Ravenclaws are acutely aware of how powerful words are. They don’t understand how Gryffindors throw out sentences like a competition, Slytherins weave monologues with nothing but the end goal in mind, and Hufflepuffs grace everything and everyone with compliments. None of these are bad things, but Ravenclaws tend to think more about the effects of words, how they play on each other, how the placement of a word in a sentence can change the meaning. How words are beautiful and complicated and truly amazing, how people managed to create this form of communication, and in many different ways too.
Today I made a wand from a fallen branch of a gum tree, tipped with a singing stone and it felt good. It felt really, really good, the kind of good that makes you forget to eat, forget that your back hurts, forget the ticking of the clock.
At times this world can be overwhelming,
at times it can feel as if nothing you do is enough but,
This is the work that is needed in this world. Find what makes your heart sing, find what nourishes you and let it consume you. Let it be a love song to the broken parts of the giant heart that beats beneath you.
You are a mirror, you are a reflection, you are the universe experiencing itself and what nourishes you nourishes the world.
You are so important.
You are so loved.
The first crescent of the moon
Shows its form like a beauty’s brow:
Paired with the light of the sun, its clear purity abounds.
If you want to gain productive energy
And congeal the jade broth,
First seek the wax and wane,
Grab the golden wave.
One remembers there is something
drempt, being left on a distant shore
catacomb of reality sliced open
heart beating ancient relics
of spirit vibrating from cells
all swarming within
creature of self, made alive
in so much one sometimes argue
against self as though mirrors
could speak, in any voice including
ones, own. A silent vertebrae on
infinitesimal back, a breath lost
in a notion of time, sanctified
second hand faded dance
Continues on, these parts
of one self, hour paced by
squrrillings of mind minutes
measure an hour glass of sand
doom, dunes like back covers
another story living (as lived).
yet, in a library, one cannot recall
names, nor labels or thought
rather indifferent knowing
breathe out star dust.
one can experience sheds on
a breeze undefininable regions,
a memory so precious that it
graces space seen, hearing echoes.
gift impressions, instant ashtack
to introspective, observer
veils eyes whilst giving cheat sheets
to a masked charade
walk lines between heaven and hell
all waging within a mind that
does not even really exist…
except in moments
one, breathe in
two, breathing out, one.
I think the garashir fandom trope that bothers me the most is the idea that garak only appreciates super highbrow classical literature and esoteric poetry or whatever when canonically he tries to get bashir into his precious mystery dramas and at the end of the wire he lends him some spec fic novel about klingons vs cardassians
I’m saying garak totally reads the cardassian equivalent of pulpy historical fiction about the age of sail, full of well researched, technical passages about (space)ship to ship combat for the military nerds but with surprisingly compelling character arcs. I’m saying he reads the 24th century’s da vinci code and spends a week carefully looking up all the corny allusions so he can have ‘the full experience’. I’m saying he torrents the lewdest, double dick down gay ass erotica he can find from every species he can think of and refers to it as a study in comparative literature
In order to know true Freedom- without which true Creation is impossible- one must be free within themselves to choose between Good and Evil, which are the visible manifestations of the Higher and Lower Intelligences, respectively.