, generosity and compassion were important virtues.

Specifically, all Buddhists live by five moral precepts, which prohibit:

Killing living things Taking what is not given Sexual misconduct Lying Using drugs or alcohol

Four Noble Truths The Four Noble Truths, which Buddha taught, are: The truth of suffering (dukkha) The truth of the cause of suffering (samudaya) The truth of the end of suffering (nirhodha) The truth of the path that frees us from suffering (magga)

Collectively, these principles explain why humans hurt and how to overcome suffering.

Eightfold Path The Buddha taught his followers that the end of suffering, as described in the fourth Noble Truths, could be achieved by following an Eightfold Path.

In no particular order, the Eightfold Path of Buddhism teaches the following ideals for ethical conduct, mental disciple and achieving wisdom:

Right understanding (Samma ditthi) Right thought (Samma sankappa) Right speech (Samma vaca) Right action (Samma kammanta) Right livelihood (Samma ajiva) Right effort (Samma vayama) Right mindfulness (Samma sati) Right concentration (Samma samadhi)

Buddha by Talon Abraxas

[journeytothewestresearch]

The Crow's Nest Chan Master of JTTW

I am reading back through Journey to the West (Xiyouji, 西遊記) and was reminded of a strange, seemingly throwaway character who appears at the end of chapter 19, the "Crow's Nest Chan Master" (Wuchao chanshi, 烏巢禪師). He is described as an accomplished cultivator who lives in a juniper tree nest on Pagoda Mountain (Futu shan, 浮屠山), just beyond the border of Tibet (Wusicang, 烏斯藏). Zhu Bajie claims the master once asked him to jointly practice austerities, but the pig-spirit passed on the opportunity. Flash back to the present, and the pilgrims pass into his domain. After a brief chat, the Crow's Nest Chan master orally passes on the Heart Sutra (Xin jing, 心經) to Tripitaka.

There are two things that interest me about the Chan Master. The first is his magical abilities. Sun Wukong is offended by the monk but fails to hit him with his staff:

Enraged, Pilgrim lifted his iron rod and thrust it upward violently, but garlands of blooming lotus flowers were seen together with a thousand-layered shield of auspicious clouds. Though Pilgrim might have the strength to overturn rivers and seas, he could not catch hold of even one strand of the crow's nest (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 391).

This reminds me of an event from Acts of the Buddha (Sk: Buddhacarita; Ch: Fo suoxing za, 佛所行讚, 2nd-century), an ancient biography of the Buddha:

The host of Mara hastening, as arranged, each one exerting his utmost force, taking each other’s place in turns, threatening every moment to destroy [the Buddha, but] … Their flying spears, lances, and javelins, stuck fast in space, refusing to descend; the angry thunderdrops and mighty hail, with these, were changed into five-colour’d lotus flowers…” (Beal, 1883, pp. 152 and 153).

This points to the Crow's Nest Chan Master having great holy powers.

The second thing that interests me is that he is based on a historical monk, Niaoke Daolin (鳥窠道林, lit: "Bird's Nest" Daolin; 741–824). Here is his full biography from the Records of the Transmission of the Lamp (Jingde chuandenglu, 景德傳燈錄, 1004 to 1007):

Chan master Niaoke Daolin ... was from Fuyang in Hangzhou and his family name was Pan. His mother, whose maiden name was Zhu, once dreamt of the rays of the sun entering her mouth, after which she conceived. When the baby was born a strange fragrance pervaded the room, so the name ��Fragrant Light’ was given to the boy. He left the home life at the age of nine and received the full precepts at the Guoyuan Temple in Jing (Jingling, Hubei) when he was twenty-one years old. Later he went to the Ximing Monastery in Chang’an to study the Huayan Jing (Avatasaka Sūtra) and the Śāstra on the Arising of Faith (Śraddhotpada Śāstra, Aśvagosa) under the Dharma Teacher Fuli, who also introduced him to the Song of the Real and Unreal, and had him practise meditation. Once Niaoke asked Fuli, ‘Could you say how one meditates and how to exercise the heart?’ Teacher Fuli was silent for a long time, so then the master bowed three times and withdrew. It happened that at this time Tang Emperor Taizong had called the First Teacher in the Empire [Daoqin] of Jing Mountain to the Imperial Palace and Daolin went to pay him a formal visit, obtaining the True Dharma from him. Returning south the master first came to the Yongfu Temple on Mount Gu (Zhejiang), where there was a stūpa dedicated to the Pratyekabuddhas. At this time both monks and laymen were gathering there for a Dharma-talk. The master also entered the hall, carrying his walking stick, which emitted a clicking sound. There was a Dharma-teacher present from a temple called Lingying, whose name was Taoguang, and who asked the master, ‘Why make such a sound in this Dharma-meeting?’ ‘Without making a sound who would know that it was a Dharmameeting?’ replied the master. Later, on Qinwang Mountain, the master saw an old pine tree with lush foliage, its branches shaped like a lid, so he settled himself there, in the tree, which is why the people of that time called him Chan Master Niaoke (Bird’s Nest). Then magpies made their nest by the master’s side and became quite tame through the intimacy with a human – so he was also referred to as the Magpie Nest Monk. One day the master’s attendant Huitong suddenly wished to take his leave. ‘Where are you off to then?’ asked the master. ‘Huitong left the home life for the sake of the Dharma, but the venerable monk has not let fall one word of instruction, so now it’s a question of going here and there to study the Buddha-dharma,’ replied Huitong. ‘If it could be said that there is Buddha-dharma,’ said the master, ‘I also have a little here,’ whereupon he plucked a hair from the robe he was wearing and blew it away. Suddenly Huitong understood the deep meaning. During the Yuan reign period (806-820 CE) Bai Juyi was appointed governor of this commandery and so went to the mountain to pay the master a courtesy call. He asked the master, ‘Is not the Chan Master’s residing here very dangerous?’ ‘Is not your Excellency’s position even more so?’ countered the master. ‘Your humble student’s place is to keep the peace along the waterways and in the mountains. What danger is there in that?’ asked Bai Juyi. ‘When wood and fire meet there is ignition – the nature of thinking is endless,’ replied the master, ‘so how can there not be danger?’ ‘What is the essence of the Buddha-dharma?’ asked Bai. ‘To refrain from all evil and do all that is good,’ answered the master. ‘A three-year-old child already knows these words,’ said Bai. ‘Although a three-year-old can say them, an old man of eighty can’t put them into practice!’ countered the master. Bai then made obeisance. In the fourth year, during the tenth day of the second month of the reign period Changqing (824 CE), the master said to his attendant, ‘Now my time is up.’ And having spoken he sat on his cushion and passed away. He was eighty-four years old and had been a monk for sixty-three years. (Textual note: Some say the master’s name was Yuanxiu, but this is probably his posthumous name.) (Whitfiled, n.d., pp. 56-58).

Sources:

Beal, S. (Trans.). (1883). The Fo-sho-hing-tsan-king: A Life of Buddha by Asvaghosha Bodhisattva. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Retrieved from https://archive.org/details/foshohingtsankin00asva/mode/2up.

Whitfiled, R. S. (Trans.). (n.d.). Records of the Transmission of the Lamp: Volume 2 - The Early Masters. Hokun Trust. Retrieved from https://terebess.hu/zen/mesterek/Lamp2.pdf

Wu, C., & Yu, A. C. (2012). The Journey to the West (Vols. 1-4) (Rev. ed.). Chicago, Illinois: University of Chicago Press.

