#sixteenth century blogging

[anghraine]

I should be working on my dissertation, and have been, but I thought it'd be fun (for me :P) to loop you all in somehow. Therefore I bring you a very silly poll!

*best means whatever it means to you; feel free to propagandize

**yes, I deliberately excluded Shakespeare (from the poll, not the dissertation, lol)

[queenlua]

amusing bits from Martin Luther: Renegade and Prophet so far:

* "What sparked [Luther's] anger, so he later reminisced, was the preaching of a Dominican friar, Johannes Tetzel, in the nearby town of Jüterborg, who went so far as to claim that his indulgences were so efficacious that even if a person had raped the Virgin Mary they would be assured complete remission from Purgatory." used car salesman-ass strategy lol

* "...the wealth of material that has survived on Luther is so great that we probably know more about his inner life than about that of any other sixteenth-century individual... His collected works, the famous Weimar Edition, extend to 120 volumes, including 11 volumes of letters and 6 volumes of his dinner-table conversations"

holy FUCK. truly a poaster before his time. like would the median tumblr blog fill 120 volumes jeez

* "In the early years of the Reformation, for example, [Luther] talked constantly of invidia, or envy, attributing it to his opponents—though it is hardly likely that they would have envied a penniless, powerless monk, while he, on the other hand, had every reason to be preoccupied with those he envied." lmao. mean girl who goes "they're just jealous" every time ppl hate on him

* "Extraordinarily, in an age when letters were routinely passed from person to person, were forged or intercepted, and when every chancellery filed drafts, Luther kept no copies. This gave his correspondents huge power, because they alone had records of what he had written, but Luther was relaxed about this, joking that he could always deny his own 'hand,' a remark that reveals his remarkable confidence."

i will have to look into this later but this is lowkey fascinating??? it hadn't occurred to me the 16th century world would've, like. written out copies of every damn thing. to support audit trails and such. just because the overhead of producing all those damn copies seems really high. suggests fun possibilities for intrigue and mailfraud shenanigans lol

* "It was popularly believed that when of the counts [in the town where Luther grew up] commissioned an altarpiece for the chapel depicting the Crucifixion, he had the thief on Christ's right painted as his most hated co-ruler

LMAOOOooo. also reminds me of the funny story that the tobacco magnate who funded the creation of Duke University Chapel asked that the stained glass depict the 12 desciples smoking cigarettes, and the dude had to be talked out of it... though i can't find any reference to the story on the internet, sadly. did the duke chapel tour guide MAKE UP LIES to me

* Luther grew up in a family that owned a mine & it's sort of hilarious how bad all these 1500s miners were at economics. they're like. running whole mining operations but with only the haziest idea of, like. where capital comes from. how to not resource trap your way into fuckedness. etc. i dunk on economists a lot but y'know there are some concepts here that actually were p worth formalizing

* our dude Luther was a fucking DRAMA QUEEN let me tell you:

"[Luther] joined the Augustinian order in Erfurt on July 17, 1505 [...] Luther sent his academic gown and ring home to Mansfeld, telling his parents he had drawn a line under this part of his life. He sold some of the fine legal textbooks his father had bought him and donated others to the monastery. Then he invited all his student comrades to a lavish meal, with music and entertainment. At the height of the party, he told his shocked companions of his decision to become a monk, announcing melodramatically, 'Today you see me and never again!' He then left for the monastery, accompanied by his sobbing companions." bet those dudes never forgot that party

* though Martin Luther's dad sure could match him for drama queen-ness (and apparently never stopped resenting Luther becoming a monk instead of a lawyer):

"At the ensuing feast to celebrate [Luther's first mass a priest], for which Luther's father, always the man for the grand gesture, had given the sum of twenty guilders, the breach was still evident. Luther asked whether his father now accepted his decision, and in front of everyone at the table, Hans Luder replied, 'Remember the fourth commandment, to obey father and mother.' 'What if it was an evil spirit' behind [the storm that convinced Martin to become a monk]? he asked. It was a very serious charge, made at a point where Luther had just acted as Christ's representative on earth for the first time."

* Luther was in one of the more hardcore monkish orders, and said order had a pretty rigorous schedule of prayers that involved waking up in the middle of the night... but apparently you could just pay other monks to pray for you if you just Didn't Feel Like Doing It one day? lmao. and in particular Luther did the strategy of "i'll just get them done ALL IN ONE DAY" instead of, like, doing them throughout the week (going without food or sleep, working that day & night to get them done)

* our dude could definitely be a poor lil meow meow / woobie if fandom got their hands on him. this boy is constantly having literal panic attacks about WHAT IF I MISINTERPRETED THIS PART OF SCRIPTURE AND NOW WE'RE ALL GOING TO HELL, when he's in Rome one of the things that bothers him the most (besides the famous indulgence thing) is the fact that they SPEEDRAN masses over there and he's like "oh no though, i spend SO MUCH time on the masses i run, i'm so afraid of doing it without true feeling... who are these speedrunning fucks with no respect goddamn," his confessor gets tired of him because he'll spend UP TO SIX HOURS AT CONFESSION agonizing over shit that doesn't matter... (this is part of the reason he went into academia, actually, his confessor was like "boy you have got way too much anxiety for the purely monastic life, go get a degree or something i stg")

* i do kinda love it when theologians get sexy with it:

"[Staupitz] wrote of different 'stages' of union of the soul, the first being that of 'young maids in faith,' the second that of the 'concubine,' the third, the 'queens': 'They are naked and copulate with the naked one. They taste that outside Christ there is nothing sweet and they enjoy [his] continuous sweetness. For the naked Christ cannot deny himself to those naked,' while in the fourth stage, which Mary alone experienced, Jesus 'sleeps naked with her naked and he shows other signs of such love.'"

[lostf1ndaydream]

Are you Lancaster

1) This is indeed @whiteswanoflancaster — I just have a very strange blogging setup going on that I haven’t bothered to do anything about yet😭

2) a little self-consciously, but yeah! I find it rather strange to take sides in a 550–year–old conflict, but despite that I’d say I support the Lancastrians! This is because:

- While Richard of York was undoubtedly more competent than Henry VI — and while I’d even argue he didn’t want to take the crown — there’s no getting around either the fact that he did or the fact that, in doing so, he completely destabilised the system of government in England, which probably wasn’t a price worth paying — many historians argue that Edward IV and Henry VII introduced a “new monarchy,” their financial systems and tight control of the nobility actually resembled the systems of earlier rulers such as Edward III, and weren’t all that new at all! There isn’t really a huge difference between Edward IV giving land to his brothers and Edward III giving it to his sons, in my opinion — and so the Wars of the Roses and by extension York’s decision to disrupt the system by claiming the crown led to politics taking a bit of a “backward step” towards a less efficient system. Without that disruption, England might have been better able to flourish in the sixteenth century — and there’d have been far less death.

- Their story is just appealing in my opinion! There’s a certain romance to it that caught my attention and refused to let go — and it’s also there at the end of the wars, with Henry Tudor and his allies standing for Lancaster. It’s a little bit shallow, but I do love a good story — and this is certainly that!

- Margaret of Anjou was very, very cool and deserves to be more widely known about and appreciated. Enough said 😭

[hellsite-detective]

So I've been looking for this for a while now, and I think I'm desperate enough to hire a private detective.

It was a series of posts concerning a person's adventures as a warlord, and I remember it started with a post being like 'first day as a warlord, I did this and this and this' and I think it gradually expanded into a whole story about the warlord. I really admire the work you do, I think you're really snazzy!

trackin' this one down was shockingly easy. and whenever that happens, i get nervous. what if it wasn't the one i was supposed to find? but with this one, it had to be it. i went up to my trusted source google and asked them about "tumblr warlord" and they immediately forked it over. no questions asked.

so, with that short investigation period done, i deliver you your post! hopefully this is the full version, but i cross referenced it with screenshots and this seems to be it. i hope you enjoy! have a great day!

Post Case: Closed

[ms-demeanor]

You cant use a clock like a normal person and you ask for help with work emails at like 35. And you lecture others on idiocy and being silly about "cultural christianity.

L. M. A. O

Btw, the gregorian calendar being forced on most of the world is absolutely because the papal states used to have armies and dictated religious and exploration policy for the european hegemons from the 15th to the 20th century

Look, if you're going to scroll through my blog for things to whine about get it right. I'm thirty six.

Also you might be interested in the fact that I dislike the term 'cultural christianity' for discussions about culturally pervasive christian ideology because I think it is less accurate than using the term christian hegemony.

It's accurate to state that the near-global use of the gregorian calendar is as a result of centuries of christian hegemony; it is inaccurate to say that places like China are culturally christian because they use a dating format that was standardized by a pope five and a half centuries ago.

I prefer 'christian hegemony' for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that it is the term widely accepted by academics who study this topic.

The gregorian calendar is actually kind of a perfect example for the need to delineate cultural christianity from christian hegemony - the gregorian calendar promotes a measurement of time that centers a sixteenth century catholic view of what was important to measure in time and displaces things like lunar calendars that various cultures have to celebrate their holidays and measure time, but that does not mean that, for instance, a Muslim majority nation like Indonesia is culturally christian because the civil government uses the gregorian calendar.

