Top Posts Tagged with #okuvlig

Remember. This time, don’t forget.

It had been a good long while since Nihani had let her rugged old friend, Anguish, sit within her. (Sometimes she’d let the more agile Pain slip through, Pain always passed so quickly.) Tonight, she let Anguish work his way through her guts. Or rather, he forced himself through, crashed over all embankments she’d spent years building, marking them as the useless protectors they were.

Curled up tightly, she lay against an enchanting carpet she purchased on a delightful excursion to Marrakech 3 years prior; it gave the one who laid over it the power to divulge and to be born again. Tears began to drop, and as they did, something inside her began to dance.

Some torments stay with us always.

Accepting the immortality of her Anguish, Nihani retreated further into her secret, but only for a moment. Soon, another feeling came to visit her. This was Okuvlig, who came to remind Nihani: You won that battle, the one you carry and refuse to release. And you are winning this one too. And you will always win. Okuvlig.

Remember! This time, don’t forget.

Slowly, she sat upright on her enchanted Marrakechi carpet. As she did this, the carpet sprung from the ground and lifted her high into the night sky - to the place where she belonged, where she’d always known she belonged. Raindrops fell to kiss her skin while Thunder roared to welcome her to her rightful home. Nihani turned her gaze upward to witness a flock of firebirds fighting Gust, while Rain fell heavily over their flaming wings, daring the weakening flock to take their rest on shore.

Even firebirds, she thought, who had never been ensnared, must fight to keep the sky. But this sky-fight was new to Nihani, this was not Anguish as she knew it, or Pain either. This new fight was a gift she’d always mistaken as her old and rugged friend, Anguish. But it wasn’t Anguish! This time, she must remember. This is Okuvlig; this is Freedom.

But Freedom is no light thing. And strong flyers are not born overnight.

#okuvlig #writing

•18+ Adults Only

Watch Anya Live on Cam

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.

✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions

Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming

An old man and a young sailor sit at a table inside a darkly lit, poorly cleaned, nearly vacant, pub in the center of the city’s sinister heart.

Old (bearded) man smoking his pipe, takes a long puff, then speaks: “We each have our obsessions, no?”

The young sailor sitting opposite him slowly nods his agreement.

Old man: “Tell me yours, then.”

Young sailor, hesitates a moment: “Strength. Strength is my one true obsession. Few men harbor the strength I praise and cherish.”

Old man: “And what is strength?”

Young sailor: “Strength, in its purest form, is a willingness, an eagerness even, to endure pain. Not that knife wound you earned in a brawl, no. I speak of the other sort of pain. I speak of the agony you felt when your crewmates drowned off the beaches of Leon, the heartache you felt when your woman left you after 10 years of bliss, ecstasy and suffering. Men are so keen to run from their pain, to conceal it underneath their steins as their mouths wreak of loss, putting on their warriors’ faces. [You know of what I speak.] To be strong is to feel. To fall to your knees, guts clenched in hand, on the floor writhing and hawing. And to let it come as it may. That, dear Captain o’ mine, is strength. And I am obsessed to have it, and to judge myself according to my obtaining it or no.”

Now the old man stared at his young sailor; the boy was gleaming. Throughout the pub only one sound could be heard. *pttt pttt pttt* The captain was tapping his snakewood leg. *pttt pttt pttt* A silence crept in, dense as sky on a most humid day, hovering over all in the room [save the young sailor]. In a matter of half-seconds, the place became Silence itself--the exact color of a new dawn. The young sailor rose, left a hefty tip, and greeted the new day.

#writing #okuvlig

‘But I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.’ 'In fact,’ said Mustapha Mond, 'you’re claiming the right to be unhappy. Not to mention the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have syphilis and cancer; the right to have too little to eat; the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what might happen tomorrow; the right to catch typhoid; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind.’ There was a long silence. 'I claim them all,’ the Savage said at last.

Huxley, Brave New World

This book changed my life. These last paragraphs in particular. I read it in high school (the only public place I was allowed to spend time unwatched). It helped me to realize I’d rather experience all that is in life, the unknown, with its fear and instability, than be trapped within the 4 (’safe’ and known) walls of hell. Instead of looking out the window and wishing to join the world, one day I finally managed to join it. You don’t know it when you’ve always had it, but I can tell you (as can Jaycee Dugard and Elizabeth Smart), freedom is everything, freedom and independence, and the ability to exert your own will. My life is my own; I’m free to make all of my own mistakes. I claim them all.

#freedom #nosoma #okuvlig

Confession

My aunt knew. She knew from the start. My mom suspected. Both women were weak. It was my uncle. It began when I was nine, ended when I was 18. I made a successful escape then. I failed before. I don’t remember much of those 9 years. I don’t feel much about them either. It’s a black void in my memory. At nine, I landed in the arms of my uncle and aunt. My mom had attempted suicide, fully developed her schizophrenia. My brothers and I couldn’t live with her any longer. She was absent even when we did. My father died when I was only 3. I never knew him, I don’t mourn his passing. Except that if he hadn’t died we wouldn’t have ended up with our uncle and aunt. My uncle was violent on a daily, an hourly, an erratic, basis. He wanted so desperately to break me, to break my brothers. To feel powerful, to watch us tremble. But we were indomitable, even as small children. His beliefs were cult-like, all behaviors supported by his religion, a religion which we were all taught to adopt, a religion which I shed only when I learned to trust myself at 18. My aunt stood by as he rampaged through us, sometimes encouraged him. I will never forgive her. He is in prison, she is not.

There are names I can’t bear to say or hear or see. There are words, triggers. But what is a trigger if all that’s triggered is emptiness, and confusion surrounding the emptiness? I want to remember. I’m 25. It’s time to remember.

#confession #personal #okuvlig