[mahayanapilgrim]

These twelve deeds are the twelve significant activities of Lord Buddha:

1. Descending from Tushita Heaven

2. Entering into his mother's womb

3. Birth in the garden of Lumbini

4. Training in the sciences

5. Victory in sports competition

6. Enjoying the palace and marriage

7. Renouncing the life of a prince

8. Practicing austerity for six years, then relinquishing that

9. Obtaining victory over the Maras

10. Enlightenment under the bodhi tree

11. Turning the wheel of dharma

12. And passing into Parinirvana

[leanstooneside]

Give credit where credit is due

• PAM ANDERSON'S BARNYARD BELLY

• SIMON COWELL'S TIGHT BOTTOM

• JIMMY BUFFETT'S DEPTH FINGER

• ANNA PAQUIN'S HERBACEOUS FOREHEAD

• CORY MONTEITH'S OAKY FINGER

• KRISTA ALLEN'S RETICENT CALF

• AMANDA BYNES'S CONCENTRATED CHIN

• DENNIS RODMAN'S HERBACEOUS NOSTRIL

• KATHY GRIFFIN'S FOOD FRIENDLY EAR

• JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE'S FAT CHIN

• KATE WINSLET'S FAT EYELASH

• CATHERINE ZETA-JONES'S FLAMBOYANT LIP

• SAMMI GIANCOLA'S ALCOHOLIC KNEE

• MARIO LOPEZ'S FIRM EYELASH

• DONALD TRUMP'S ELEGANT HIP

• EMMY ROSSUM'S FOOD FRIENDLY FOREARM

• BRISTOL PALIN'S STEELY TOE

• HUGH JACKMAN'S CHEWY LEG

• TAYLOR MOMSEN'S BIG TONGUE

• HILLARY CLINTON'S MUSTY TONGUE

• JUDE LAW'S EXPRESSIVE FINGER

• GARY OLDMAN'S CREAMY BOTTOM

• ROB KARDASHIAN'S DIRTY NECK

• STUART TOWNSEND'S REFINED NECK

• HARRY STYLES'S ROUGH THIGH

• NDAMUKONG SUH'S DRY ELBOW

• DESIREE HARTSOCK'S OPULENT NOSTRIL

• CAM GIGANDET'S CIGAR BOX LIP

• CHRIS HEMSWORTH'S SWEET FOOT

• AMBER RILEY'S CONNECTED HAIR

• CAROLINE MANZO'S AUSTERE SHOULDER

• JANE KRAKOWSKI'S DRY HAND

• LARRY KING'S ANGULAR HAND

• GWYNETH PALTROW'S FIRM CALF

• JASON SUDEIKIS'S ALCOHOLIC KNEE

• FRANK OCEAN'S SOUR EYELASH

• NATASHA RICHARDSON'S CLOYING TONGUE

• TRAVIS BARKER'S TAR SHOULDER

• AMANDA PEET'S DENSE EAR

• CANDICE ACCOLA'S CONNECTED HIP

• ROB LOWE'S CORKED WAIST

• ROONEY MARA'S FALLEN OVER BREAST

• REBECCA ROMIJN'S POWERFUL NOSTRIL

• KEYSHIA COLE'S VEGETAL FIST

• ROSIE HUNTINGTON-WHITELEY'S GRASSY KNEE

• GABOUREY SIDIBE'S FLAT LIP

• STAVROS NIARCHOS III'S REFINED HIP

• MAKSIM CHMERKOVSKIY'S ANGULAR TOE

• MARTIN LAWRENCE'S DIRTY NOSTRIL

• BETTY WHITE'S TART FINGER

[alokastrology1]

The story of the world’s 1st poet- Rishi Valmiki

The finest Indian poets, saints, and sages have been witnessed throughout history. Maharishi Valmiki is one of the identities that did stand out the most. Rishi Valmiki is known as Adi Kavi in Sanskrit literature. This means he was the first poet. He was the first person to write the epic Ramayana, which is one of the most well-known Hindu texts.

What is the story of the poet- Rishi Valmiki? Get an online astrology consultation by the world-renowned Astrologer Mr. Alok Khandelwal.

One of the greatest philosophers ever, Rishi Valmiki was a wonderful sage of wisdom, poetry, kindness, and mercy.

Valmiki’s birth

People who have something to do with Maharishi’s life disagree about something. According to one interpretation of Nagara Khanda from the Skanda Purana, he was born into a Brahmin family and given the name Lohajangha. He had a wife who loved him. To keep his family from going hungry during the twelve years of drought in their hamlet, he began robbing people.

Lohajangha once attempted to rob Saptarishi, a group of seven sages. However, Pulatsya Rishi, a Saptarishi, gives Lohajangha a mantra. Valmiki acquired his name from the ant hill or Valmika that covered his body after years of severe austerity and mantra recitation.

Rishi Valmiki was born in Sumali or Pracheta to a Rishi Bhrigu gotra Brahmin household named Agni Sharma. Ratnakar Daku was his name when he started stealing from people after a while. When he met Narada muni, they talked about his responsibilities. Agni Sharma started doing austerity and reciting a mantra called “Mara,” which means “death,” because he was so interested in what Narada thought and said.

After doing penance for many years, this Mara changed into Rama, but his body is still covered by an anthill. Because of this, he got a new name: Valmiki.

Works of philosophy

Valmiki rishi’s Adi Kavya (First Poem) Ramayana was one of the best things he ever did. The Ramayana is the first poem ever written in Sanskrit. Valmiki’s epic Ramayana is made up of 24000 shlokas and 7 cantos. It tells about everything that happened in Lord Rama’s life, from his birth to his 14 years of living in the forest. Ravana kidnapped Sita, and then there was a war between Rama’s army of monkeys and Ravan’s army. When the war was over, Lord Rama left this world.

Some Indian philosophers also thought that Yoga Vashista was written by Rishi Valmiki. Yoga Vashista is a conceptual story about what the sage Vashista and Lord Rama talked about. There are six books by Yoga Vasistha. Each one talks about different events and parts of life, such as Rama’s disappointment in nature and the suffering of people, Rama’s urge for salvation, other people who also want to be free, spiritual ways to be free, and the importance of people’s willpower and creativity.

His Role in Ramayana

Sage Valmiki was a very important part of the Ramayana, according to Uttara Kanda, which was taken from Sesha Ramayana. Rishi Valmiki let Devi Sita stay in his ashram after she was sent away. At the rishi’s ashram, where Devi Sita gave birth, Lava and Kusha were taught the Ramayana by their guru Valmiki.

Read Also:- What Does Your Eye Color Say About You? 

Cultural Impacts

Maharishi’s philosophical art affected the arts and cultures of many places in the Indian subcontinent and some sections of the southeast. It inspired writers and poets from different cultures to rewrite Valmiki’s Ramayana in their language. It includes Ramacharitamanas, Krittivasi Ramayan, Molla Ramayanam, Torave Ramayana, and Kambaramayanam in Tamil, Telegu, Kannada, and Bengali, respectively (Awadhi).

On the walls of shrines and stones, different scenes from the Ramayan were carved. The stone in Nagarjunkonda, Andhra Pradesh, which depicts the encounter between Lord Rama and Bharata, would make the ideal illustration. Valmiki’s influence on the Ramayana can be seen in movies, TV shows, music videos, theatres, paintings, books, and temples today. Today, Hindus all over the world watch Ramlila, a dramatic version of the Ramayana, which is performed in India.

Rishi Valmiki has a temple in Tiruvanmiyur, Chennai, that has been there for 1300 years.

Maharishi Valmiki’s lessons

Maharishi taught us to follow Dharma and Karma through Ramayana:

Always tell the truth. 

The truth will prevail despite how strong evil may be.

Unity makes people stronger.

Similar to Rama’s family, despite the circumstances separating them, their hearts remained united, which enabled them to overcome obstacles.

Honor your obligations with loyalty.

Follow the right path.

Respect and be kind to other people.

See and treat all animals the same.

Never hang out with or get close to a bad person.

Peace and harmony come from being able to forgive.

Not everything that shines is gold.