It is insulting and inaccurate to imply that concessions to hegemony can christify the character of a non-christian nation.

If you want to talk about culturally christian nations there are A WHOLE BUNCH of extremely obvious examples where you can point out things like holiday traditions and what days of the week banks are closed and naming requirements for children and legal requirements for weddings and a ton of other shit, but claiming the gregorian calendar makes a nation culturally christian is like claiming that using roman characters makes a nation culturally roman. It is ABSURD.

But also I'm an atheist hedonist; suffering doesn't have a positive value in my worldview so there is no reason that I should struggle to read time or choose not to ask people for help. There's no moral or functional value in deciding that I know better than everyone else and wouldn't benefit from workshopping a piece of correspondence, or in deciding that everyone is right and I really DO have to read analog clocks to count as a real grown up adult.

Life is hard enough, why would I make it harder than it has to be by refusing the help that people are willing to give me or refusing to use accommodations that are extremely widely available?

[lotus-pear]

Why are all these people living in your walls?? What happened to stopping by for a polite visit?? The pookies in your walls are almost an infestation at this point

my blog deadass feels like sixteenth century euope during the bubonic plague. i'm done

[silverdune]

betwixt the fallen, you saw him rise | l.yy

"tell me, guest.. what brings you here?"

minors dni. ageless blogs dni. blank blogs dni. you'll be blocked.

genre: supernatural thriller

character(s): liu yangyang (ft. you as an art critic)

tags: philosopher/statue!yangyang, art critic!reader, suspense, explicit language, existentialism, philosophical discussions, hostility

word count: 4.8k

summary: you, an art critic, have been invited to view the coveted new collection at le gallerie degli uffizi. what was initially a visit in exchange for a review, turns into the most bizarre experience you've ever had in your life when you come face to face with the sixteenth statue: fourth century philosopher, liu yangyang.

a/n: this is a fic i wrote about a year ago. i published it on my old blog but have since deleted that blog, so this is a reupload with some edits. le gallerie degli uffizi is a real gallery in florence, italy.

The Fallen Souls of Centuries Past

The sign feels daunting, as though it's a warning beacon, turning folks who dare to enter away from the secrets within.

The name itself raises so many questions. Which centuries past? How many fallen souls are there? In what way did they fall?

It's not lost that your first thought is a fall from grace.

You follow your tour guide into the room.

The floor is tiled in a similar mosaic style to that of the previous rooms, except this one demands that you keep off it by way of a long, narrow strip of mulberry velvet stretching the entire length of the room.

Before you take in the surrounding decoration, your eyes find the main exhibition.

Eight statues line up either side of the carpet, making sixteen in total, all sectioned off by gold braided cables boxing them in.

You glance back and forth at one statue, then the next, and the next, listening attentively to your tour guide.

This was the collection you had been invited to see. You feel so incredibly honoured to even be in this gallery in the first place, let alone receive a private tour of their newly coveted collection.

You arrive at the final statue, yet before you can even be told the name of who is sitting on the plinth, a manager enters the room to call your tour guide away. Turning to you, he apologises several times for this disruption.

Your brain ticks through the typical protocol. Smile in understanding. Reassure him it's okay. Nod appreciatively, thank him for the tour, almost thank him ten times over for allowing you to witness such significant pieces of art.

In frustration, your guide takes off a few yards ahead of you, flustered in light of being told to abandon his very important visitor, and leaves through the large set of double doors on the opposite side of the room.

Of course, you follow. It wouldn't be appropriate to stay behind all by yourself in-

"How charming is that? They did not even stop to learn anything about me.."

You freeze in place. Your body goes numb. Your spine locks.

Turning on the spot, you come face to face with the sixteenth statue. Your eyes flicker to the placard on the right.

Liu YangYang

"And instead of asking for my name, they read the goddamn placard.."

The statue.. scoffs.

Your brain freezes the moment you face him head-on.

A strip of black lace covers his eyes. His hair is platinum white, and he wears a black robe that covers his shoulders, arms and legs.

Among all the statues, his appearance stands out. Mostly for being the only one to be blindfolded, but also the way in which he is positioned on the plinth. Poised, chin tilted up, hands either side of the face as if preparing to remove the lace. Or perhaps, to show he’d just put it on..

The robe covers him entirely and almost drowns him in its material. If he were alive, it would certainly weigh him down.

Alive, you think. He wasn't alive, surely. Him talking is just a figment of your imagination. There is no way a statue could talk. You shake your head, an anxious laugh scuttling out of you before you begin to turn your back.

“And after all of that, they don't even want to stay! Cuh! How pleasant..”

You come to a hard stop. Your throat dries up and words desert you.

Bizarrely, it’s as though the world begins to close in around you. The lights grow dimmer, the door ahead seals shut. You’re trapped in this room, with this, frankly, hallucination.

You turn back and yell in a frightened whisper, “Whoever you are, you’re not scaring me!”

“Au contraire, guest. Your heart is racing. Your head is spinning. Every sense is heightened. You can feel my presence.” His tone is cool, marbled and perfectly haunting. Crisp like an autumn leaf dusted in winter’s snow.

Cracking your knuckles - an habitual reflex to combat the nerves - you find yourself taking a step towards the statue. You registered one thing: he remains motionless when he speaks, even his lips. Merely a disembodied voice.

"What the fuck.." You can't help but curse when faced with such a predicament. Here you are, in one of the many halls of this prestigious art gallery, and a statue is fucking talking to you.

"Tut, language. Keep that to yourself."

"Who do you think you are?" Your voice pipes up for a brief second, and reverberates off every wall. The acoustics drive the sound into the ceiling, and you shudder at the thought that the whole world could hear you.

This thought is only made worse when you remember that the tour guide is likely in the next room over, and a sudden exclamation like that would raise questions.

"I would not worry too much," he answers, seemingly avoiding your question, "he is too preoccupied with his phone call."

You make a sudden noise deep within your throat, a high-pitched scream as you grip your fists then throw your hands in the air. "This isn't real, this isn't happening- This voice is just in my head, this statue is not speaking to me-"

"You are an odd one, guest," he interrupts.

And you're just a fucking statue of an man who died centuries ago, your mind spits, face scowling to convey this.

He scoffs again. "You have a funny way of communicating, guest."

Your jaw drops. It's as though he read your mind.

You're too disoriented to ponder this right now.

"Why are you speaking to me?" you blurt out, emboldened by fear and a slight surge of confidence. "How are you speaking to me? This makes no sense, you're a statue!" You try your hardest to keep your voice at a whisper.

"I'm the only statue with a soul trapped within."

He says it so nonchalantly. The silence that follows shatters the atmosphere.

You chew on your bottom lip, shaking almost, clicking your fingers and cracking your knuckles again. You must think this is some kind of trick. Somewhere tucked beneath that robe is a speaker of some sort that was set up preemptively. An interactive gimmick they could market to the masses in order to sell the new exhibition.

Very clever, you think. Someone behind the scenes is probably working overtime to try and match all of Liu YangYang's "replies" to whatever the guest says. That's why he doesn't refer to you by name, he simply calls you, guest.

It is effective, though a voice in the back of your mind is telling you there's something rather strange about this whole setup.

"You are smirking, guest," YangYang quips.

"Yeah," you chuckle a bit, "this is really clever."

"Clever.." The inflection of a raised eyebrow.

With an overly confident snort, you roll your eyes and move to stand directly in front of him, arms folded. "You're an interaction. I don't know why I was so worried before, it's obvious."

"Interaction.." he mutters.

"Yeah, so.. you're a fallen soul.. what made you so?"

You figure that would be the standard kind of question to ask these statues.

However, YangYang doesn't answer for a while.

You stand there awkwardly. Is something broken? Has the person behind the scenes disappeared? You sigh; perhaps it's just playing into the natural feel of the conversation, to have the statue think on his answer.

Yeah, that's it.

You are about to say something else when you are cut off.

"What a pitiful question to ask, is there nothing more you want to learn?"

So aloof, so high and mighty. You scoff - wow - and fumble over your next words, "Ha- um.. right then.. okay.."

If the statue could move, he'd have certainly rolled his eyes. "Come on, guest, you know there are questions you could ask that are a damn sight more intriguing than that."

The comment leaves you a little winded. Unsure of how to respond, you stand idly, musing over what kind of question you could ask such a rude, ungracious-

"And leave any insults at the door, that's no way to speak of a soul such as myself."

Okay, now this statue is getting on your last nerve.

You try to remind yourself that he is replying in character, and that this is just a feature of the exhibition. Exhaling, you think of something else.

As you look around, you notice that no other statue has this element. Turning back to YangYang, you ask, "How come no one else can talk to me? Surely they all have their own interesting stories.. What makes you stand out?" Your tone is subtly sour but plenty noticeable. Part of the act, you surmise.

"..Like I said before. I am the only statue with a soul trapped within. How else do you think I am communicating with you?"

Owing to the idea that this is interactive, surely there is a logistical reason as to why not all of them have this feature. But in the moment, in the roleplay, you heighten your suspense of disbelief.

