Beacon Of Love Quotes

We can be beacons of light

Grief does not expire like a candle or the beacon on a lighthouse. It simply changes temperature.

For life is the best thing we have in this existence. And if we should desire to believe in something, it should be a beacon within. This beacon being the sun, sea, and sky, our children, our work, our companions and, most simply put, the embodiment of love.

You don’t have to say everything to be a light. Sometimes a fire built on a hill will bring interested people to your campfire.

I keep going back as if Im looking for something I have lost back to the motherland, sisterland, fatherland back to the beacon, the breast the smell and taste of the breeze, and the singing of the rain.

Please, in all this muddle of life, continue to be a bright and constant star. Just a few things remain as beacons: poetry, and you, and solitude.

A BIRTHDAY Something continues and I don't know what to call it though the language is full of suggestions in the way of language but they are all anonymous and it's almost your birthday music next to my bones these nights we hear the horses running in the rain it stops and the moon comes out and we are still here the leaks in the roof go on dripping after the rain has passed smell of ginger flowers slips through the dark house down near the sea the slow heart of the beacon flashes the long way to you is still tied to me but it brought me to you I keep wanting to give you what is already yours it is the morning of the mornings together breath of summer oh my found one the sleep in the same current and each waking to you when I open my eyes you are what I wanted to see.

When you have two people who love each other, are happy and gay and really good work is being done by one or both of them, people are drawn to them as surely as migrating birds are drawn at night to a powerful beacon. If the two people were as solidly constructed as the beacon there would be little damage except to the birds. Those who attract people by their happiness and their performance are usually inexperienced. They do not know how not to be overrun and how to go away. They do not always learn about the good, the attractive, the charming, the soon-beloved, the generous, the understanding rich who have no bad qualities and who give each day the quality of a festival and who, when they have passed and taken the nourishment they needed, leave everything deader than the roots of any grass Attila's horses' hooves have ever scoured.

They’ve kept the truth about Persephone a secret, burying it deep below Hercules’s murdered wife and all of Zeus’s affairs. It’s dangerous, you see, a spark threatening to ignite a long dead flame. Power. She loved her power, the Queen of the Dead, to forever reign in the fires of hell. She wore her crown like a beacon; a beautiful queen, plotting against her king. They never wanted you to know the hunger of Persephone, how she starved for something other than pomegranates. Control. The primal thirst that burns all women’s throats, denied by eons of men. Listen closely to the voice from hell, sweetheart. “You are a queen; don’t wait for a king.

I would rather lie facedown on the ground and use my body as a bridge, than stand proud and tall and use my body as a wall.

I wanted to soothe and comfort her, the way she had comforted her daughters.

You are a light. You are the light. Never let anyone—any person or any force—dampen, dim or diminish your light. Study the path of others to make your way easier and more abundant. Lean toward the whispers of your own heart, discover the universal truth, and follow its dictates. […] Release the need to hate, to harbor division, and the enticement of revenge. Release all bitterness. Hold only love, only peace in your heart, knowing that the battle of good to overcome evil is already won. Choose confrontation wisely, but when it is your time don't be afraid to stand up, speak up, and speak out against injustice. And if you follow your truth down the road to peace and the affirmation of love, if you shine like a beacon for all to see, then the poetry of all the great dreamers and philosophers is yours to manifest in a nation, a world community, and a Beloved Community that is finally at peace with itself.

one day Manuel returned to the place, and she was gone - no argument, no note, just gone, all her clothes all her stuff, and Manuel sat by the window and looked out and didn't make his job the next day or the next day or the day after, he didn't phone in, he lost his job, got a ticket for parking, smoked four hundred and sixty cigarettes, got picked up for common drunk, bailed out, went to court and pleaded guilty. when the rent was up he moved from Beacon street, he left the cat and went to live with his brother and they'd get drunk every night and talk about how terrible life was. Manuel never again smoked long slim cigars because Shirley always said how handsome he looked when he did.

Nehemia was gone. That vibrant, fierce, loving soul; the princess who had been called the Light of Eyllwe; the woman who had been a beacon of hope—just like that, as if she were no more than a wisp of candlelight, she was gone. When it had mattered most Celaena hadn't been there. Nehemia was gone.

Love is a flame; - we have beaconed the world's night. A city: - and we have built it, these and I. An emperor: - we have taught the world to die.