Read Also:- Zodiac Signs with the Most Aggression

[nofatclips]

The Bird by SYML from the album SYML - Director: Hayley Young

[bravemikhailo]

tagged by @milkimick thank you so much mara 💞

nickname: val, vale, kiwi 🥝

zodiac sign: aries ♈️

height: 171cm (5’7 according to google)

last thing I googled: cm to feet converter 😭

followers: 🤐

song stuck in my head: right now every mitski song but especially your best american girl

how many hours of sleep: 6, 7 at best

dream job: I don’t know something to do with books probably

lucky number: 3 and 6

currently wearing: oversized metallica shirt, leggings and big cozy socks

aesthetic: I don’t know I’m a mess

favourite song: gosh this is hard but the first one that comes to my head is forever now by green day, even got a tattoo

favourite author: donna tartt, paul auster

favourite animal noise: cat’s purr 🐱

tagging @matteoamiras @buffymilkovich @lethargicmick @milkovichy @xgoldendays @gallawitchxx @gardenerian @mickeymilkovichenthusiast @mmmichyyy if you feel so inclined ☺️

[malyias]

 *     ──     [   jessica   henwick,    cisfemale,    she/her.   ]   :    in   the   frays   of   king   aerys   iii's    reign,   therein   remains   malyia   manderly,   the   twenty  -  nine   year   old   lady   of   white   harbor.    rumor   has   it   that   their   loyalties   lie   with   houses   stark   and   manderly   and   they   are   neutral   to   the   targaryen   reign.    they're   so   shrewd   +   insightful   that   it   makes   sense,    but   most   seem   to   look   past   their   reticent   +   resentful   nature. 

 *     ──      act   one:   the   shellskinned   girl,   the   softeyed   shrew.   candlewax.   to   pull   at   a   tight   thread.   a   clever   step   on   the   ice,   and   the   river   swallowing   you   whole.   act   two:   the   cautious   fable,   the   careless   ending.   a   mermaid,   a   needle,   a   drop   of   blood.   the   sea   is   coming   in   through   the   windows,   now,   the   stones   are   slick   with   saltwater.   it’s   act   three:   the   unraveling.  

to   begin:

 full   name:   malyia   meralith   manderly.   pronounced   mah  -  li -  yah.

 title:   lady   of   white   harbor.

 familiar   nicknames:   lyia,   m,   the   shrew   of   white   harbor.  

 born:   eleventh   day   of   the   eleventh   moon,   371   ac.    new   castle,   white   harbor,   the   north.

 zodiac:   scorpio   sun,   gemini   moon,   aries   rising.

 familial   connections:   the   late   ruling   lord   wyman   manderly     ──   father,    dowager   ruling   lady   mara   manderly   née   mallister   ──   mother,   ruling   lord   manderly    ──   older   brother,   lady   melony  manderly    ──   younger   sister,   lord   orwen   umber   of   the   last   hearth    ──   ex   fiancée   /   deceased .

 relationship  status:  betrothed.  *  wanted   connection  !

 character  parallels:  katherine  minola,  siobhan   roy,   margaery   tyrell.

 sexuality:  lesbian   with   comphet,   probably.   tbd.

 shrewd:  lyia  is   undeniably  astute.  she’s   clever,   discerning,  and  sharp.   generally,   she’s   quite   calculated   and   levelheaded.   she   can   be   cold   and   austere. 

 insightful:   perceptive   and   observant.  always   listening.  she   has   a   strong   grasp   on   people   and   their   motivations.

 reticent:   unwilling   to   communicate   her   thoughts   and   feelings   with   those   around   her   to   the   detriment   of   her   emotional   wellbeing.

 resentful:   jaded   and   cynical,   she   often   expects   the   worst   from   people.   trust   issues. 

 stop !  content   warnings:   allusions   to   self   harm ,   language   that   may   be   triggering   in   the   context   of   eating   disorders,   mentions   of   parental   neglect   /   emotional   abuse,   mentions   of   domestic   violence,   drowning   /   ship   sinking. 

 to  elaborate:

 you   are   born   the   eleventh   day   of   the   eleventh   moon   in   the   heart   of   a   summer   storm,   where   the   white   knife   meets   the   bite.    you   are   so   quiet,   so   calm,   that   had   you   come   out   any   bluer   they   would   have   thought   you   already   dead.    you   are   a   near  -  silent   child.   a   clever   girl   ──   an   avid   reader,   an   avid   listener.   and  a   sponge.   you   absorb   everything   around   you.   you   take   after   your   mother.   her   posture,  her   affect,   her   resentful   nature,   her   cynical   brow.   you   learn   to   dance,   sing,   sew.   you   learn   to  strategize   and   manipulate.   you   understand   quickly   how   to   tie   knots,   to   think  in   concentric   circles,   and to manage   other   peoples   emotions.  you   will   make   a   good   lady,   this   is   clear.   a   good   person,   however,   is   yet   to   be   seen.

 this   is   girlhood:   the   kelp   winds   up   your   legs,   pulls   you   down.   your   needlework   is   excellent,   your   dancing   keeps   crowds.   your   fingers   bleed,   your   toenails   pop   off   like   tiny,   transparent,   shells.   you   pick   at   the   inside   of   your   elbow,   you   stab   your   thigh   with   a   dinner   fork.   a    flood   of   embroidery   floss   and   oysterpearls   wrap   around   your   neck,   and   the   waves   of   pressure   crashing   on   the   shallow   rocks   of   your   ribcage   are   relentless:   unforgiving.   it   is   like   being   choked   from   the   inside   out.

 eldest   daughter:    what   did   you   expect?   to   be   free?   to   man   the   deck   of   a   ship,   to   slide   along   the   planks,   to   dangle   from   the   mast?   what   did   you   want,   girl?   to   be   poor?   to   be   starved,   empty,   clawing?   are   you   not   satisfied?   are   you   yet  starved,   empty,   clawing,   under   your   oysterpearls?   you   do   not   get   to   clamber   up   the   crows   nest,   girl,   you  are   the   masthead:    hold   still,   don’t   shout,   don’t   scream,   don’t   wail.   you   are   the   masthead:   be   perfect,   frozen,   half-naked,   beautiful.   you   are   the   masthead:   keep   us   steady,   bring  us  luck.  

 your   father   is   the   master   of   ships,   your   mother   master   of   you.  she   watches   your   every   move,   categorizes   your   every   indiscretion.  (  and,   as   you   age,   the   indiscretions   do   number.  )   you   are   quick   to   note   your    discomfort   with   your   various   suitors.   each   of   them   noble,   each   of   them   rich,   each   of   them   completely   dense.   you   have   no   interest   in   marrying,   particularly   not   at   sixteen,   and   so   you   make   scaring   away   potential   husbands   your   full   time   occupation.   you   snark,   you   torment,   you   make   it   clear   that   should   you   be   married   into   their   family,   you   would   be   a   never   ending   nightmare.   you   gain   reputation   as   a   frigid   bitch,   which   you   feel   suits   you   quite   nicely.   

 enter:  lord   orwen   umber   of   the   last   hearth,   eldest   son   of   the  ruling   lord.   you’re   twenty  -  four   by   now.   it’s   winter,   and   you   wonder   if   you’ll   ever   see   your   sister   again.   (  where   you   are   a   masthead,   the   minnow   is  a   ship:   she   gets   to   scrape   at   the   freedom   you   so   long   for.  )    orwen   is   handsome   enough,   and   if   you   scare   away   another   potential   husband   you   fear   that   your   parents   will   send   you   off   to   take   your   vows   and   live   the   rest   of   your   life   a   septa.   he’s   handsome   enough,   so   what   does   it   matter   that   he’s   brutish   and  cruel?    he’s   handsome   enough,   and    you   are   running   out   of   options.   nothing   you   say   can   scare   him   away,   nothing   you   do.   not   even   cutting   off   your   waist - length   hair   in   the   middle   of   the   night   with   a   pair   of   kitchen   scissors.   you   pray   to   the   maiden,  the   mother,   the   crone.   the   night   before   he   is   to   arrive   in   white   harbor   one   last   time   and   steal   you   northward,   you   pray,   in   desperation,   to   the   sea.