Before, it sounded like a legitimate answer to your frightened self wondering how a statue could talk.

Now, it is merely all part of the fun.

"So.. the other statues.. Their souls have left them?"

"Indeed," he says instantly. "Raptured to the world below, their vessels have no use for such.." - he pauses - "..élan vital."

"They must have suffered a fall so great their vessels couldn't keep them."

Silence.

Perhaps too bold a response? Too complex. You click your fingers.

Then, "'Twas all in the eye of the people who perceived them." You freeze in place. "But.. then again," he continues, a smirk in his voice, "there are many infinite ways a soul can fall."

You sit with the answer for a few seconds. You notice how he seemingly both dodged and didn't dodge your comment at the same time. You latch onto one word - perceived - and carry on.

"I suppose people perceived you to not have suffered such a fall. One that would require complete exile from their hosts."

No response. You groan to yourself; you need to stop coming up with such-

"I suppose you could say I was pardoned," he says, surprising you. "Those who looked upon me found someone they felt sorry for. Someone who fell victim to.." YangYang curbs on completing the sentence.

The cut off startles you more than the interruption.

YangYang stays silent for some time. You take a step closer.

Head spinning, you take a moment to contemplate the conversation you've had thus far. It has been.. strange.

You had become convinced that this was not real, but how was this exhibition able to respond to some of your more complex statements?

Somewhere in the back of your mind, alarm bells are ringing: the disembodied voice is YangYang.

Your shoulders hunch at this uncomfortable suggestion. The thought is spine chilling and thus, you pay it no mind. You want nothing to do with the supernatural, thanks.

Drumming your fingers on your arm, you mull over the next question to ask. You eye the other statues, then look back at YangYang.

The entrancing way in which he stands, lace draped over the eyes, something entirely unique to him, leads you to your next inquiry.

"You're the only one with lace covering your eyes. Why's that?"

"Mere metaphor of protection," he answers noncommittally.

"Are you protecting yourself? Or have you been protected by someone or something? Or, even, do you feel protected by someone or something?"

Seconds pass.

"Bravo, guest. You have asked a delightfully interesting question."

The mockery is not lost on you, and you roll your eyes. You pause then to acknowledge you had just rolled your eyes at a statue making fun of you, but decide not to dwell on it.

"In any case, the answer is an amalgamation of all three. I am protecting myself from something which is beyond reason. I have been protected by my host keeping its force within the vessel. I feel protected by the knowledge that no matter where I am, I am safe."

Oddly vague and yet strangely specific all at once.

You pounce unabashedly on his first statement, "What are you protecting yourself from?" The something in question has you guessing. Hatred? Fear? Anxiety?

Stillness echoes off every wall. You feel YangYang is contemplating his answer, though you realise quickly he does not intend to be truthful.

To your bewilderment, he exhales defeatedly.

"Is that something you really want to know, guest?"

The tone turns the cold marble to clay.

The pace of your heart grows inexplicably. In a short moment you feel stuck, nails digging into the flesh of your arms to the point it hurts.

Above it all, guilt rises.

You feel like an intern eyeing the front page of a file marked, CONFIDENTIAL, fingers trembling with the itch to merely peel back a dog ear and take the tiniest peek while your boss had their back turned. Even though you know you should walk away, because in no way are you privy to the information within.

Your mind is working overtime. There is a visceral hesitation, a not-so-subtle plea to skip over this subject and never speak of it again.

Out of respect, you choose not to push him.

"I'm sorry.." you say, and it sounds too wholehearted for an interaction with a speaker and a set of pre-recorded voice clips.

"Thank you, guest."

His reply sounds too genuine to be pre-recorded.

That familiar discomfort returns. Ice trickles up your backbone and sits on your shoulders. For some reason you want to.. cry?

Despite everything, your curiosity sparks. What could be so bad as to not be spoken of at all?

You clamp down on your tongue and ask no further questions.

Instead, Yangyang has one for you.

"Tell me, guest.. what brings you here?"

Truly unprecedented. A numbness sears the side of your head.

"In what sense?" you ask.

"The only sense: why have you come here?" he clarifies. "Business? Leisure? Lifelong dream?"

"I see.." You relax. A little. "I suppose, business primarily, though it has always been on my bucket list to visit this gallery once in my life."

Confusion sets in, "Pray tell, what is a bucket list?"

Caught off guard, you chuckle. Of course, modern language wouldn't be understood. "Oh, it's a list of things you want to do before you die, or 'kick the bucket'."

"'Kick the bucket'?" You hum affirmatively. "Language is strange."

"And always evolving," you add, conceding his comment.

"Indeed. When you live among the language in day to day life, you have no real perspective on how it will change or be perceived beyond you."

Perceived.

"Do you care about perception, then?"

YangYang is sharp. "Guest, we all care about perception, one way or another. We thrive off perception, whether good or bad."

And you too, do not miss. "But what if the perception is inaccurate?" You pause. He doesn't answer. "If we spend too long focusing on others' views of us, what do we get from that?"

The question catches him, and he doesn't like this trap.

"I see what you are doing, guest. You cannot fool me."

"Fool you?" you scoff in disbelief. "Fool you how?"

"You are trying to work your way around me so I can cave and answer the query sitting in that head of yours," he spits.

"I am not trying to do that!" you bite back.

"Then why are you stuck on this topic of perception? Why do you care so much for my views on it?"

The words leave before your brain can stop them, "Because you seem to care so much you criticised me for not asking a deeper question!"

The moment stills. You take a breath and come to your senses.

"I.. God, what the fuck am I doing..?" you mutter under your breath. Turning your back, you walk to the statue opposite.

This is completely ridiculous, you think to yourself. You're getting angry at a statue, a statue! A piece of art that just so happens to have an interactive element.

The more you try and convince yourself of the unreality, the more you are convinced it is perfectly real.

"Guest?"

Once again, you are numb.

"Guest.." YangYang sighs. "I suppose there is an element of truth to what you say.."

The hairs on your neck stand straight.

"You do raise an excellent point, I had told you to come up with a better question.."

Questions incessantly flood your mind, asking who is running this place, who is controlling his responses, who is behind all of this-

"And perhaps I sought those types of questions because, well.. I wanted someone to better understand me.."

You lift your head and turn back to look at him.

YangYang notices. "Guest, I apologise for my hostility. I asked, and you delivered. In fact, I can only be grateful for having had such a conversation."

Against your better judgement, you twist your body round to face him.

"You are right, I do care about perception. As I said before, I feel we all care about perception, one way or another. How we are perceived by others affects how we perceive ourselves."

You can't argue with that statement. You take a step closer.

"Per your question from before, 'what if the perception is inaccurate', then.. well, as I am sure you are familiar, it is often left to us to alter that inaccuracy. We are left with something to prove. We carry it with us until it is overturned."

You further close the distance, stomach churning, a coil wrapped around your heart waiting to be tightened.

"And as you often find.. you are left with nothing as a result of focusing too long. But the mind is not receptive like that. It merely sees the opinions and runs wild and free."

Much like before, the urge to cry becomes overwhelming. Tears reach your eyes and before you can break them, one falls.

You wipe it away, mind, trying not to bring too much attention to it, hoping YangYang didn't see that you had fallen victim to..

Oh.

Another second passes, then he says, "If you wish to ask me again, you may."

The words take a while to register, but when they do, your eyes widen.

He had just given you permission to breach that subject matter.

Had the walls come tumbling down?

Does he care for perception less, or has he come to trust you with his response?

Your mind circles back to the first thing you had asked.

What made you a fallen soul?

He had evaded that line of questioning. He had chastised you for not asking something more thought-provoking.

Then it hits you.

He took you down this path, so you could understand.

Your conversation with him had opened these exact doors.

You take a deep breath.

"What are you protecting yourself from? What made you a fallen soul?" Quivering lips make you choke a sob as you falter at the last step.

Though you cannot see, YangYang smiles. Sadly, but a smile nonetheless.

"I think you know the answer to that question, already, do you not?"

'Twas all in the eye of the people who perceived them..

"You fell victim to their inaccurate view of you. That's why you were pardoned. Protected. Kept safe in the vessel. You had no fall from grace, or fall from dignity.." The tears keep spilling. "You're kept safe in the vessel because the way they saw you.. was wrong."

.

.

The blindfold slips.

You take two steps back.

"Thank you, guest. I will never forget this conversation."

The door to your left clicks and swings open, and your head snaps in that direction.

Quickly, you compose yourself, wiping your cheeks rather harshly in a bid to stop the flow. You readjust your outfit and straighten your back.

Your tour guide storms over in frustration.

"Good God-" he utters, "these investors, do they not understand what an appropriate time is?" When he reaches you, he looks up to see you in a slightly frazzled state. "Gosh, are you okay? I'm so sorry for just leaving you here, I should have been more attentive.."

"Really, it's-" you're quick to interrupt, "it's okay." You put on a smile. "Truly, it's.. It's fine.."

"Are you sure?" he asks, a little concerned. You nod profusely, and he exhales. "Right, well.. Where were we?"

You both turn to the sixteenth statue, when you remember.. his blindfold.

