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“I would rip one of my ribs free if it meant I was more Adam than Eve.”
- to be trans, 𝔍𝔲𝔡𝔞𝔰
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godless heretic!
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is my grief beautiful yet. is my anger righteous now. is my suffering religious enough for you.
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Saw (2004) dir james wan
“I bloody my hands for him, so he must be god”
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A Catalan verb I love: formiguejar.
It means "to teem" or "to swarm". The verb comes from the word formiga ("ant" 🐜), and it evokes the constant busy movement of ants, up and down all day without stop.
The poet Jacint Verdaguer used this verb in this verse from his poem Plus Ultra:
L’univers és infinit,
pertot acaba i comença,
i ençà, enllà, amunt i avall,
la immensitat és oberta,
I a on tu veus lo desert
eixams de mons formiguegen.
Here I attempt to translate it to English:
The universe is infinite,
it ends and starts everywhere,
and since, further up there, up and down,
the immensity is open,
And there where you see the desert,
swarms of worlds teem.
Verdaguer was a master in creating this mental images. In this case, I love how these two lines ("and there where you see the desert / swarms of worlds teem") because the verb is very descriptive of this view, that seems still and quiet to us, but if we were to take a close look, we would see thousands in constant movement, at a minuscule scale maybe, but with no stop.
Find the full poem + English translation under the cut.
Plus Ultra by Jacint Verdaguer.
Original poem in Catalan:
estello, fai-te clara,
car cerque moun camin.
Allà dellà de l’espai
he vist somriure una estrella
perduda en lo front del cel
com espiga en temps de sega,
com al pregon de l’afrau
una efímera lluerna.
-Estrelleta –jo li he dit-,
de la mar cerúlia gemma,
de les flors de l’alt verger [heaven]
series tu la darrera?
-No só la darrera, no;
no só més que una llanterna
de la porta del jardí
que creies tu la frontera.
És sols lo començament
lo que prenies per terme.
L’univers és infinit,
pertot acaba i comença,
i ençà, enllà, amunt i avall,
la immensitat és oberta,
I a on tu veus lo desert
eixams de mons formiguegen.
Dels camins de l’infinit
són los mons la polsinera
que puja i baixa a sos peus
quan Jehovà s’hi passeja.
English:
star, shine bright
for I am searching for my path.
Up there, on the other side of space
I have seen a star smile
lost in the sky's front
like a wheat spike in reaping time,
like the depths of a canyon
an ephemeral torch.
"Little star" I have told her,
"out of the sea's cerulean gems,
out of the flowers of the tall lush [=Heaven]
would you be the last one?"
"I am not the last one, no;
I am nothing more than the lantern
at the garden's gate
that you believed to be the border.
What you took for an end,
is only the beginning.
The universe is infinite,
it ends and starts everywhere,
and since, further up there, up and down,
the immensity is open,
And there where you see the desert
swarms of worlds teem.
The worlds are the dust
of the infinity's paths
that are moved up and down at his feet
when Jehovah [God] takes a walk in them.
Jacint Verdaguer is one of the most beloved Catalan poets of all times. He lived in the 19th century and was very involved in the Catalan revival movement, defending Catalan folk culture and language. He was also deeply religious and became a Catholic priest since an early age.
The poem Plus Ultra was published after Verdaguer's death in 1903.
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A Taste of Heaven
I read for you,out loud
in a room with yellow light
and I stutter at every other word.
You don’t seem to mind it,
my stutter or my nervousness,
so I don’t stop. You don’t tell me to.
It’s the first time anyone has been this gentle.
I lay twisting in my white sheets,
flowers around my head like a halo,
thinking of eyes the colour of a blossomed Eden,
a garden one only dares to imagine when they dream.
A shade of green that rivals my jealousy,
a shade of green that could ruin a person’s life.
I read for you,out loud,
all the poems that have shaped me,
all the books i’ve loved and cherished
and kept close to my heart
like a treasure,like a locket.