 his   ship   is   sunk   in   the   early   morning   by   a   swell   of   bewildering   proportion.  there   is   only   one   victim.   orwen.   who   was   handsome   enough,   but   once   cut  your   cheek   with   a   bone   handled   knife.   you   begin   to   speak   to   the   ocean,   on   occasion,   like   she   is   an   old   friend   who   has   done   you   a   kindness.   because,  you   decide,    she   is.   years   pass   and   your   parents   let   you   try   your   hand   at   playing   diplomat.   they   allow   you   to   mourn   for   your   betrothed   by   allowing   you   the   freedom   to   travel   the   north,   the   reach,   the   crownlands,   to   bounce   from   keep   to   keep.   you   prove   yourself   useful,   teaching   young    ladies   to   embroider   and   dance   with   your   acumen,   and   teaching   them   the   art   of   listening   while   you’re   there.   your   political   savvy   is   nothing   to   balk   at   either,   touring   your   ancestral   lands   and   rallying   bannermen   for   your   father,   securing   resources   to   ensure   his   territories   survive  the   long   winter   by   cementing   longstanding   alliances   in   the   reach.   

 everywhere   you   go,   you   honor   house   manderly  with   the   smallfolk,   especially   in   the   north.   you   travel   with   a   woodswitch   for   about   a  year,   learning   remedies   for   common  ailments   and   how   to   put   that   aptitude   with  a  needle   to   use   stitching   up   wounds.   while   your   reputation   among   the   highborn   remains   mixed,  the   lowborn   folk   of   the   north   spread   tales   of   you   saving   their   children   from   dog   bites,   of   teaching   their   daughters   to   dance   sing   and   sew   like   noblewomen,   of    writing   letters   of   advice   to   young   women   that   are   honest   and   touching.   you   learn   perspective,   something   your   mother   never   had.   you   learn   empathy,   something   that   you   were   sorely   lacking.  you   find   purpose   in   writing   letters   of   political   insight,   spreading   your   northern   sentiment   through   the   country.

 but   then   your   father   dies.   and   you   travel   home   for   the   funeral.   and   now   there   is   no   escape   from   the   prospect   of   marriage.   your   days   of   mucking   through   the   northern   countryside,   of   sailing   along   the   white   knife,   and   of   lounging   in   the   noble   gardens   that   would   have   you   come   to   an   abrupt   end.   you   could   have   taken   off   again   after   the   funeral,   but   your   mother   is   alone   now.    your   sister   didn’t   even   come   home   to   see   off   your   father.   you   can’t   leave   the   dowager   to   fade   into   the   walls   of   new   castle.   you   stay.   the   next   two   years   are   a  retraining   in   the   ways   of   castle   management,   lessons   in   courting  a   husband   when   you’re   in   your   late   twenties   and  a   massive   bitch.  you   are   betrothed   again,   to   your   widowed   mother’s   delight.   once   again,   you   have   no   interest   in   marrying   this   person.   you   make   the   decision   to   leave   again   when,   by   luck,   you   are   summoned   to   king’s   landing.   you   say   goodbye   to   white   harbor   again,   maybe   for   the   last   time.

 to  summarize: 

  the    middle   child   and   eldest   daughter   of   the   late   ruling   lord   &   dowager   ruling   lady   of   white   harbor.   twenty  -   nine   &   unwed.   raised   to   be   the   perfect   lady,   suffered   in   silence   for   years,   scared   away   potential   husband   after   potential  husband,   escaped   a   particularly   horrendous   match   by   begging   the   ocean   to   kill   him   for   her   and   then   seeing   his   ship   sink   which   probably   was   a  freak  accident   but   also   *britney   spears   voice*   woah   girl,  ran   around   the   country   for   a  few   years   doing   whatever   she   felt  like,  moved   back   home   when   daddy   dearest   croaked,  got   engaged   again,   decided   she   didn’t   wanna  be   married   again,   was   about   to  run   for   it   when   she   was   called   to   king’s   landing   for   the   coronation.   fin.

 uhhhhhhh   i’m   sorry   this   took   me   eighty   years   to   post   and   it   came   out   long   and   winding.   the   end   is   a  bit   rushed   bc   i   just   wanna   wriiiiiteeeee.   pls   come   plot  with   me   i   promise   i’m   fun   xxxxxx  

[haziebat]

Moving Mountains | Ch. 1 | Skyrim x Fem!Reader

[Interactive | Readers Vote]

Word count: 2,700

Content Warning: Depictions of violence

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You find yourself in the courtyard of a palace made of smooth gray stone. Its spires graze the twinkling stars emerging in the green-tinted sky. To either side of you are aged trees. Their gnarled, leafless branches reach toward the twilit heavens. Their roots dig into lush grass that creeps into the stonework of the walkway.

You can't place the scene, but it's stained with an uneasy familiarity. Your feet recognize the stairs beneath them as you begin your climb to the palace doors. They are a stately pair - tall, with ornate filigree designs, standing in proud opposition to each other.

You reach out and take hold of a sturdy handle. It's cold to the touch - a sensation so vivid it could burn your palm.

With an uneven breath, you pull. 

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White light sears your bleary eyes.

Groaning, you pinch them shut. The glow taunts you through your eyelids. It flickers in spots, giving you the image of sunspots shining through a verdant canopy. Leaves dance in a cool breeze. Goosebumps prickle your bare skin.

Your head aches as you're jostled. A throbbing pain resonates through your muscles. Wheels click on a cobblestone road. You're certain you're on a carriage, and almost as certain that one ran you over.

This isn't right.

You force your eyes open.

They're flooded with harsh morning sun. 

Blinking away the discomfort, you begin to take in your surroundings.

You are on a cart, just as you suspected, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. Behind them are towering evergreens. Birds sing among the needles. A light frost clings to the branches. Stray snowflakes meander through the air. On the road before you are more carriages with strangers clad in identical armor sitting in the backs. Carts slip off around the bend toward a destination unknown.

Unknown.

There are a lot of unknowns right now.

How you got here, for example.

You go to search the dustiest corners of your memory just to find that there are no corners to search. No dust has settled because there's nothing for it to cling to. Every stretch of your mind comes up blank. Where you were before and where you're headed... Nothing.

All that's left are the clouded memories of a dream.

Your stomach twists into a knot.

You need to focus on the things you know - on certainties.

First order of business: do you know your name?

(Y,,,,N)?

(Y/N)?

Sure.

Sounds good enough.

You're more confident about that than anything else right now.

Your name is (Y/N) and you're somewhere you don't know, on a carriage headed somewhere you don't know, surrounded by people you also don't know. The strangers share a grim expression that only makes your sinking feeling grow deeper.

You move to rub your temples and massage away the headache and racing thoughts.

Your hand is caught.

Your heart goes still.

You look down to find your wrists bound with an intricately wrapped leather strip. It digs into your flesh with each tug against it.

No.

No, no, no.

This isn't happening.

Panic threatens to seize you. It festers in your gut. Your breathing is uneven.

You look to the man across from you. He looks to be in his late twenties, with wavy blond locks falling to a square, bearded jaw. His eyes are round and prominent, a striking blue and steadfast. He's clad in armor made of supple brown leather with a muted blue sash displaying the emblem of a bear, same as most of the others.

"Where are we?" You croak out. Your throat is dry, but your voice is familiar. It's a small shred of comfort.

"You're in Skyrim, lass." He replies. He bears an accent that marks him as a Nord - a term you recognize.

"Skyrim." You repeat. Another word you know.

You're relieved you still seem to hold some functional knowledge of the world. You're in Skyrim, the snowy, northernmost province of Tamriel. It's a land of harsh frost and cruel beasts, with hardy people and hearty mead. These are all facts - little things that make such a surreal moment feel more concrete. And yet none of these details paint you a portrait of yourself. Frustration seeps in alongside anxiety.

"You were wandering near the border." The stranger explains. "Lost, confused, naked... Seems like you have a few more of your faculties back now, eh?"

You glance down at yourself. Whoever captured you had the decency to dress you, if that's what you want to call it. You're clad in rough burlap rags with dirt clinging to the fraying fibers.

"Well, I'm clothed. That's something." You reply.

"Good. Still got your sense of humor. You're going to need that." The man says.

His words unsettle you.

