it is fucking on, bros,” Lardo shouts
over the incessant thumping of the bass. “You two are going to get obliterated.” She points an emphatic
finger at Ransom and Holster, who stand shoulder to shoulder on the other side
of the beer pong table. Holster cups his hand over his chin, rubbing it
thoughtfully, and side-eyes Ransom.
shouldn’t be able to say words like ‘obliterated’ three cups of tub juice in,”
he says. Ransom is just beginning to nod in agreement when he’s beaned smack in
the middle of his forehead with a ping pong ball. Holster gets hit in the same
spot half a second later, sending both of them reeling back, spluttering.
know, I figured four years was enough time for the two of you to learn not to
underestimate my abilities,” Lardo says, tossing another ping pong ball up in
the air. She cocks an eyebrow and catches the ball, meeting their gazes. “My
mistake. Clearly, you need another lesson.”
“There is a very strong correlation between the subject of royalty and the color purple in the scriptures. The word, royal, means that which belongs or pertains to a king. The children of a king are said to be his royal seed. The clothing of a king are his royal apparel. The cities of the king are referred to as royal cities. Thus, all the possessions of a king are royal possessions.”
“Satan is an imitator. He tries to imitate Christ, but in a wicked way. We see in the scriptures where his false or idol gods are clothed in purple: Jer. 10:8 But they are altogether brutish and foolish: the stock is a doctrine of vanities. 9 Silver spread into plates is brought from Tarshish, and gold from Uphaz, the work of the workman, and of the hands of the founder: blue and purple is their clothing: they are all the work of cunning men.”
She can feel it happening but she can’t open her mouth to scream. She’s not sure what they are doing, only that the pain between her eyes is blinding. This isn’t an examination, she thinks wildly to herself. It’s a vivisection. They’re opening my forehead. They’re taking something out or placing something in. A live animal. Some kind of rodent. A small, sharp-toothed thing that will gnaw at my brain until I go insane. Or die. Hopefully die. I don’t think I can take this much longer.
She’s drowning now, trying helplessly to inhale, her breaths coming out in gurgling gasps, and she’s not sure if she’s gagging on blood or her own vomit. Blood, probably. She hasn’t been able to keep anything down for days.
The pain is like a shrill wail now, coming in waves over the spot where her cancer is living and pulsing like a foreign creature. Rather than a simple tumour, made solely of herself, the exalted multiplication of cells in her body feels like a gruesome imitation of Christ multiplying bread. This is a communion she has to choke down herself. The doctors say she shouldn’t drink wine because of the treatment but if she’s sick half the time, from swallowing pints of her own blood, she might as well go Catholic on her disease.
Whatever is inside her brow is crawling towards her temples now, underneath her eyelids too. It no longer feels mammalian in nature but sort of like an oil. She thinks of the black virus and imagines it oozing inside her, sleek yet painful like shards of very small glass.
She’s trying to open her eyes, she knows she’s half dreaming but it’s hard, each time it’s more difficult to step out of unconsciousness and she can’t help but think, but know, that she will die in her sleep. But not painlessly, not the good death. She will not go gentle.
The name sounds watery when she tries to say it, but she doesn’t need to. Not really. Mulder is there already. No gun drawn, he knows the devil isn’t lurking in the shadows. The devil is in her, a nasopharengeal mass right under the spot she touches when she crosses herself in prayer.
“Shhh, Scully,” he whispers and she can hear the fear in his voice. She exclaims his name, finally, but all that leaves her mouth is a blurting of blood disguised in a wet sob.
He tenderly wipes her face clean with a damp towel and moves her towards the side of the bed that isn’t stained with rust-coloured blemishes left by those who are dying.
The pain is only a dull ache now and she can feel herself return to normal. She focuses on Mulder who is laying on her bed over the covers, stilling her, comforting her. Her eyelids feel heavy with exhaustion, but she quirks her lips at his grey cotton boxers, his bare knees, his long feet.
“Mulder, where are your pants?”
He doesn’t answer but strokes her hair and presses his lips on the crown of her head. She closes her eyes. She is cold all the time now and can feel the warmth radiating off his body. God, she doesn’t want to die, but if she has to, this is how. This is with whom. She would never do that to him though, he’s been through enough. Too many losses for one man.
“Mulder, get under the covers with me” she sighs and feels waves of comfort overwhelm her as he crawls in and wraps himself around her, cradling her gently in his arms.
Please God, don’t let me die tonight. Don’t have him try to wake me in the morning and find out that he can’t.
She drifts back into the darkness and doesn’t know that he’s asking for the same thing.
It’s dark because you are trying too hard.
Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly.
Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply.
Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.
I was so preposterously serious in those days, such a humorless little prig.
Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me.
When it comes to dying even. Nothing ponderous, or portentous, or emphatic.
No rhetoric, no tremolos,
no self conscious persona putting on its celebrated imitation of Christ or Little Nell.
And of course, no theology, no metaphysics.
Just the fact of dying and the fact of the clear light.
So throw away your baggage and go forward.
There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet,
trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair.
That’s why you must walk so lightly.
Lightly my darling
So here’s the books I’ve found (or they found me) to be helpful along in my faith. I’m going to try to list them in somewhat chronological order, but I may fail at that. What’s in parenthesis is what I haven’t finished & what’s in brackets I’m currently reading. If you have any questions on any of them, let me know. I can try to give a little explanation of them.
. Blessed are the Bored in Spirit - Mark Hart
. (Ignatius The Holy Bible RSV)
. Diary of St. Maria Faustina Kowalska
. Story of a Soul - St. Therese of Lisieux
. The Imitation of Christ - Thomas á Kempis
. (The Imitation of Mary - Thomas á Kempis)
. 33 Days to Morning Glory – Fr. Michael Gaitley M.I.C.