You don’t seem to mind me,
so I don’t stop.
I scratch your arms until they turn pink,
hoping to feel some sort of satisfaction
or maybe a touch of guilt.
Ending up feeling like I cut an angel’s wings off and then pushed them off a cliff.
My humanity gets the better of me.
I ask if you are in pain.
You always say no.
You never,ever stop me.
Even when my wanting nearly kills me,or you,
or both of us,sometimes,
even when I nearly choke with it,
your name like a hymn on the edge of my tongue.
If you touched me it would come out in the disguise of a cry.
I call and you always answer,
our eyes meeting effortlessly everytime we are in the same room.
Your jewels hold secrets only I can unravel. I don’t want to.
I like you for the mystery you are,
like a scenery hidden by mist,
like the debths of the ocean,
like the magical forests that only exist behind waterfalls.
I like you for the mystery you are,
like the seven wonders of the world,
like life after death,
like God.
I read for you,out loud,
parts of the Gospels,
parts of my truth.
And silently I hope for a heaven that looks just like this:
eternally blossomed gardens
and angels that let me read aloud
and feed my curiosity with their curious,mysterious eyes.
Silently, I pray:
If this is what happiness feels like,
please make it last and last,
forever.
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i do not believe in god but i still have hope that there is a heaven somewhere out there. but isn’t that all that heaven is?—hope? heaven does exist. it exists in the comfort it gives through grief, in the love songs, in the laughter exchanged over the kitchen table, in every first-time, in the soft melody of the mourning dove, in the dark abyss behind the sun, and in the fiery core of the earth. the very essence of some sort of endless paradise after death was created from the gift humans have to understand that the universe is filled with infinite love but the curse that we don’t have enough time to enjoy all of it.
no god would ever be able to create something with the same beauty as we have made heaven. heaven is built from the one thing that humans have, that gods do not: death.
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Halina Poświatowska, Indeed I Love
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Fall with the morning star,
Or follow the lamb;
Straight to the slaughter,
Or burn with the damned.
Descend from the heavens,
Or submit to His plan;
Tortured but free;
Untouched and trapped.
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do you believe in god ?
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"We don't speak the name of God,"
devoted souls all over the world whisper in warning,
as if the concept itself was enough to engender blasphemy
(as in the way you say my beloved,
knowing immediately the touch of a hand, a face, a name--)
but one night long ago, in bethlehem,
a young jewish girl smiled in starlight and whispered in reply,
"yeshua,"
my son, my child, my beloved,
my Joshua,
my Jesus,
my God.
(we don't speak the name--)
it's unthinkable, unthinkable.
how do you imagine it?
what does God look like?
but no, that's easy enough.
God looks like the dew on a rose, like sunrise on snow, like light in a prism. God looks like constellations and butterfly wings and all those other cherished cliches that pour out of our mouths when we are moved by the beauty of Creation, His Creation, touched by His hands in time beyond time.
that's easy enough. but that's not how god looks when he has a name.
that's not what is so terrible, so beyond thought that we shrink from it like feathers from flame.
what does god look like if he looks like you?
little yeshua curls his tiny fingers in the warm wool of a sheep.
mary presses her soft lips to his soft forehead.
what does god look like?
he looks like---
it's unthinkable, unthinkable.
but there he is, lying in a manger,
and the oxen are thinking about it more than you
and the angels weep with joy in the stellated heavens.
we don't speak the name of God.
oh, but why don't we?
is he not my beloved?
is he not my Jesus, too?
to name is to know.
could your heart be so bold?
what if his heart was, first?
- J.L.
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I don't think I have it in me-
I want to love someone enough to change myself for
Become what you need at whatever cost to myself
I want to bleed for someone
Maybe I should start believing in god
I want to be self-destructive for a better purpose
Do anything to prove myself
I think it would be nice to feel something
Even if it's cruelty
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