"How'd I wind up a captive?" You ask, tugging again at your binds. You're aware of the futility but there's little else for you to do.

"You got tangled up in the fight when the Imperials ambushed us. Couldn't get out a damn sentence but you took down two men. Can't say I've ever seen anything like it." The Nord's voice holds a hint of humor. "You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Same as that thief over there."

"Damn you Stormcloaks." The thief spits. Your attention is drawn to him. He has a lean frame and gaunt face with grime coating his skin. Greasy brown hair frames wild eyes better suited for a caged animal. "Everything was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

"Stormcloaks?" You inquire. It's the one word that escapes your recognition

"You really are in a state, aren't you?" The blond man replies with a crinkle of his brow. "I was sure everyone had gotten wind of our rebellion."

"Yeah, I don't think I'm gonna be the best gauge of that one." You say with a trace of a smirk.

"Shut up back there!" The driver barks.

A tense silence settles over the cart.

It's broken by the thief, who asks in a hushed tone, "What's wrong with him, huh?"

You follow his eyes to the man in question. They're locked on the Nord to your right. He's an imposing man with a mane of wild, deep blond hair pulled back from his face. It's adorned with braids, fastened with carved beads and leather knots. He has steely eyes beneath a stern brow. His nose is prominent and slightly crooked, giving the impression he's had it broken a time or two before. He wears fine robes adorned with chainmail - attire that indicates both his wealth and his status as a warrior. A gag is tied around his mouth.

"Watch your tongue." The Nord in front of you commands. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" The Thief nearly chokes on the words. "You're the leader of the rebellion... If they've captured you... Oh, Gods... Where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

Sovngarde, a Nord's afterlife,

If what he says is true - if you're headed to your death - where is your soul headed? Will you be granted an afterlife, or be met with an abrupt nothingness? Or will your lost and confused spirit be bound to mundus, cursed to wander for an eternity?

Plenty of options, and very few appealing ones.

"No! This can't be happening! This isn't happening!" The thief's voice wavers. His eyes dart about the carriage, cycling restlessly from face to face. He seems to be looking for an out you could assure him doesn't exist. His desperation is palpable.

Your heart is fluttering. Your palms begin to sweat. You don't know what life you led until this point but you can't begin to piece together how it led you here. Is this what you deserve?

It's impossible to say where you've been, or where you're headed. You can't even tell how long you've been in Tamriel. Your exact age is as murky as everything else. You can ascertain "adult" but how much of an adult is unclear. You feel as if you've been around for a while though the more you settle into your skin you feel that your body is still comparatively young.

You bring your eyes up along your bare arms and take in the pale scars dotting them.

Your skin tells stories with ghosts of burns, cuts and gashes. Though the details are lost you can make out the meat of them: no matter how long your body has been around, it has been through a lot. You seem to have a knack for getting into trouble, or a history of dangerous work.

The Nord in front of you speaks up, pulling you from your thoughts. 

"Hey... What village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?" The thief snaps.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

The thief hesitates. His face contorts before softening, with thin lips curled into a frown. "Rorikstead... I'm... I'm from Rorikstead..."

"What about you?" The blond man asks.

You pause to think on the question.

Yet you keep coming up blank.

You were found wandering at the border? Which one? Southern makes the most sense - this area doesn't share the lush, mountainous terrain of High Rock. It closer resembles the Jerall mountains, with steep hills and muted greens. You could be from Cyrodiil, but something in your bones insists this answer is unsatisfactory.

Sitting on the question too long you stammer out, "I uh... I have no fucking clue."

He laughs - a genuine chuckle with a glimmering smile. "Good an answer as any. I suppose it won't make much of a difference soon."

The carriage rounds a corner and a small village comes into view. It's surrounded by a sturdy stone wall with a broad wooden gate shielding the houses from the road. A figure on the covered walkway above calls out to the man leading the caravan, "General Tullius, Sir! The headsman is waiting!"

"Good." A gruff voice barks. "Let's get this over with."

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh... Divines, please help me!" The thief pleads with closed eyes, head slumped and shoulders shuddering.

Entering the gates, you pass the man who led the string of carriages. He seems to be in his fifties, with cropped gray hair, though his toned arms tell you he's still in good shape. His face is austere with near-black eyes boring holes into the Altmer across from him. The golden skinned elves wear dark robes and gold armor.

"Look at him," the Blond man growls, "General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves."

"Thalmor." You barely recognize the word on your tongue. You're unsure what it means. The most closely related term you can conjure is "laughing stock".

"What's their deal?" You ask.

His brow furrows. "I don't know what happened to you but whatever it was, it really did a number on you, eh lass? The Thalmor are with the Aldmeri Dominion, here to 'unify Tamriel'. Serves better to rip her apart."

Okay that sounds like... New information.

You close your eyes and take a deep, steady breath.

This, you have decided, is all bullshit.

You struggle to keep your attention outwards, away from these prying thoughts.

"This is Helgen," The Nord continues. His expression grows heavier with each turn of the wheels. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here... Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in."

Juniper berries. Piney, with a hint of a peppery bite. 

This trivia is useless.

Above you looms a tower. A flag at its top proudly flies the symbol of the Empire - that dragon that rings so familiar. You know it well, but you do not feel loyalty. It is simply an icon of a frail nation.

"Funny... When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." The Nord sighs.

"Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?" A young boy chirps above the murmur of the townsfolk. The people have gathered in the streets and on their porches to watch.

"You need to go inside the house, little cub." His father replies.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

"Inside the house. Now."

"Yes, Papa."

You wonder for a moment - who were your parents? Are they worth remembering? You wait for a melancholy pang and are met with apathy. This, somehow, feels worse. You try and focus on the present - it's the most you have right now.

The carriage draws to a halt in the town square, in the shadows of the ominous stone towers. In the clearing the headsman stands by his block. His axe gleams in the sunlight, drawing your eye back no matter how you try and avoid it. Beside him is a priestess wearing golden robes and a solemn face. She's likely a follower of Arkay, here to give you a proper sendoff to the grave.

You're not sure how much stock you put in the Divines.

At the moment, you'd say not much.

"Why are we stopping?" Beads of sweat begin to trickle down the thief's forehead, leaving trails of fair skin behind. It reveals his flushed cheeks and betrays his terror even further.

"Why do you think? End of the line." The blond man gets to his feet. He's tall with broad shoulders - the quintessential Nord. Looking past him at the others, you'd say he's right at home in this crowd. It seems to be a requirement for a position as a Stormcloak. How the Imperials threw you in among them is beyond you. You're pretty sure you put even less stock in the Legion than the Gods.

You get to your feet on rickety legs and follow the men off the cart. On the ground, you can hardly see past the group.

In the gaps between heads and shoulders you see what looks to be an Imperial Captain in heavy steel armor standing beside a leather clad soldier with auburn hair and an uncertain look. In his hand is a thick tome.

"Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time." The Captain's voice holds no remorse. If you aren't mistaken, it seems to be dripping pride. Your lip curls at the sound.

"Empire loves their damn lists." The blond man says in a hushed tone.

The Imperial soldier begins to read from the pages in front of him. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

Ulfric remains silent as he joins the crowd congregating by the headsman's block. He walks with his head held high. He must know he'll die a martyr. If he's a true leader, his fight should last long after him, whether or not it's in the right.

"Ralof of Riverwood." The soldier reads.

The blond man gives you a nod and heads towards his fate. A strange loneliness sets in. For the first time since waking you don't have a companion - or at the very least a voice other than yours to drown out your thoughts. To talk over the terror creeping up your spine.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

The thief's eyes are that of a cornered beast. Frenzied, he looks to the block, then back to the Captain. "I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"

Before she can reply, he runs. His legs carry him toward the gate at an uneven pace. They look as if they'll give out beneath him. "You're not gonna kill me!"

"Halt!" The Captain's shout echoes off the buildings surrounding you. Her demand falls on deaf ears. "Archers!"

There is the pluck of bowstrings in near-unison. Lokir cries out as arrows bury themselves in his back. He collapses to the ground, blood running down his side and staining his burlap rags. He wails one final time as his arms give out beneath him.