The strip of black lace lies on the ground, just in front of the plinth, still behind the gold braided cables.

"Oh! The lace, it-" You catch your breath. "It slipped off the statue.."

The guide stares in complete shock. "Oh, good God-" He starts pondering on what exactly can be done, while you take a moment to look at the statue once again.

Even with the lace gone, YangYang's eyes remain closed.

You suppose he didn't even trust the blindfold to keep him protected all by itself.

Unsure of what to do, the tour guide pulls his phone out, taps a few things on his screen, then presses it to his ear. You pay him no mind, keeping your eyes on YangYang.

After a few seconds, the guide speaks, "Hi? Yeah, it's me. I just wanted to let you know, the sixteenth statue in your new collection- Yeah- Yeah, the one with the lace over its eyes.. Yeah, well, that bit of lace has fallen off. Yeah, just.. fallen off. Do I have someone with me?" You stand to attention. "Just a visitor, an art critic, yeah." You roll your eyes a little at his tone. "I don't think they would've touched it." This makes you turn on the spot. "Hold on-" He eyes you, then asks if you had moved the lace.

"No, sir, absolutely not," you state concretely.

"Well, they said they didn't do it," the guide says down the phone. "I don't know! It must have just fallen off, it's a little piece of lace, it's bound to slip off! Right.. Right, okay. Okay then, just- Got it. Thank you. Okay, thanks. Bye."

You wait with bated breath as he replaces the phone in his jacket pocket. In your peripheral view, you can still see the lace sitting delicately on the ground.

An artefact in its own right.

The tour guide begins speaking, something, something, go ahead with the rest of the tour, leave the lace for now, but you zone out entirely.

The fact it slipped from his face once you said those words convinced you above all else, and now you're struggling to keep your emotions intact.

Whatever the tour guide has to say about Liu YangYang no longer matters. It doesn't matter for the other statues either.

You leave the gallery with a whole new perspective, fresh tears tucked under your jaw as you return home.

×-×

Sitting in front of your laptop, an empty word document taunts you for being void of anything except a title.

The Fallen Souls of Centuries Past: Review

It's merely a placeholder title until you can think of something more engaging, but the more you muse on the body of this text, the more you consider whether or not you should write anything at all.

It doesn't seem appropriate. You had a real, true, in-depth conversation with the ghost of Liu YangYang.

How could you write of such an experience?

It needed to be kept in the safest place, not made public for the world to see.

But, this is what you had agreed to. A tour of the new collection in exchange for a lengthy review.

The gallery allowed a week after your visit for the article to be written. It has been three days since you returned, and you are still undecided on what to do.

Standing up, you go to your kitchen to make a second cup of coffee. You pace back and forth, hoping the extra caffeine will help you think of something to write.

When you return to your desk, you set the coffee down and take a seat.

The empty document lies in wait.

You smile; you've got something up your sleeve.

×-×

Sixteen Statues and A Strip of Black Lace

On any average morning, my inbox would be flooded with emails from this company and that company, offering me something I could never be interested in.

That all changed a fortnight ago, when I received an email from one of the most famous art galleries in not just Italy, but the whole world: Le Gallerie degli Uffizi.

They asked if I was interested in coming to see their most recent, highly coveted collection, known as, The Fallen Souls of Centuries Past. Initially, I thought it was a mistake, but my name was on the email, and so I found myself a week later, standing outside the famed gallery, waiting to be shown this new exhibition.

First of all, the gallery is absolutely gorgeous. It is covered in the most ornate decoration, and it truly does breathe art from every surface. Ceiling to floor, wall to wall, even the framing of the windows, it is all built around the very essence of art.

After being shown the collections already in the gallery, I was taken to the room that held the newest display. I follow my tour guide in, and am instantly in awe of the design.

Sixteen statues sit atop their own plinth, eight each side of a velvet carpet drenched in a berry tone. Every statue is protected by a braided cable held by four posts, all of which are gold.

As the guide leads me down the length of the room, he talks briefly about each statue, telling me about them and their stories.

It's when we come to the last statue, that something changes.

The final statue is Liu YangYang, a philosopher from the 4th century.

Immediately I recognise that he is the only statue wearing a strip of black lace over his eyes.

I am grateful to have been afforded the time to better understand this particular soul, as it enabled me to look at so many aspects of life differently.

Liu YangYang took great interest in his time in how we as people, as humans, view others. He wrote many books and led many teachings on the word of how outlook, how perception, can affect us all.

His theory was that, at the end of the day, we all care about how we are perceived.

It seems so obvious to us today. Many of us pay a lot of attention to the thoughts and feelings of others. Sometimes we don't even recognise the emotional weight we place on these opinions.

But in a collection known as The Fallen Souls, it was well worth my time to understand a little more about how it can both do harm and.. protect us all the same.

And how we protect ourselves in the process.

I would like to thank everyone from Le Galleria degli Uffizi for this opportunity.

I will never forget it.

×-×

Dear [visitor],

We would like to thank you for your review of our newest collection, The Fallen Souls of Centuries Past, and for accepting our invitation to visit.

We understand from your review that you took much interest in one of the statues in particular, that of Liu YangYang, the 4th century philosopher. We also understand that during your visit, the lace you brought much attention to fell from the statue and onto the floor.

The owners of the gallery felt you would be interested to learn that we have moved the lace to a display box of its own, right next to the statue. Owing to its fragility, we imagined it would last longer that way.

Besides, we did not want to disturb him.

Thank you once again for visiting, and we hope to see you again soon.

Le Gallerie degli Uffizi

×-×

Six months later, you return to the gallery.

As you waltz through its many rooms, surrounded by art enthusiasts such as yourself, you are in equal parts nervous and excited to enter that room again.

After two hours of exploring, you glide through the open doorway, then stop to take a breath.

At the very end, in the same position, Liu YangYang stands tall and proud.

Before you even take a step you notice the display box encasing the blindfold he once wore.

Moving through the swarms of people entranced by the exhibit, you make your way over to the one philosopher you came back to visit.

Standing directly in front of him, you smile.

"It's nice to see you again, YangYang," you whisper to yourself.

And though you cannot see it, the philosopher smiles in return.

Welcome back, guest.

× tristeetconfus (ave) × do not repost ×

[scotianostra]

Canongate Kirk.

When walking down the Royal Mile toward Holyrood a lot of people don't realise that you are walking between, what was two different towns, Edinburgh and Canongate. It wasn't until 1865 the Burgh of Canongate lost its independence to the ever growing Edinburgh.

Canongate’s close proximity to the Palace of Holyroodhouse, which is situated at the eastern end of Canongate Burgh, has been influential on both the fortunes of the Burgh and the establishment of Canongate Kirk.

In 1687, King James VII declared that the Abbey Church of Holyroodhouse was to be used as the chapel for the re-established Order of the Thistle and for the performance of Catholicrites when the Royal Court was in residence at Holyrood. The nave of this chapel had been used by the Burgh of Canongate as a place of Protestant worship since the Reformation in the mid sixteenth century, but with the removal of access to the Abbey Church to practise their faith, the parishioners of Canongate were forced to find an alternative venue in which to worship. Fortunately, some 40 years before this edict by James VII, funds had been bequeathed to the inhabitants of Canongate to erect a church in the Burgh - and these funds had never been spent. This money was therefore used to build Canongate Kirk and a Kirkyard was laid out within its grounds shortly after building work commenced in 1688.

It is not known whether the Kirkyard was in used as a burial ground or when it was first used, but is the last resting place of many famous and interesting people.   Perhaps the most famous is Adam Smith, a philosopher and economist, his statue stands just before you reach Parliament Square on The High Street beside St Giles, he was a leading light in The Scottish Enlightenment, manother of those leading lights, Dugald Stewart  regarded as one of the most important figures of the Enlightenment, agaiun, you will see him honoured elsewhere iin Edinburgh, his monument on Calton Hill makes it into many of the photographs taken there.

I won't bore you with all the graves, instead moving onto my favourite two, and the ones I usually visit when passing.

Rober Fergusson, the poet was born in the Old Town of Edinburgh and most of his poems, in lively Scots, celebrate life in “Old Reekie”. Sadly he had a mental breakdown and died when he was just 24. Our most famous poet, Rabbie Burns greatly admired Fergusson’s work and paid for the memorial on his grave after finding it unmarked when going to pay his respects, although minutes survive in the Kirk records that Burns had to be reminded to pay for the stone. Fergussons statue is the one just outside the gates that all the torists like to pose with, but probably don't have a clue who we was, unless they read my blog of course! ;)

Another connection to burns, The Kirkyard is the last resting place of Agnes Maclehose (nee Craig). Known as Nancy, Craig married a Glasgow lawyer called James Maclehose but the marriage was unhappy and she moved to Edinburgh where the Craig family were quite well known. Here, in 1787, she met the Burns. The poet was meant to visit Nancy at her home around Teviot Square on night when he stumbled getting out of the carriage, inuring his ankle putting the kybosh on any notions Rabbie had of a "romantic" liaison. However they remaine friends and wrote to each other using the pen-names Sylvander and Clarinda. Burns wrote Ae Fond Kiss about his Clarinda, part of the verse is;

"I’ll ne’er blame my partial fancy Nothing can resist my Nancy"

It goes on....

