madame-verte

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“Unseen, precious, secret things,”

— Georg Trakl, from Poems: Bilingual Edition; “Mary Magdalene: A Dialogue,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

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what happened to moodboards. you guys used to love moodboards

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Always at the little stream.

#i'm currently way more active on twitter so here are some of the pictures of the past weeks

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Sheep of god

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Dorothy Parker, from “Spring Song”

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Hate how modern Christianity downplays the part of the resurrection where the devil gets owned and Christ is victorious and the harrowing of hades and basically I’m requiring that all of you read St. John Chrysostom’s paschal homily right now

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As a child, the syrup of my grandmother’s lilting sweet nothings seemed otherworldly. Her Syrian phrases stretched wide as an embrace, jasmine petals bathed in her laughter.

Lena Khalaf Tuffaha, from Water & Salt; "Tu'burni"

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“Holy Saturday…seems to be fitting for the nature of our human life: we are still awaiting Easter; we are not yet standing in the full light but walking toward it full of trust.”

— Pope Benedict XVI (via castyournetsintothedeep)

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I'm dedicating today to everyone for whom Holy Saturday is all too familiar. Maybe you've lived there for years. Between death and life, grieving, betrayed by loved ones, abandoned by God. There is explicit space for you today. I spent years reliving Holy Saturday, and reaching Easter did not come easily. We must remember that Jesus too went through today, with us, for us. Our waiting, our abandonment, our death, is not alone, and it is not the end. You may not be able to feel life right now, but the dawn will come. If you can, see if you can feel the hope. Creation holds its breath.

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“I find the mystery of passion the most beautiful thing in the world.”

— Gustave Flaubert, from a notebook entry, 1840 (via crimsonkismet)

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“I want to fill my mouth with your name.”

— Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and Song of Despair

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Marjorie Stelmach, from "The Breaking Strain of Grace"

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The most devastating and heartwrenching thing about the Last Supper is that Jesus knew that His disciples, His friends will betray him. Still, He washes their feet, and still, He gives them His blood and body.

And this is the tragedy of God, that He dies for those who are not just abstractly imperfect and who have done something nasty, He dies for people who betray Him daily.

He says: here, I give you the Kingdom, to you who betray me, here, I give you the Kingdom, I've bought it for you with my blood.

And this is the tragedy of Man, that He must carry all that sorrow in Himself, in His human body (it is unthinkable for humans, impossible). And the sorrow evidently eats Him alive, He tries to comfort Himself in His last hours, so He spends them with apostles. Jesus is eager to find a shoulder to lay His head on, a shoulder to cry on. But He has no one to share the sorrow with who won't betray Him, He is alone in that. He has no one who would even understand His sacrifice, oh no, no one would even care to stay awake with Him.

So He turns to the Father, He prays and prays and in His last moments, it's only the Son and the Father who are left. But even the Father leaves Him. Everyone leaves Him, Everything leaves Him. Candles out, it's dark, the Saturday will be quiet.

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*cuts up strawberries and shares them with you