He falls limp on the cobblestone.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The Captain asks.

She's met with silence.

The auburn haired soldier's eyes wander to the book, then back to you. "Who are you?"

───── ⋆⋅✶⋅⋆ ─────

╭━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╮

Q U E S T I O N S

╰━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╯

1.) What race are you?

✶ Argonian

✶ Breton

✶ Dark Elf

✶ High Elf

✶ Imperial

✶ Khajiit

✶ Nord

✶ Orc

✶ Redguard

✶ Wood Elf

2.) Any last words when you're at the headsman's block?

✶ "I'm not a rebel!"

✶ "Your grip on that axe is sloppy. You sure you've done this before?"

✶ "Fuck you."

✶ Nothing. I'm going out with whatever dignity I have.

✶ Nothing. But I spit on the executioner.

POLL CLOSES: 01/31/2021

[talonabraxas]

Buddhism

Siddhartha Gautama, the founder of Buddhism who later became known as “the Buddha,” lived during the 5th century B.C.

Gautama was born into a wealthy family as a prince in present-day Nepal. Although he had an easy life, Gautama was moved by suffering in the world.

He decided to give up his lavish lifestyle and endure poverty. For nearly six years, he undertook fasting and other austerities, but these techniques proved ineffectual and he abandoned them. He eventually promoted the idea of the “Middle Way,” which means existing between two extremes. Thus, he sought a life without social indulgences but also without deprivation.

After regaining his strength, he seated himself under a Bodhi tree in west-central India and promised not to rise until he had attained the supreme enlightenment. After fighting off Mara, an evil spirit who tempted him with worldly comforts and desires, Siddhartha reached enlightenment, becoming a Buddha at the age of 35. He spent the rest of his life teaching others about how to achieve this spiritual state.

When Gautama passed away around 483 B.C., his followers began to organize a religious movement. Buddha’s teachings became the foundation for what would develop into Buddhism.

In the 3rd century B.C., Ashoka the Great, the Mauryan Indian emperor, made Buddhism the state religion of India. Buddhist monasteries were built, and missionary work was encouraged.

Over the next few centuries, Buddhism began to spread beyond India. The thoughts and philosophies of Buddhists became diverse, with some followers interpreting ideas differently than others.

In the sixth century, the Huns invaded India and destroyed hundreds of Buddhist monasteries, but the intruders were eventually driven out of the country.

Islam began to spread quickly in the region during the Middle Ages, forcing Buddhism into the background. Nonetheless, Buddhism eventually spread to Central and Southeast Asia, China, Korea, Japan and, in the 20th century, to the West.

Buddhism Beliefs and Practices

Some key Buddhism beliefs include:

Followers of Buddhism don’t acknowledge a supreme god or deity. They instead focus on achieving enlightenment—a state of inner peace and wisdom. When followers reach this spiritual echelon, they’re said to have experienced nirvana.

The religion’s founder, Buddha, is considered an extraordinary being, but not a god. The word Buddha means “enlightened.”

The path to enlightenment is attained by utilizing morality, meditation and wisdom. Buddhists often meditate because they believe it helps awaken truth.

There are many philosophies and interpretations within Buddhism, making it a tolerant and evolving religion.

Some scholars don’t recognize Buddhism as an organized religion, but rather, a “way of life” or a “spiritual tradition.”

Buddhism encourages its people to avoid self-indulgence but also self-denial.

Buddha’s most important teachings, known as The Four Noble Truths, are essential to understanding the religion.

Buddhists embrace the concepts of karma (the law of cause and effect) and reincarnation (the continuous cycle of rebirth).

Followers of Buddhism can worship in temples or in their own homes.

Buddhist monks, or bhikkhus, follow a strict code of conduct, which includes celibacy.

There is no single Buddhist symbol, but a number of images have evolved that represent Buddhist beliefs, including the lotus flower, the eight-spoked dharma wheel, the Bodhi tree and the swastika (an ancient symbol whose name means "well-being" or "good fortune" in Sanskrit).

Types of Buddhism Today, many forms of Buddhism exist around the world. The three main types that represent specific geographical areas include:

Theravada Buddhism: Prevalent in Thailand, Sri Lanka, Cambodia, Laos and Burma

Mahayana Buddhism: Prevalent in China, Japan, Taiwan, Korea, Singapore and Vietnam

Tibetan Buddhism: Prevalent in Tibet, Nepal, Mongolia, Bhutan, and parts of Russia and northern India

Zen Buddhism is a form of Mahayana Buddhism that’s practiced in many of the same areas. It emphasizes simplicity and meditation—the word “zen” means meditation—in lieu of religious scripture, ceremonies or doctrines.

Nirvana Buddhism is closely related to Theravada Buddhism, but the concept of nirvana is also central to many paths of Buddhism. The term nirvana means “blowing out,” as a candle is blown out, thus ending all attachment and desire to achieve a state of pure enlightenment.

Each of these types reveres certain texts and has slightly different interpretations of Buddha’s teachings.

Some forms of Buddhism incorporate ideas of other religions and philosophies, such as Taoism and Bon.

Dharma Buddha’s teachings are known as “dharma.” He taught that wisdom, kindness, patience, generosity and compassion were important virtues.

Specifically, all Buddhists live by five moral precepts, which prohibit:

Killing living things Taking what is not given Sexual misconduct Lying Using drugs or alcohol Four Noble Truths

The Four Noble Truths, which Buddha taught, are: The truth of suffering (dukkha) The truth of the cause of suffering (samudaya) The truth of the end of suffering (nirhodha) The truth of the path that frees us from suffering (magga)

Collectively, these principles explain why humans hurt and how to overcome suffering.

Eightfold Path The Buddha taught his followers that the end of suffering, as described in the fourth Noble Truths, could be achieved by following an Eightfold Path.

In no particular order, the Eightfold Path of Buddhism teaches the following ideals for ethical conduct, mental disciple and achieving wisdom:

Right understanding (Samma ditthi) Right thought (Samma sankappa) Right speech (Samma vaca) Right action (Samma kammanta) Right livelihood (Samma ajiva) Right effort (Samma vayama) Right mindfulness (Samma sati) Right concentration (Samma samadhi)

Buddha by Talon Abraxas

[tartarusfm]

ACCEPTED !

✱  ╱  welcome to tartarus, MARA DOUGLAS & LANA KANE ! you have 24 hours to set up your account and send an ask to the main. make sure you go through your checklist and follow everyone on the blogroll. we can’t wait to write with you, crimson ! alicia vikander, gemma chan, minthe and echo are now taken.

✱ ╱ alicia vikander + cis female + she/her ━  if you happen to find yourself stuck in tartarus, make sure you don’t run into MARA DOUGLAS there. the THIRTY SIX year old has made quite the reputation for themselves under their alias as MINTHE, an ASSASSIN for THE SOULS. while their enemies often describe them as provocative and austere, their syndicate would say that they’re dexterous and unequivocal. they DO think that zane was murdered, but they’ll be keeping that to themselves for now. ( black eyeshadow smudged above dark unreadable pools, crisp white sheets wrapped around naked limbs, wisps of cigarette smoke in clouds over a poorly lit alleyway and bruised knuckles resting subtly atop concealed weapons ) crimson + 27 + she/her + gmt + 10. **desmond titan’s fwb / fling wc**

✱ ╱ gemma chan + cis female + she/her ━  if you happen to find yourself stuck in tartarus, make sure you don’t run into LANA KANE there. the THIRTY EIGHT year old has made quite the reputation for themselves under their alias as ECHO, a DOCTOR for THE STALLIONS. while their enemies often describe them as duplicitous and votive, their syndicate would say that they’re maternal and equanimous. they DO think that zane was murdered, but they’ll be keeping that to themselves for now. ( a satin nightgown; barefoot with a glass of red wine in hand, the divine scent of chanel no. 5 l’eau lingering in the air and pristine manicured fingernails that turn the rings on her fourth finger around absently ) crimson + 27 + she/her + gmt + 10.