"never met, nor never parted We would never have been so broken-hearted"

The lines are very close to my heart as my late dad had them etched on my mum's garve.

Finaly there is a grave in The Canongate Kirkyard that often has fresh flowers on it, someimes just a single rose. Somehow through the years it ahs become the rumoured grave of David Riccio/Rizzio a . A royal servant of Mary Queen of Scots who was brutally murdered in front of a pregnant Mary in 1566. It's said ge would have been buried in the grounds of Holyrood Abbey, but local tradition said his body was later moved to The Cangate. The tradition that Rizzio is buried at Canongate doesn't predate 1920 and the plaque connecting the gravestone with Rizzio is from the 1950s; it must be suspected that the story of his reinterment at Canongate is a hoax intended for more gullible tourists.

[ascendingaeons]

Bright Awakenings and Dark Nights

“When water gets caught in habitual whirlpools, dig a way out through the bottom to the ocean. There is a secret medicine given only to those who hurt so hard they can’t hope. The hopers would feel slighted if they knew.”

- Jalaluddin Rumi (tr. Coleman Barks), “My Worst Habit”

Have you ever felt as though something you've always known was suddenly foreign? That you no longer knew who you were, what you were doing, or perhaps even what you believed? More times than not, I would say one feels this way for a simple reason: they are evolving. There eventually comes a time when one's old values, beliefs, and way of doing things grow too stagnant and must be discarded. But the process of laying such things to rest can be terribly frightening and often painful. Society is rooted in tradition, and suddenly changing course is not always looked upon favorably. But I will tell you a secret from my own experience: doing so was the most liberating thing I have ever done.

It is not uncommon for a person who has walked the same path for so long to become disillusioned. I've found that such disillusionment grows at a steady drip, but we never really notice it until we're drowning in an ocean of it, with no sense of direction or end in sight. It becomes more and more apparent that the only way out of this inner desolation is just so—within the depths of ourselves. But to reach that sacred core we must begin tearing away at all the excess we've gathered, discarding every shred of the past that has started to fester and consume us. For some of these things, doing so may feel like a significant loss or even betrayal, so we take great care in releasing them with gratitude and tenderness. However, this is not always the case. This is perhaps one of the rarest moments in your life where you are utterly alone with yourself. It is very fitting that this experience has been coined the Dark Night of the Soul.

The phrase "Dark Night of the Soul" is attributed to Saint John of the Cross, a Carmelite priest and mystic of the sixteenth century. It originally referred to a spiritual crisis experienced by the devout on their path to union with God. That expression does do it justice, as a Dark Night feels as though one's link to the numinous is entirely severed, nearly to the point of abandonment. In magickal terminology, the experience is akin to Crossing the Abyss. Human beings are creatures of both light and shadow, order and chaos, so it falls to reason that one cannot experience a continuum of enlightenment or bliss without the mediation of ignorance and despair. However, I find that one does not have to be religious or spiritual to experience a Dark Night of the Soul.

A Dark Night of the Soul manifests as a period of psychological and spiritual stagnation that touches the very core of one's being. It is not a trial or punishment but rather a rite of passage, an ordeal to bring about psychocentric cohesion and evolution. In the pall of a Dark Night one experiences a profound sense of doubt surrounding the most significant aspects of their religious or spiritual practice and values. Every experience, connection, and victory find themselves prone to scrutiny. Where once stood great passion and intrigue, only dryness and insufficiency will reign.

"We are not human beings having a spiritual experience; we are spiritual beings having a human experience." That is a quote that I've seen more often on metaphysical blogs and websites. Its source is disputed but is commonly attributed to Pierre Teilhard de Chardin in his book "The Joy of Kindness." The source of this quote is not the subject of this essay, but its nature—insofar as I understand it—is.

A Dark Night of the Soul is not an entirely spiritual phenomenon. Anyone can experience it under the right conditions. The seasoned author that can no longer bear to jot down a single passage, despite it being the only career that's ever ignited their passions. The sole survivor of a car crash, now faced with a life without their loved ones. The cloistered nun confronting the depth and breadth of eternity. The magician who, after years of education and prowess, is forced to face himself and his peerless degrees of contradictions.

Dark Nights are the culmination of a process often long-overdue. While they can be triggered by a profound experience or change in one's life, the necessary elements were already present; the significant trauma or conclusions drawn are merely the catalyst sufficient to dismantle one's outlook on life. While not always the product of severe trauma, the Dark Night of the Soul shares some of its symptoms. It should not be considered a case of cognitive dissonance but rather the instance of one's existential outlook being rendered inadequate or obsolete. The Dark Night of the Soul is an existential crisis derived from the singular act of being forced to face one's Shadow.

The Shadow is the aspect of the psyche associated with uncertainty and negativity. All that one would deny, ignore or repress is personified in the Shadow. What we do not appreciate within our Shadow we tend to project onto others; what we dislike about others, we dislike about ourselves. The process of integrating the Shadow in this way mirrors what some attribute to "ego-death" or, to be more precise, the dissolution of the former or transitory aspects of one's being into the sum composite of the Self. This occurs through what I can describe as forceful submergence into one's Shadow, the horrible aspects of the unconscious made strenuously conscious. The experience is comparable to the tribulation of Pandora, for once unleashed so thoroughly, these demons cannot be suppressed.

“Upon the dark road you are traveling, do not seek out the light, the illusion, the fallacy and incessant need for all things external. Have no fear, take the darkness as your comfort because you are the light shining in the dark. You just need to find the spark.”

- L.J. Vanier, Ether: Into the Nemesis

The Dark Night of the Soul can be an utterly egregious and painful experience; during my first and second ventures, I made several considerations at taking my own life. The Abyss can either herald great awakenings or consume the aspirant entirely. I do not find that human beings are inherently flawed or born with sin. We are each an unfoldment into the expanse of completion. Just as Michelangelo sought to bring forth his angels from within the marble, so too is the human being a nexus in the process of becoming.

Central to the Dark Night of the Soul is a period of stumbling through overgrown paths. I would argue that some of the primary purposes of life are growth and learning, for human beings have always been compelled to seek out the truth underlying the forbidden, uncover the mysteries of the universe, and wander in the dark in search of themselves.

A Dark Night of the Soul is a uniquely transformative yet traumatic experience. Severe trauma and loss leave a shock to one's system. In their wake, one is often left with two choices. First, they can become bitter and resentful, clouding their perception with the view that the world is a terrible, unjust place and that humanity is an irredeemably cruel species. In this mindset, nothing can be improved, and any attempts at closure are washed away with the incoming tide. However, it is possible to channel feelings of grief or misfortune into something more productive, such as helping others or improving oneself. These negative attributes can be welcomed into our conscious self in doing so.

If I could go back in time and give one word of advice to my younger self as he was drowning in that murky ocean, I would tell him to be kinder to himself. The process of a Dark Night is often what I would consider a purge. Not only did I find myself disavowing old beliefs and values, but I also began sorting through my possessions and re-evaluating relationships. One learns a great deal about themselves and the sphere of their life in such disconnect and isolation.

I was once told a fitting parable given to a friend by a female shaman. Every year on the cusp of winter, the bear retreats to the solitude of a cave. Surrounding himself in mulch and soft earth, he begins to hibernate until such time that the sun returns and the earth awakens from her slumber. As the bear emerges from the murky depths of his cave, he finds himself in a world altogether different from the one he left behind. In such times of utter uncertainty and despair, sometimes the best thing we can do is become as the bear in the cave. In changing ourselves, we change our relation to the world.

There is an almost supernatural wisdom to be found in those who live closer to the heart of the cosmos. Medicine men and women, cunning folk, and healers are only part and parcel of a greater current of understanding. Is it any wonder that we gaze upon our grandparents as children in awe and wonder? They are immersed in the same sacred waters that we have only just emerged from, but, even more, they have lived! They have traversed such plateaus of light and darkness that our young minds can barely just fathom, and their stories, wisdom, and jokes fill us with joy and excitement for another tomorrow. Such, I have found, is life—regardless of age, there are always times to learn, dream, and retreat to the depths of inner space. There is always Work to be done.

In the Dark Night of the Soul, as in all aspects of life, gratitude is everything. A wise person once taught me that we should express nothing short of love for the parts of ourselves trying to kill us. I struggled with this initially. It is better to treat negativity with acceptance and rationality instead of revulsion, considering that these manifestations could be masking a greater truth. Just as people lash out when they are hurt or afraid, so too does the conscious mind react violently to the subversiveness of the Shadow. But if one were to approach these uncertainties—all of which are innate, mind you—with love and openness, the path to recovery can begin at a much smoother pace. That shift in awareness has helped me overcome one of the most challenging times in my life.

Embrace the rejected through gratitude. Viktor Frankl put this into his own words in his book Man's Search for Meaning, laying the foundation for logotherapy upon the principle of finding meaning in suffering. This powerful message illustrates that even the ugliest traumas have value, that we have value despite our worst experiences. No lesson or trauma is permanent; if you can learn something, you can without a doubt unlearn it and replace it with something else. It is when certitudes persist past their efficacy that we find ourselves suffering.

