If You're Trying To Get Over Your Fear Of Hell, I Recommend Bart D. Ehrman's Book, Heaven And Hell: A

reblog so prev can get a kiss from their f/o !!

proship DNI

you punch nazis!

(requested by anonymous)

Preach! Screw beauty standards and ageism! Embrace all stages of life!

Nothing drives this society more crazy than a woman who doesn't hate herself

Look, we joke a lot, but really, "you were born evil, wretched, worse than the scum of the earth, and it took killing a god to make you salvageable, so now you'd better be grateful to that god and thank him 10,000 times a day for it and fill your thoughts with him 24/7 and abide by the letter of his every word, lest you suffer unimaginable torture for all of eternity" is a truly horrendous thing to believe about yourself and other people

All queer people are safe with me 💜

Please Reblog is Your Blog is Safe for Non-Binary People.

If my mutuals can’t rb this then we can’t be mutuals

I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.

"Would you like to?"

"Sure!"

So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.

Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.

very old drawing but i think it would be neat if penny had an insect obsession ... instead of a porcelain doll she would have a stuffed praying mantis

I hate it when xtians reduce my religious trauma to "a religious person said something mean to you once so now you're mad at religion".

Like, shut the fuck up. My trauma isn't just someone being a little rude to me once, it was systematic, deliberate manipulation with the threat of possible eternity of suffering in Hell if I didn't obey religious rules and "keep Christ in my heart". It was "Nonbelievers burn in a lake of eternal fire. Tell your friends to convert to our faith or they'll be damned for eternity".

I have suffered from anxiety, ocd and other mental health issues for several fucking years because of this shit. I've suppressed my sexuality and felt terrible guilt just for the 'sin' of having sexual thoughts. I've feared for my loved one's souls, genuinely believing they would go to Hell for simply not being xtians and that I'd never see them again in the afterlife.

These beliefs are sick and twisted. What I went through was sick and twisted.

I seriously don't know what to say to you if you still think telling anyone, let alone a child, that they're going to be damned for eternity if they disobey 'God's word' is totally fine and not abusive.

Know your fucking place and stop speaking over trauma survivors who have been hurt by your shitty religion.

i have been working on this for about 12 hours i think? i'm not sure i lost track of time! anyway have this wonderful song and just some silly things i day dream about while listening to basically anything by cody fry :>