[veale2006-blog]

THIS DAY IN HISTORY April 08, 563 Buddhists celebrate birth of Gautama Buddha On April 8, Buddhists celebrate the commemoration of the birth of Gautama Buddha, the founder of Buddhism, thought to have lived in India from 563 B.C. to 483 B.C. Actually, the Buddhist tradition that celebrates his birthday on April 8 originally placed his birth in the 11th century B.C., and it was not until the modern era that scholars determined that he was more likely born in the sixth century B.C., and possibly in May rather than April.

According to the Tripitaka, which is recognized by scholars as the earliest existing record of the Buddha’s life and discourses, Gautama Buddha was born as Prince Siddhartha, the son of the king of the Sakya people. The kingdom of the Sakyas was situated on the borders of present-day Nepal and India. Siddhartha’s family was of the Gautama clan. His mother, Queen Mahamaya, gave birth to him in the park of Lumbini, in what is now southern Nepal. A pillar placed there in commemoration of the event by an Indian emperor in the third century B.C. still stands.

At his birth, it was predicted that the prince would either become a great world monarch or a Buddha–a supremely enlightened teacher. The Brahmans told his father, King Suddhodana, that Siddhartha would become a ruler if he were kept isolated from the outside world. The king took pains to shelter his son from misery and anything else that might influence him toward the religious life. Siddhartha was brought up in great luxury, and he married and fathered a son. At age 29, he decided to see more of the world and began excursions off the palace grounds in his chariot. In successive trips, he saw an old man, a sick man, and a corpse, and since he had been protected from the miseries of aging, sickness, and death, his charioteer had to explain what they were. Finally, Siddhartha saw a monk, and, impressed with the man’s peaceful demeanor, he decided to go into the world to discover how the man could be so serene in the midst of such suffering.

Siddhartha secretly left the palace and became a wandering ascetic. He traveled south, where the centers of learning were, and studied meditation under the teachers Alara Kalama and Udraka Ramaputra. He soon mastered their systems, reaching high states of mystical realization, but was unsatisfied and went out again in search of nirvana, the highest level of enlightenment. For nearly six years, he undertook fasting and other austerities, but these techniques proved ineffectual and he abandoned them. After regaining his strength, he seated himself under a pipal tree at what is now Bodh Gaya in west-central India and promised not to rise until he had attained the supreme enlightenment. After fighting off Mara, an evil spirit who tempted him with worldly comforts and desires, Siddhartha reached enlightenment, becoming a Buddha at the age of 35.

The Gautama Buddha then traveled to the deer park near Benares, India, where he gave his first sermon and outlined the basic doctrines of Buddhism. According to Buddhism, there are “four noble truths”: (1) existence is suffering; (2) this suffering is caused by human craving; (3) there is a cessation of the suffering, which is nirvana; and (4) nirvana can be achieved, in this or future lives, though the “eightfold path” of right views, right resolve, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration.

For the rest of his life, the Buddha taught and gathered disciples to his sangha, or community of monks. He died at age 80, telling his monks to continue working for their spiritual liberation by following his teachings. Buddhism eventually spread from India to Central and Southeast Asia, China, Korea, Japan, and, in the 20th century, to the West.

[zoryany]

Preview:

Mara’s footsteps slowed as she approached her destination. The doors to her master’s chambers stood tall and unwelcoming, flanked by two silent members of the Red Guard, who didn’t give her so much as a twitch in acknowledgement as the heavy slabs of metal slid aside to reveal the austere room that lay just beyond. Breezing past the threshold, Mara swiftly took her place at the foot of the stairs leading to the Emperor’s throne, kneeling and bowing her head as he conducted whatever business he’d been engaged in before her arrival.

It was not uncommon for him to summon her while meeting with some other underling. She’d learned early on that there was either vital information being shared that she would do well to be privy to, or her response time was being tested, and failure would be punished. In either case, she simply waited to be acknowledged, soaking in whatever words were exchanged between her master and his lesser subjects.

On this occasion, it was none other than Thrawn himself who demanded the Emperor’s attention. The Chiss stood impassively before their master’s throne, listening intently to the instructions he was given while his uncannily bright eyes barely even twitched at her arrival.

“I do commend your strategy,” their master drawled, gaze never leaving the Grand Admiral. “Given the knowledge you currently have, it is the most logical choice. However, as satisfying as it would be to strike at the Rebels while they are wounded, there are much more pressing matters near the Core that require your presence. Should the insignificant resistance they present grow beyond a minor nuisance, your expertise will be employed. However, there are plans in motion to keep the insurgents at bay, and I would much prefer to only call on your talents should they be absolutely necessary.”

Thrawn was silent for a moment as he seemed to consider the Emperor’s words. Mara, too, frowned in response. Whatever plans he had in motion remained a mystery to her, but she would simply trust that they would become clear to her when they were meant to. If Thrawn was worthy of his position, he would do the same.

“Understood, Your Majesty.”

[theskyrimlibrary]

A Dance in Fire, v1

A Dance in Fire Chapter 1

by Waughin Jarth

✲•······················▃🖋️······················•✲

Scene: The Imperial City, Cyrodiil Date: 7 Frost Fall, 3E 397

It seemed as if the palace had always housed the Atrius Building Commission, the company of clerks and estate agents who authored and notarized nearly every construction of any note in the Empire. It had stood for two hundred and fifty years, since the reign of the Emperor Magnus, a plain-fronted and austere hall on a minor but respectable plaza in the Imperial City. Energetic and ambitious middle-class lads and ladies worked there, as well as complacent middle-aged ones like Decumus Scotti. No one could imagine a world without the Commission, least of all Scotti. To be accurate, he could not imagine a world without himself in the Commission.

“Lord Atrius is perfectly aware of your contributions,” said the managing clerk, closing the shutter that demarcated Scotti’s office behind him. “But you know that things have been difficult.”

“Yes,” said Scotti, stiffly.

“Lord Vanech’s men have been giving us a lot of competition lately, and we must be more efficient if we are to survive. Unfortunately, that means releasing some of our historically best but presently underachieving senior clerks.”

“I understand. Can’t be helped.”

“I’m glad that you understand,” smiled the managing clerk, smiling thinly and withdrawing. “Please have your room cleared immediately.”

Scotti began the task of organizing all his work to pass on to his successor. It would probably be young Imbrallius who would take most of it on, which was as it should be, he considered philosophically. The lad knew how to find business. Scotti wondered idly what the fellow would do with the contracts for the new statue of St Alessia for which the Temple of the One had applied. Probably invent a clerical error, blame it on his old predecessor Decumus Scotti, and require an additional cost to rectify.

“I have correspondence for Decumus Scotti of the Atrius Building Commission.”

Scotti looked up. A fat-faced courier had entered his office and was thrusting forth a sealed scroll. He handed the boy a gold piece, and opened it up. By the poor penmanship, atrocious spelling and grammar, and overall unprofessional tone, it was manifestly evident who the writer was. Liodes Jurus, a fellow clerk some years before, who had left the Commission after being accused of unethical business practices.

“Dear Sckotti, 

I emagine you alway wondered what happened to me, and the last plase you would have expected to find me is out in the woods. But thats exactly where I am. Ha ha. If your’e smart and want to make lot of extra gold for Lord Atrius (and yourself, ha ha), youll come down to Vallinwood too. If you have’nt or have been following the politics hear lately, you may or may not know that ther’s bin a war between the Boshmer and there neighbors Elswere over the past two years. Things have only just calm down, and ther’s a lot that needs to be rebuilt.

Now Ive got more business than I can handel, but I need someone with some clout, someone representing a respected agencie to get the quill in the ink. That somone is you, my fiend. Come G meat me at the M’ther Paskos Tavern in Falinnesti, Vallinwood. Ill be here 2 weeks and you wont be sorrie.

- - Jurus

P.S.: Bring a wagenload of timber if you can.”

“What do you have there, Scotti?” asked a voice.