There is always a degree of meaning to be found in suffering or misfortune, though I would not go as far as to say that every pitfall must be regarded as a sign. Suffering is, by design, not intended to be permanent. It is a reaction to extenuating pressure or imbalance, whether of the body or mind; such reactions are intended to be broken.

Apprehension of the Dark Night of the Soul is derivative of religion and secularism. An apt representation in scripture is found in 1 Corinthians 13:12, which says, "For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then I shall know even as also I am known." While I am not myself Christian, I understand that this passage states that all things are possible through the divine. I view it as a vivid illustration of the process of Crossing the Abyss and coming face-to-face with one's inmost Self, an experience from which there is no turning back.

The Abyss is an impartial maelstrom that rips away the disingenuous and superfluous, leaving only the authentic and essential in its wake, and at the heart of this storm is a looking glass into our immaculate entirety. One's emergence from the Dark Night of the Soul is very much a rebirth, one that can occur several times in a lifetime. It is an experience that leaves one feeling altogether lighter and bearing newfound confidence, serving as a reminder that our inner demons, such as they are, are not to be purged but instead confronted.

Imagine if your life up to the point of the Dark Night was a colorful painting, all of the hues and shades perfectly representing who you had become through hard work and investment. You believed that this was the real "you," the most authentic version that has existed thus far. Then the canvas gets coated with egregious black ink, almost like the beginning of a very long, arduous wake-up call. After so long, you only have the memory of that colorful painting representing your once upon a time. You become detached from reality; how far this spirals will be proportionate to how deeply you were invested in your canvas.

Eventually, you start to notice shapes and colors in the inky darkness. The murk in your mind begins to clear as some unseen alchemy begins to bring definition to your inner chaos. The cold becomes more bearable, and the psychic torment starts to wane. You will start to feel lighter, more genuine. You had previously thought that you were less than who you once were, and while this was practically true, you've been looking at it all wrong. It wasn't that you used to be more, but that you once had far greater excess.

Suddenly, slowly the colors start to become noticeable again until the plethora upon your canvas is before you once again. The colors are different from what you remember, seemingly so long ago. They are no longer merely qualitative or expressive strokes upon your canvas. As you pay close enough attention, you reach into the depths of their nature, and it is almost as if you can hear them. This seems remarkable to you, as though you see your life with fresh eyes, and for a time, you experience a state of genuine bliss.

Comparing the venture through the Dark Night of the Soul to a storm is not inaccurate. By their very nature, storms are created due to imbalance and will continue until their energy and momentum are redistributed. In this case, a Dark Night will continue until a particular lesson is internalized. I have noticed through my own experiences that the wisdom attained has been diametrically opposed to my overall experience.

I have had three significant spiritual awakenings to date, each one preceded by a Dark Night of the Soul. These awakenings have greatly improved my quality of life, changed how I interact with the world, and redefined my spiritual practice. Simply put, they are:

1. Be true to your inmost Self.

A recurring theme in Aleister Crowley's Book of the Law is the correspondence between the True Will of the inner cosmos and the momentum of the outer cosmos. When you exist in harmony with your true nature—that which has always shone within you and perseveres beyond the breath of the ego—the universe will rearrange itself to accommodate your Will. When you suppress your true nature, you will suffer. Put another way, if you approach a task with enthusiasm, others will notice this and resonate in kind. If you walk into a room assuming the worst, it's likely the worst will come to pass. Energy is fundamental to life, and we are life made aware of itself.

2. Death is not something to be feared.

It's entirely possible that after experiencing two of the worst years of my life, my psyche became flooded with the idea of death, thus desensitizing me to the notion. However, I began communicating with one of my spirit guides during this time. I discovered that rather than torment or shame, traumatized souls are met with healing and compassion regardless if their death was self-inflicted—a sentiment that is heavily shunned in the western world, serving only to contribute to a culture rooted in preserving shame. Since then, I have read over a dozen books on the subject. My appreciation for the gift of life has only grown. Try to imagine for just a moment the sensation of a lifetime of weight being lifted from one's shoulders or the first genuine breath taken in what felt like decades, not from an act of aggression but one of compassion. It is only when one releases their hold on something that they can begin to grasp its value. It was the next lesson that would teach me the gravity and importance of a life.

3. You are loved.

At the time, I assumed I had replaced one benighted existence for another. And yet, it turned out to be a gift beyond measure. Circumstances had forced me to let go of a great many certitudes as I found myself caring for my dying father. The last of my self-constructed walls began to strip down, leaving only my Self in the wake of undoing. I was faced with the most humbling of truths, that regardless of how I had been treated or how I learned to speak to myself, I was still capable of giving love—and receiving it. I learned with absolute certainty that all things under the sun are wont to perish, save for the iridescence of love. Love isn't merely something waiting to awaken, but rather something resonating throughout each moment. The strength and degree of its resonance at any given moment depends entirely upon us. It was here that I found myself truly understanding what Viktor Frankl meant when he committed these words to paper:

"Man can preserve a vestige of spiritual freedom, of independence of mind, even in such terrible conditions of psychic and physical stress... Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms - to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way."

"Love goes very far beyond the physical person of the beloved. It finds its deepest meaning in his spiritual being, his inner self. Whether or not he is actually present, whether or not he is still alive at all, ceases to be of importance."

Every choice and reaction are, knowingly or not, weighed against the fulcrum of Love and Fear. These are not scales by which we are condemned to a lake of fire but rather the lens through which we find ourselves. Love yourself, and you shall find the capacity to love others uninhibited. Forgive yourself, for the most egregious burdens are those shouldered from within.

While sounding somewhat clichéd, these simple truths were strenuous for me to truly apprehend after a lifetime of trauma. These realizations were reinforced by twenty years of study and spiritual practice. I did so much research during these periods, desperately trying to understand what these experiences were wont to tell me. I desperately sought answers during these times, as I know others likely will be. I am writing this in the hope that my experiences can help others.

No matter how dark things seem, don't give up. There is always a light above your dark ocean, always a sun outside your cave. You'll find that your thoughts and actions carry more weight than your negative thoughts might allow you to witness. Each of us is unique, irreplaceable, and beyond value. Find meaning in your sorrow, embrace your scars with pride, for they have served to create a stronger, more perceptive person. Many individuals who enter healing professions do so because they have suffered themselves. It is the greatest act of love to help another suffering through the same ordeal that you once did. Believe in yourself, and all else will follow.

“So through endless twilights I dreamed and waited, though I knew not what I waited for. Then in the shadowy solitude my longing for light grew so frantic that I could rest no more, and I lifted entreating hands to the single black ruined tower that reached above the forest into the unknown outer sky. And at last I resolved to scale that tower, fall though I might; since it were better to glimpse the sky and perish, than to live without ever beholding day.”

- Howard Phillips Lovecraft, The Outsider

[theparanormalperiodical]

The Ultimate Beginner’s Guide To Tarot Cards: A Brief History, How To Read Them And Choosing A Spread feat. Cheat Sheets

Cast your mind back to 2020. Well, if you can. I’ve blocked most of it out.

The national lockdowns were a hellish period for us all, unless you were one of the few billionaires able to profit from the global peril. But aside from OCD, I did take away a few things from that time.

And that was my love for tarot cards.

I’ve had my deck since my first year of university, so for about five or six years now. At first, I struggled to shuffle them, I found it hard to understand them and I just never really knew what to do with them. They were an ornament, not a hobby.

But it was only about three years later, when we all had to stay inside for months on end, that tarot became a crucial part of my weekly routine. Every Sunday I’d light a candle (preferably sandalwood or sage), put on the Life is Strange soundtrack and have my iPad on standby to help me research the meanings of the cards.

Then, I’d pull out my Rider Waite deck, take a few deep breaths, and call on the spirits to communicate with me through the deck. I’d pick up the deck and just hold it in my hands, inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling. I’d envision my energy rising from my chest up into my shoulder down through my arms, pulsating through my fingertips and right into the deck. And the energy from the deck would be pumped back into me. I became one with the cards.

And then, to complete this holistic, peaceful ritual I’d chuck ‘em on my bed and mix them together before compiling them back into a deck. Then, I’d lay them out in front of me (only now, when writing this sentence, do I realise that I don’t know any card terms, like I kind of put them in a stack and then smush them in one line so they’re fanned out?).

I close my eyes, hold out my hand, and let my fingertips select the cards representing my past, present and future. I collect the other cards into a deck and lay my selected cards in front of me. One by one I turn them over, using the booklet to help me decode my subconscious and messages from the spirits. I’d then use my iPad and a very helpful tarot website to help understand them even more.

Despite having a personal process that I’ve practiced many times now, there’s still so much I don’t know. I want to be able to read them without the assistance of a personal device, and ask for more than my past-present-future.

Why not tag along and join me on my tarot journey?

In today’s blog post, we are going to find out what tarot cards are, where they came from, the best ways to use tarot and how to read them.

Let’s start with an easy one: what is tarot?

