Scrappy Earthling

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The Saint who resurrects connection to instincts and emotions – aka. Greetings for Easter

1 month ago |

I was trying hard to keep it to myself, but something just happened that I really can't anymore:

To everyone who wished us were closer but didn't suggest going to Coeur de Pirate's concert 🖕

Yes, of course, I didn't really live, and a side effect of not living is that emotional responses resurface years, or sometimes decades after the events; Like the previous post.

Without a clear connection to our instincts and feelings, we cannot feel our connection and sense of belonging to this earth, to a family, or anything else.

Other people manifest the second half of Peter A. Levine and Ann Fredrick's sentence by taking the matters in their own hands – unfortunately in the wrong way – and bringing an end to their empty of attachment life by ending their lives. But sometimes facing the baseness of "clear connection with my instincts and feelings" is so grave an experience that even suicide isn't a next step suggestion in my brain.

You know, I was just crying ...

I decided to not go to class and walk around the lack to calm my self, but I was just crying ...

There was the smiling toddler who was pointing his finger towards me sitting back of her mother's bike, but I remembered just as I had already walked by them that I knew the professor and actually I had wanted to have few discussions with her ... but I was just crying, and there was no point in going back and apologizing ...

In a nearby street there was music being played loudly, that caught my ears and I was reminded of a long over-due task on my todo list about following the professional activities of the individual I love on my initiative, coinciding with the iTunes Gift-card that somebody gave to me and I ended up listening to an album I had long wished to:

Beatrice Martin's voice brought me back from the abyss where even suicide isn't a way-out; or to say it in other words, the copy of her performance replayed in my ears resurrected the dead connection to my instincts and feelings – by the Lord's leave.

Though I don't disagree that the future is a mystery and declaring someone a saint is better left to when they're gone, but you have to be real: becoming a saint isn't a one man's journey. Just as an individual has a contribution to how his or her life is lived, so is the society; and in fact, Beatrice Martin is a perfect example of that;

Once upon a time, when she was much younger, she was flirting with the idea of being an indie nude-artist. Sure, one can argue that vocal cords should count as "internal beauty" and the physical appearance as "external beauty" but either way it's earning money by taking advantage of your body – disregarding her as a songwriter, as, endlessly unfortunately, I still don't speak French to evaluate her verses –.

Without going into all the crucifixion, resurrection and "son of the God" mess, the point I wished to raise by declaring Beatrice saint, is the reality that firstly catholic church has no authority from the Lord whatsoever to be His representation, not to think of being allowed practices such as "Canonization" on their accord, worst, even if one could ever argue they have had such authorization once upon a today, looking at their present-day track-record, they have long lost their license. On top of my mind, is the mockery of Christian values by the United States' central bank issues "debt based currency" on papers with the lines: "In God We Trust."

Probably, if Jesus had lived in our time, in case he would have not suffered the fate of Ilya Zhitomirskiy and the likes, he probably would have ended up in a mental institute.

I hope this text, and in case you too are suffering from severe lack of connection to your instincts and emotions, or as I call self-sense, Coeur du Pirate's album as a resurrecting drug serves as Easter greetings.


On a personal note regarding whether or how much should I defend Beatrice Martin: once upon a time about someone I hoped to get to know each other, I made the revelation that: "[...] even every single hair on her body is as attractive to my eyes, as everything appealing in another woman's body combined ..." but ever since, whether it should have been a burden or honor, either way since she had chosen someone else to make her feel loved, I had to rescind the cloak of her adoration. Regardless of how much that short-lived connection should make us responsible for each others' deeds or lack of them, about Beatrice, I guess, the way it seems that I share the accountability for shortcomings runs deeper; If you want an earthly interpretation perhaps Maria Mena's Secrets is the closest example on top of my mind.