Scotti started. It was Imbrallius, his damnably handsome face peeking through the shutters, smiling in that way that melted the hearts of the stingiest of patrons and the roughest of stonemasons. Scotti shoved the letter in his jacket pocket.

“Personal correspondence,” he sniffed. “I’ll be cleared up here in a just a moment.”

“I don’t want to hurry you,” said Imbrallius, grabbing a few sheets of blank contracts from Scotti’s desk. “I’ve just gone through a stack, and the junior scribes hands are all cramping up, so I thought you wouldn’t miss a few.”

The lad vanished. Scotti retrieved the letter and read it again. He thought about his life, something he rarely did. It seemed a sea of gray with a black insurmountable wall looming. There was only one narrow passage he could see in that wall. Quickly, before he had a moment to reconsider it, he grabbed a dozen of the blank contracts with the shimmering gold leaf ATRIUS BUILDING COMMISSION BY APPOINTMENT OF HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY and hid them in the satchel with his personal effects.

The next day he began his adventure with a giddy lack of hesitation. He arranged a sear in a caravan bound for Valenwood, the single escorted conveyance to the southeast leaving the Imperial City that week. He had scarcely hours to pack, but he remembered to purchase a wagonload of timber.

“It will be extra gold to pay for a horse to pull that,” frowned the convoy head.

“So I anticipated,” smiled Scotti with his best Imbrallius grin.

Ten wagons in all set off that afternoon through the familiar Cyrodilic countryside. Past fields of wildflowers, gently rolling woodlands, friendly hamlets. The clop of the horses’ hooves against the sound stone road reminded Scotti that the Atrius Building Commission constructed it. Five of the eighteen necessary contracts for its completion were drafted by his own hand.

“Very smart of you to bring that wood along,” said a gray-whiskered Breton man next to him on his wagon. “You must be in Commerce.”

“Of a sort,” said Scotti, in a way he hoped was mysterious, before introducing himself: “Decumus Scotti.”

“Gryf Mallon,” said the man. “I’m a poet, actually a translator of old Bosmer literature. I was researching some newly discovered tracts of the Mnoriad Pley Bar two years ago when the war broke out and I had to leave. You are no doubt familiar with the Mnoriad, if you’re aware of the Green Pact.”

Scotti thought the man might be speaking perfect gibberish, but he nodded his head.

“Naturally, I don’t pretend that the Mnoriad is as renowned as the Meh Ayleidion, or as ancient as the Dansir Gol, but I think it has a remarkable significance to understanding the nature of the merelithic Bosmer mind. The origin of the Wood Elf aversion to cutting their own wood or eating any plant material at all, yet paradoxically their willingness to import plantstuff from other cultures, I feel can be linked to a passage in the Mnoriad,” Mallon shuffled through some of his papers, searching for the appropriate text.

To Scotti’s vast relief, the carriage soon stopped to camp for the night. They were high on a bluff over a gray stream, and before them was the great valley of Valenwood. Only the cry of seabirds declared the presence of the ocean to the bay to the west: here the timber was so tall and wide, twisting around itself like an impossible knot begun eons ago, to be impenetrable. A few more modest trees, only fifty feet to the lowest branches, stood on the cliff at the edge of the camp. The sight was so alien to Scotti and he found himself so anxious about the proposition of entering the wilderness that he could not imagine sleeping.

Fortunately, Mallon had supposed he had found another academic with a passion for the riddles of ancient cultures. Long into the night, he recited Bosmer verse in the original and in his own translation, sobbing and bellowing and whispering wherever appropriate. Gradually, Scotti began to feel drowsy, but a sudden crack of wood snapping made him sit straight up.

“What was that?”

Mallon smiled: “I like it too. ‘Convocation in the malignity of the moonless speculum, a dance of fire --’”

“There are some enormous birds up in the trees moving around,” whispered Scotti, pointing in the direction of the dark shapes above.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Mallon, irritated with his audience. “Now listen to how the poet characterizes Herma-Mora’s invocation in the eighteenth stanza of the fourth book.”

The dark shapes in the trees were some of them perched like birds, others slithered like snakes, and still others stood up straight like men. As Mallon recited his verse, Scotti watched the figures softly leap from branch to branch, half-gliding across impossible distances for anything without wings. They gathered in groups and then reorganized until they had spread to every tree around the camp. Suddenly, they plummeted from the heights.

“Mara!” cried Scotti. “They’re falling like rain!”

“Probably seed pods,” Mallon shrugged, not turning around. “Some of the trees have remarkable - - “

The camp erupted into chaos. Fires burst out in the wagons, the horses wailed from mortal blows, casks of wine, fresh water, and liquor gushed their contents to the ground. A nimble shadow dashed past Scotti and Mallon, gathering sacks of grain and gold with impossible agility and grace. Scotti had only one glanced at it, lit up by a sudden nearby burst of flame. It was a sleek creature with pointed ears, wide yellow eyes, mottled pied fur and a tail like a whip.

“Werewolf,” he whimpered, shrinking back.

“Cathay-raht,” groaned Mallon. “Much worse. Khajiti cousins or some such thing, come to plunder.”

“Are you sure?”

As quickly as they struck, the creatures retreated, diving off the bluff before the battlemage and knight, the caravan’s escorts, had fully opened their eyes. Mallon and Scotti ran to the precipice and saw a hundred feet below the tiny figures dash out of the water, shake themselves, and disappear into the wood.

“Werewolves aren’t acrobats like that,” said Mallon. “They were definitely Cathay-raht. Bastard thieves. Thank Stendarr they didn’t realize the value of my notebooks. It wasn’t a complete loss.”

✲•······················▃🖋️······················•✲

[kailasanath]

Dhyāni Buddha Akśobhya

The right hand depicts the bhumisparsha mudra - touching the earth pose - where the Shakyamuni called upon the earth to bear witness to his austerity thereby defeating Mara in the moment of enlightenment.

Gilt Bronze with semiprecious stone inlay, Nepal circa 1641 CE

The Prince of Wales Museum houses an exquisite collection of Himalayan art, mostly from the erstwhile Kingdom of Nepal where metalwork received patronage from the Royal family as well as the merchant class. (at Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya)

[riajade01]

I’m back on my bullshit with a not-beta’ed crackfic because we die like men. 

This is an alternate universe where Malavai Quinn is a Jedi whose nemesis turns out to be a Sith named Mara Thrask. And by 'nemesis' I mean... hatefuck buddy who turns into a sort of normal fuck buddy and they each destroy their own lives to be together. This is a total crackfic - an excuse for me to write outsized emotional reactions and explore unhealthy sexual dynamics.

I’ve struggled with how to tag this - it’s not non-con, precisely, though I did use that tag on AO3 as a precaution. Consent is never murky, but there’s a lot of emotional manipulation and self loathing involved. So if unhealthy sex between unhealthy people is not your bag, feel free to skip this. I’ll tag it as ‘unhealthy disturbance’ if you want to blacklist it. Anyhoodle, onward....

1329 Imperial, Herdessa

She’s a prisoner, not that you’d know it by looking at her. Oh, her hands are bound in front of her and the major in charge of the outpost has custody of her lightsaber. But she lounges on the austere metal chair as if it’s a throne, looking for all the world like she’s receiving the soldier guarding her as a particularly boring petitioner.

Jedi Knight Malavai Quinn picks up the Sith’s weapon, running critical eyes over every detail. It’s surprisingly well-made, considering its origins. He reaches with the force for the crystal within. Synthetic, as expected, but lacking the blood-drenched murderous intent of other Sith weapons. In fact… he probes deeper… and blinks in quiet surprise. The crystal hisses at him in warning, protective of its maker as a nexu of its cubs.

A weapon that longs to return to her, and a bearing that says she’s not only unconcerned at her capture, but unimpressed by her captors performance thus far.

It’d be a lie to say he’s not intrigued. Others of his order might not admit as much to themselves, but Quinn has no use for falsehoods, and his intrigue is a perfectly logical reaction to the circumstances. It’ll pass.

Read more on AO3