So, tarot is a pack of playing cards used since the mid-15th century. Today, they normally consist of 78 cards which are split into Major and Minor arcana. Originally, they were used in “trick-taking” games (to be honest, I don’t really get what this means, it’s a type of card game that’s hella complex, kk) in Europe, but in the 18th century, the occultists got involved. 

They started using it to read the future. That being said, they’ve always been surrounded by occult themes, from a Dominican preacher calling out their inherent evil in a sermon - which we think is related to their use in gambling - to the introduction of astrological symbols in Florence at the turn of the 16th century.

The word “tarot” is derived from “tarrochi”, an Italian word which basically means “foolishness”. This was probably due to its association with the drinking, gambling and debauchery that surrounded them.

However, according to some spooky weirdos, tarot really began all the way back in ancient times and has links to Egypt and the Kabbalah (a critical school of thought that informed occultism).

"The origin of this pack of cards is very obscure. Some authorities seek to put it back as far as the ancient Egyptian Mysteries; others try to bring it forward as late as the fifteenth or even the sixteenth century ... [but] The only theory of ultimate interest about the Tarot is that it is an admirable symbolic picture of the Universe, based on the data of the Holy Qabalah."

- Aleister Crowley, probably the most famous occultist ever

They even say the first tarot deck exclusively used was derived from the Book of Hoth, and it was chockful of references to ancient Egypt. It’s still one of the most common decks used by occultists, alongside the Tarot of Marseilles and the Rider Waite deck.

So, what’s tarot card reading?

Tarot card reading is a type of cartomancy where people try to gain insight into the past, present n’ future. Or is it? Some believe it’s really about getting in touch with ourselves; our subconscious and our intuition. Somehow this helps us understand where we are coming from and going better, thereby “predicting” our future.

How you use them is completely up to you.

Each card has its own images and story, with the major arcana representing spiritual lessons and the minor representing our daily trials and struggles.

Personally, I call upon the spirits and believe they communicate with them by selecting the cards, giving me insights not only into myself but also my future.  

The basic tarot card reading process

There are plenty of decks and ways to read the cards to pick from. But let’s start with a basic set of steps to get you started.

Set the scene: I like to create a calm, relatively tech-free environment and kick things off with lots of deep breathing. If I was cool enough to meditate, I would, but normally I grab a diet coke, put on some soothing music and just sit quietly for a mo.

Clear the deck: shuffling the cards is critical. Not only does it give you a fresh set of answers every time, it gives you a chance to connect with the cards. At the same time, think about what you want to ask the deck, or in my case, the spirits. I like to visualise this energy flowing between my arms and hands into the deck and back into me.

(If you’re doing a spread) Do your spread - aka how you lay out cards: pull out the cards for your spread one-by-one until you’ve completed it. For each card, look up in the little booklet that comes with your deck the basic meaning of the card and think about what it could mean for you. Look at the card and see how the symbols relate to you. You could even consider researching meanings online as they can offer more depth into other perspectives.

Complete the spread: When you’ve finished going through the cards one-by-one, take in the meanings of all the cards collectively, like how your life might progress from past to present to future.

Finish up with some questions: ask a question, pull a card from the deck and decode the answer.

Here’s a couple of different spreads to try

One of the most off-putting things about tarot is how much there is to take in. It’s not just this set of weird-looking, multiple-meaning cards in front of you, it’s what you’re supposed to do with them. Most occultists would tell you to start with asking some simple questions and pulling a card - the answer - from the deck. But what’s stopping you from getting your hands dirty and tryin’ out a spread?

I still only do one spread - the past, present and future. Now, I want to see how else I can up my tarot game. 

So, what are the best spreads for novice tarot readers to start with?

Celtic cross: this 10 card spread highlights not just the past, present and future but also external influences and outcomes.

Five card spread: here, you stick with the basic past-present-future spread but add a card above and below the three cards, one which represents what’s driving this situation, and the other which is a potential outcome.

Horseshoe: this spread takes into account advice you should follow, obstacles and gives you an optimal action to resolve the problem at hand. This is great for tough decision-making.

How to read individual cards: the meanings of key symbols, images and themes

I’m a basic w*tch, k? 

I still gotta use the booklet and use my trusty tarot site to properly uncover all the potential meanings of the cards. I’ve never taken the time to really learn how to read the cards myself, but it’s actually not that difficult. Tarot cards, particularly the Rider Waite deck, share themes, symbols and images that make reading the meaning of individual cards pretty straightforward. 

Let’s run through them, shall we?

Cups: this suit is all about your emotions, openness and imagination

Wands: these cards represents your energy and your creativity

Swords: this one’s about your mind, so how you think and solve problems, and even communicate

Pentacles: this suit represents the physical world and how we interact with our work, homes and money

The court cards (King, Queen, Page and Knight): if multiple ones come up in a reading, you can interpret a progression as you move up or down in terms of authority. The Page and Knight often represent youth or inexperience, whereas the Queen and King represent adulthood and mastery. But they can also have more specific meanings, too.

King: leadership; success; attainment

Queen: empathy; compassion

Knight: taking action; mature energy; moving forward

Page: youthful; service

Each number has a specific meaning, too:

New beginnings; unity

Relationships; balance or duality

Creativity

Stability; structure

Conflict and change; growth

Harmony

Spiritual growth; life lessons

Understanding; accomplishment

Success; coming up to the completion of a cycle

Completion; enlightenment

The colours used in each card have different meanings:

Black: protection; negativity; illness; darkness

Red: safety; passion; anger

Pink: love; forgiveness; femininity

Orange: creativity; optimism

Brown: stability; earthliness; lack of boundaries

Yellow: opportunity; spontaneity

Gold: mastery; divinity

Green: healing; harmony; envy

Blue: peace; sadness; judgment

Purple: intuition; spirituality; reason

White: higher self; newness; birth

Silver: emotion; sensitivity

There are also a few critical symbols to watch out for:

The moon: change; passage of time; reflection

Keys: knowledge; discovery; opportunity

The ocean: possibility; emotion

Ship: personal journey; transformation

Tree: shelter; regeneration

Flag: pay attention for a major change

Major arcana: they represent big events or figures, or major influences and revelations

Minor arcana: they represent everyday events and influences

I know, I know - it’s a lot to take in! 

While I recommend you review this regularly and use this list when doing tarot so you can “actively revise”, it might be easier to have a cheat sheet on-hand to begin with.

So, here’s some links to the best-rated tarot cheat sheets: Cheat sheet 1 Cheat sheet 2 Cheat sheet 3

Ready to get your tarot on?

You should now be ready to take your first steps into the world of cartomancy. Ya welcome.

But before you grab your deck and start shuffling, I want to leave you with one final tip: find the process that works for you. Tarot is all about self-reflection, as much as it is about being a spooky bi4tch. Take your time, try different things and make it your own!

If you liked this post, make sure you like and reblog to let me know. Want to hear something spooky uhhh okay not every weekend but like every fortnight, okay, I’m getting back into it? Hit follow.

[anghraine]

brightclothesforwinter replied to this post:

Oooh I'm at "I know that I know nothing," that's genuinely fun. (Like, I know I must be missing a load of complexity, because this seems straightforward and inarguable and it's totally not my field.) But anyway I wanted to say that - especially now I have my brain back - I enjoy your meta posts, even if I have nothing intelligent to contribute per se. :D

Oh, thank you very much! And I’m really glad you’re enjoying Montaigne.

[heartofstanding]

Hi! I'm not not as familiar with 14th/15th century English history as I am with earlier and later periods, and I'm getting conflicting information online, so I wanted to ask: Where Philippa of Hainault and Joan of Navarre formally regents during Edward III and Henry V's reigns? I know Isabella of France technically wasn't, but I'm a little confused regarding Philippa and Joan since different sites are telling me different things, and the book "Later Plantagenet consorts" that I recently read doesn't specify anything.

I wasn't sure whether to send this ask to this blog or your Lancaster side blog so I'm really really sorry if it's inconvenient

Thank you!

No worries, I'll take asks on either of my blogs. 💖 And I'm sorry it took me awhile to answer this; I was trying to finish off the ask about Jacqueline of Hainault and wanted to check some references because I'm not very familiar with Philippa's life. It's actually a very simple answer: neither Philippa or Joan were officially regents for their husband and stepson respectively.

I'm not sure where the story of Philippa's regency comes from; possibly from Froissart who wrote about her leading the English army at the Battle of Neville's Cross but in 1346, England was nominally led by Lionel of Antwerp (who was seven years old) and Philippa had joined Edward III in Calais the month before the Battle of Neville's Cross. It does seem like she had a great deal of authority when Edward was away but lacked the formal position of regent. From Lisa Benz St. John's Three Medieval Queens:

There were never any queen regents or keepers in England, as there were in France. However, fourteenth-century English queens acted in administrative capacities when the king was absent from the realm. Isabella [of France] and Philippa were never officially made regents or custos [keepers], but they played a significant part in ruling the kingdom as one of the king’s central administrators. They administered the kingdom in several ways: they aided the king and chancellor in the chancery; and they acted as part of the institution supporting the regent, who was often one of their sons.