. (Mother Angelica’s Private & Pithy Lessons from Scriptures)
. Consoling the Heart of Jesus – Fr. Michael Gaitley M.I.C.
. The ‘One Thing’ is Three – Fr. Michael Gaitley M.I.C.
. Poor in Spirit – Gabriel-Marie Cardinal Garrone (about St. Jean Jugan, founder of the Little Sisters of the Poor)
. The Secret of the Rosary - St. Louis de Montfort
. (Catechism of the Catholic Church)
. Christ in His Mysteries – Blessed Columba Marmion
. Christ The Life of the Soul – Blessed Columba Marmion
. Praying for Priests – Kathleen Beckman L.H.S.
. Under the Mantle – Fr. Donald Calloway M.I.C.
. (The Interior Castle - St. Teresa of Avila)
. You Set My Spirit Free - St. John of the Cross paraphrased by David Hazard
. The Cross and the Beatitudes - Fulton Sheen
. (Life of Christ - Fulton Sheen)
. Finding God Through Meditation -St. Peter Alacantara
. (Manual For Spiritual Warfare - TAN Books)
. [30 Days with Teresa of Avila - Daniel Burke & Anthony Lilles]
. [The Redeemer’s Call to Consecrated Souls]
. (St. John Paul the Great: His Five Loves - Jason Evert)
. Divine Mercy Minutes with Jesus - Rev. George W. Kosicki C.S.B.
. Thoughts of St. Therese
and the book by St. Louis de Montfort about total consecration to Mary, that I don’t remember the name of. Lol
Saint Margaret of
Scotland (c. 1045 –
16 November 1093), also known as Margaret
of Wessex and Queen Margaret of
Scotland, was an English princess of the House of Wessex. Born in exile in
Hungary, she was the sister of Edgar
Ætheling, the short-ruling and uncrowned Anglo-Saxon King of England.
Margaret and her family returned to England in 1057, but fled to the Kingdom of
Scotland following the Norman conquest of England of 1066. Around 1070 Margaret
married Malcolm III of Scotland,
becoming his queen consort. She was a pious woman, and among many charitable works,
she established a ferry across the Firth of Forth for pilgrims travelling to
Dunfermline Abbey, which gave the towns of South Queensferry and North
Queensferry their names. Margaret was the mother of three kings of Scotland and
a queen consort of England. According to the Life of Saint Margaret, attributed
to Turgot of Durham, she died at Edinburgh Castle in 1093, just days after
receiving the news of her husband’s death in battle. In 1250 she was canonised
by Pope Innocent IV, and her remains were reinterred in a shrine at Dunfermline
Abbey. Her relics were dispersed after the Scottish Reformation and subsequently
The marriage of Malcolm and Margaret took place
some time before the end of 1070. Margaret and Malcolm had eight children, six
sons and two daughters. Margaret’s biographer Turgot, Bishop of St. Andrews,
credits her with having a civilizing influence on her husband Malcolm by
reading him stories from the Bible. She instigated religious reform, striving
to make the worship and practices of the Church in Scotland conform to those of
Rome. This she did with the inspiration and guidance of Lanfranc, the future
Archbishop of Canterbury. She also worked to bring the Scottish Church practice
in line with that of the continental church of her childhood. Due to these
achievements, she was considered an exemplar of the “just ruler”, and
influenced her husband and children - especially her youngest son, later David
I - to be just and holy rulers.
The chroniclers all agree in depicting Queen
Margaret as a strong, pure, noble character, who had very great influence over
her husband, and through him over Scottish history, especially in it
ecclesiastical aspects. Her religion, which was genuine and intense, was of the
newest Roman style; and to her are attributed a number of reforms by which the
Church of Scotland was considerably modified from the insular and primitive
type which down to her time it had exhibited. Among those expressly mentioned
are a change in the manner of observing Lent, which thenceforward began as
elsewhere on Ash Wednesday and not as previously on the following Monday.
She attended to charitable works, serving
orphans and the poor every day before she ate, and washing the feet of the poor
in imitation of Christ. She rose at midnight every night to attend church
services. She invited the Benedictine order to establish a monastery at
Dunfermline in Fife in 1072, and established ferries at Queensferry and North
Berwick to assist pilgrims journeying from south of the Firth of Forth to St.
Andrews in Fife. Amongst her other deeds, Margaret also instigated the restoration
of the monastery at Iona. She is also known to have been an intercessor for the
release of fellow English exiles, forced into serfdom by the conquest.
In her private life, Margaret was as devout as
she was in her public duties. She spent much of her time in prayer, devotional
reading, and ecclesiastical embroidery. This appears to have had a considerable
effect on the more uncouth Malcolm who could not read; he so admired her
devotion that he had her books decorated in gold and silver. Malcolm seems to
have been largely ignorant of the long-term effects of Margaret’s endeavours,
not being especially religious himself. He was content for her to pursue her
reforms as she wished, a testament to the strength and affection inherent in
Her husband, Malcolm III, and their eldest son,
Edward, were killed in a fight against the English at the Battle of Alnwick on
13 November 1093. Her son Edgar was left with the task of telling his mother of
their deaths. Margaret was not yet fifty, but a life of constant austerity and
fasting had taken their toll. Already ill, Margaret died on 16 November 1093,
three days after the deaths of her husband and eldest son. She was buried in
Margaret was canonised in 1250 by Pope Innocent IV in recognition of her
personal holiness, fidelity to the Church, work for religious reform, and