Likewise, Joan of Navarre did not serve as regent during Henry V's absence. From Elena Woodacre's Joan of Navarre: Infanta, Duchess, Queen, Witch?:

In June, before Henry's departure, he formally bid Joan farewell and gave her leave to stay in several royal residences during his absence. He did not, however, entrust her with the governance of the realm—while later sixteenth-century chronicles claim this was the case, it is clear that Henry named his brother John, duke of Bedford, as lieutenant in the king's absence.

[ask-emilz-de-philz]

DID YOU KNOW ?

THERE WERE FILIPINO SOLDIERS IN THE U.S. CIVIL WAR.

"A good number of Filipinos found themselves on both sides of the fence during the American Civil War which pitted the Union against the Confederacy. As we can recall, several prickly issues—including the abolition of slavery—paved the way for several southern states to break from the Union and form the Confederate States of America.

With the help of the documents found at the National Archives in Washington and military records in Massachusetts and New Hampshire, Nestor Palugod Enriquez, a former US Navy man, discovered that there were at least 31 Filipinos who joined the Civil War.

One source claims that some 30 Filipinos fought in the US Civil War. However, there is only one well-documented case—that of Felix Cornelius Balderry.

It is not known where Balderry originally was from in the Philippines, but he was known to have been a crew member of an American merchant ship that plied the Pacific and the Atlantic Oceans. Like multitudes of his countrymen after him, Balderry somehow managed to settle in the US after his seafaring days.

When the US Civil War broke out in 1861, Balderry enlisted in the Union Army’s "A" Company, the 11th Michigan Volunteers. He survived the Civil War and returned to his new home state of Michigan. He then took up the trade of tailoring and started a family. He married one Ada May Burns in 1885 and had one son. He died ten years later in August 1895."

SOURCES:

http://www.positivelyfilipino.com/magazine/six-profiles-five-in-valor-one-in-villainy

Mercene, F. (2007). Manila Men in the New World: Filipino Migration to Mexico and the Americas from the Sixteenth Century. UP Press.

https://sites.google.com/site/accsacw/Home/south-sea

planetputo

BLOG: ask-emilz-de-philz.tumblr.com If you enjoy our work, please support us @ ko-fi.com/haimacheir

[callipraxia]

Books Read, May 2023

I've thought of starting a book blog before, but alas - I never have enough to say when I don't have someone to bounce off of, or at least can't figure out how to say it. Plus, I mostly read nonfiction, so...probably not the most thrilling reviews. In lieu of that...here's what I read in May.

Courting Scandal: The Rise and Fall of Jane Boleyn, Lady Rochford - James Taffe

Jane Boleyn: The True Story of the Infamous Lady Rochford - Julia Fox

Young and Damned and Fair: The Life of Catherine Howard, Fifth Wife of King Henry VIII - Gareth Russell

Inside the Tudor Court: Henry VIII and His Six Wives Through the Writings of the Spanish Ambassador Eustace Chapuys - Lauren Mackay

Wolsey: The Life of King Henry VIII's Cardinal - John Matusiak

Cardinal Wolsey - Mandell Creighton

Remembering Wolsey: A History of Commemorations and Representations - J. Patrick Hornbeck II.

The Life and Death of Thomas Wolsey Cardinal: Once Archbishop of York and Lord Chancellor of England - Sir William Cavendish

Obviously, I got 'on a tangent,' as I do sometimes. I've gathered this may have something to do with the ADHD, though not from particularly official sources, so don't quote me on that. In this case, it was partially a return to old tangents; while I'd not read the last three books on this list before, my reading journal indicates I previously went on a bit of a tangent on the subject of Cardinal Wolsey in February and March of 2021. I was also immensely pleased, in my Kindle recommendations earlier this month, to find a book on Chapuys; he was always one of those background figures in the historical fictions I read as a kid that I wished I knew more about. Gotta read his letters myself sometime, since it seems, from the Google, that they can be viewed online in English translation.

I'll give Lauren Mackay this: she's much more honest than a lot of authors are when she reached places where the information simply no longer exists, or at least hasn't been recovered yet. There was enough 'prose' to keep it interesting, but not excessive attempts to state things about the ambassador that she couldn't back up with evidence. This, I felt, was in sharp contrast to Julia Fox; I loved the descriptions of the court, the attempts to tell a story, and these things definitely have a place in history-writing, but here they were fairly blatantly...fluffy, I suppose. Now, I'm hardly one to complain of fluff, rather fond of soft things myself, but it was glaringly obvious, when she said Lady Rochford must have been thinking or feeling something, that she was essentially filling in the blanks with a story of her own devising. Sometimes the 'costume' of historicity the text wore was something it looked 'comfortable' in and sometimes it was quite obviously a poorly-researched French hood shoved awkwardly onto the head of an actress with zero knowledge of sixteenth century fashion and how to wear it, but there were always leaps from one point to another. In contrast to that, I felt that Gareth Russell balanced his reader-drawing prose fluff with his historical analysis much more adeptly when considering Catherine Howard; I've read his book more than once over the past couple of years and expect I'll read it again in years to come. I came away with no impression of James Taffe's work, alas, except that he clearly wrote his book as an exasperated rebuttal to Julia Fox; I was, unfortunately, very sleep-deprived when I read that, so I'll have to read it again sometime. My lack of sleep, however, is not why I read the rebuttal first and the book it was responding to second...even though I'd had Fox's book in my physical TBR shelves for several years and only stumbled across Taffe's the day I bought it. I'm told I've always had a tendency to do things in the wrong order and somehow make it work anyway, so why mess with a good system at this point?

As for one book being a rebuttal to another - here we come to one of my favorite things about reading history, which is to say, how often historians blatantly attack or support each other in their writing. In the last couple of chapters of Remembering Wolsey, I was irrationally delighted to see the author offer opinions on every book I read during my 2021 tangent as well as one of the ones I read this time around. It's amusing (to me) to sort of...get to know the different personalities: "hm, yes, I can see why someone would say that about Ives," or "yeah, I never did get Starkey's position on that, all things considered," or "ha, that was almost the exact same thing I said two years ago about Ridley!" It's...oddly cozy, I suppose.

Hornbeck was especially interesting as he wasn't writing about what happened - he was writing about the trends in how people have remembered what happened over the past few centuries. There were interesting thoughts on historical fiction throughout, especially near the end; that one may warrant a full independent review, if I can muster the energy to write it out. For now, however - there's all the reading I did in May.

[ltwilliammowett]

Is there any chance you could recommend a book or two on 16th century naval warfare? A focus on the Mediterranean context would be the most useful for my current obsession (the Order of Saint John), but anything would help. You run an excellent blog.

Hi, Here is a small selection, maybe it will help you. And many thanks for the compliment.

https://www.academia.edu/5176098/Naval_warfare_in_Europe_c_1330_c_1680

Command at Sea: Naval Command and Control Since the Sixteenth Century, by Michael A. Palmer

Warfare at Sea, 1500-1650: Maritime Conflicts and the Transformation of Europe, by Jan Glete

Naval Warfare Under Oars, 4th to 16th Centuries: A Study of Strategy, Tactics and Ship Design, by William Ledyard Rodgers

[carpe-mamilia]

I posted 6,324 times in 2022

That's 141 more posts than 2021!

42 posts created (1%)

6,282 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@marzipanandminutiae

@vinceaddams

@nellygwyn

@littlehen

@annoyinglydarkflower

I tagged 6,261 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#art - 961 posts

#19th century - 660 posts

#daft - 417 posts

#fashion - 369 posts

#cats - 335 posts

#rule of laugh - 284 posts

#bbc ghosts - 270 posts

#photography - 266 posts

#18th century - 260 posts

#victorian - 258 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#i can stand a half or quarter‚ but eigths and sixteenths of an inch? shut up shut up just use millimetres like a normal person‚ goddamn.

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

What would you wear to a ball at Lost Hope?

97 notes - Posted May 21, 2022

#4

The Poole Bay wreck, whose timbers have been dated to be 1242 and 1265, has the potential to rewrite historical understanding in areas from shipbuilding techniques to trade routes to just how 13th century Britons sourced their gravestones.

Tom Cousins, one of the Bournemouth University archaeologists working on the site, said: “Very few 750-year-old ships remain for us to be able to see today and so we are extremely lucky to have discovered an example as rare as this, and in such good condition.”

156 notes - Posted July 21, 2022

#3

Mika showing Madonna how to do an interval show

208 notes - Posted May 14, 2022

#2

I've seen a fair bit of discussion about Roundworld equivalents of Dwarf bread, but I can't help feeling that Dorset knob biscuits might take the- the, ah, the thingy.

As a person who grew up in Dorset where these pebble-like delicacies were sold in nearly every shop, I can say truthfully that I've never ever seen anyone eating one, but that if loaded into a slingshot they could probably break windows.

863 notes - Posted September 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

For anybody local to Whitby: they're attempting to break the world record for the biggest gathering of vampires on the 26th of May to celebrate the 125th anniversary of Dracula's publication 🦇

Link in reblog!

13,470 notes - Posted May 23, 2022

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