In the land of Gods and Monsters I was an Angel Living in the garden of evil Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed Shining like a fiery beacon You got that medicine I need Fame, Liquor, Love give it to me slowly Put your hands on my waist, do it softly Me and God, we don't get along so now I sing No one's gonna take my soul away I'm living like Jim Morrison Headed towards a fucked up holiday Motel sprees sprees and I'm singing 'Fuck yeah give it to me this is heaven, what I truly Want' It's innocence lost Innocence lost In the land of Gods and Monsters I was an Angel Looking to get fucked hard Like a groupie incognito posing as a real singer Life imitates art You got that medicine I need Dope, shoot it up, straight to the heart please I don't really wanna know what's good for me God's dead, I said 'baby that's alright with me' No one's gonna take my soul away I'm living like Jim Morrison Headed towards a fucked up holiday Motel sprees sprees and I'm singing 'Fuck yeah give it to me this is heaven, what I truly Want' It's innocence lost Innocence lost When you talk it's like a movie and you're making me Crazy - Cause life imitates art If I get a little prettier can I be your baby? You tell me, "life isn't that hard" No one's gonna take my soul away I'm living like Jim Morrison Headed towards a fucked up holiday Motel sprees sprees and I'm singing 'Fuck yeah give it to me this is heaven, what I truly Want' It's innocence lost Innocence lost

From his soft fur, golden and brown, Goes out so sweet a scent, one night I might have been embalmed in it By giving him one little pet. He is my household's guardian soul; He judges, he presides, inspires All matters in his royal realm; Might he be fairy? or a god? When my eyes, to this cat I love Drawn as by a magnet's force, Turn tamely back upon that appeal, And when I look within myself, I notice with astonishment The fire of his opal eyes, Clear beacons glowing, living jewels, Taking my measure, steadily.

And you and I know you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and, yes, that’s an expression, something people say, that has no meaning, but what I mean is there isn’t anybody in the whole world who has loved me the way you have, not my mother, not my old man, not my friends. There’s nothing preventing me and you from loving each other and being some kinda world-class shining beacon of love except how bad do we want it and what are we willing to do for it? Now, I know I did you wrong, and I was freaking out and being stupid and I was mean to you. You know sometimes I get all fucking confused and I can’t see outside of my own asshole. I’m unhappy. Why am I unhappy? It’s gotta be somebody’s fault, right? It couldn’t just be that I’m a self-centered fuck spinning around inside my own dank cloud of concerns. There isn’t anything I can think of that I really want or that the best part of me wants, that loving you won’t start doing. I love you.

And the only thing that ends a war like this is trust, release, love for those we hate, arms around those who would kill us, forgiveness, forgiveness, forgiveness.

The love within them shone as brightly as the lighthouse beam on the darkest, stormiest night. It broke through her confusion and heartache and filled her with a warm glow.

Maybe we should stop looking at why God doesn’t answer every prayer the way we think He should. But instead we should count it a blessing that He hears our prayers at all.

You're his beacon of light. You give him a sense of direction in his life. A purpose. But is it worth it? Just being his friend? Not being able to love him the way you want to?

Her eyes began to shimmer with tears. “You . . . you love me?” His heart seemed permanently lodged in his throat. “More than life. God only knows why you love me, because I sure as hell don’t, but I know why I love you. You’re my beacon in the darkness, and my compass on a night sea. When I’m with you, I don’t want to dance with Death. I want to dance with Life. I want to dance with you. And whatever it takes, I mean to spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you.

All I noticed was how the sunlight reflected off Nikki's dark hair, lighting her up like a homing beacon, pulling me to her. Maybe I was the only one who saw it that way. No. The guy who had his arms around her probably saw it that way too. "He has a clinging problem, doesn't he?" I commented. Meredith scoffed. "Epic love clings epically.

You angel, you have written. [...] Please, in all this muddle of life, continue to be a bright and constant star. Just a few things remain as beacons: poetry, and you, and solitude. You see that I am extremely sentimental. Had you suspected that?

The lighthouse lantern had been burning a lifetime, a beacon for love’s safe return. For a man who had, in fact, made it back home, just not alive.

You are much more than your mistakes, much bigger than your failures and much more beautiful than your ugliest moment. The stumbles we experience in life may shame us or humble us with valuable tough lessons but they will never define who we truly are. No matter your mistake…it’s important to remember that You are someone’s light in the darkness; a beacon of love and hope and that should ALWAYS supersede the superficial imperfections we erroneously internalize. ~Jason Versey

Why didi I think I could just have her in my bed, and not fall in love with her ? Why couldn't I keep my fucking hands off her? I stare at the hollow, broken man in the Mirror, knowing the answer already. Because Brynna Vincent is it for me. There will never be another woman who can make me feel safe, make me feel happy. Make me feel loved. And her daughters are two little beacons of light in this dark hell I call a life that I just can't resist.

Oh yes, In Love, that demented rose-red circus tent whose half-light forgives all visuals, fig-leaves our lovers, and softens our own brains and the pain of our sawdust pratfalls.   So tempting, that midway faux-marble arch, both funfair and classical— so Greek, so Barnum, such a beacon, with a sign in gas-blue neon:   Love! This way! In!

is a beacon. Your honesty—saying no to the lying—is what will bring the lost ships home. It’s what will bring health, love, and money to you.

Love comes as fast as shrapnel in the trenches. It’s indiscriminate. It gets whoever’s closest. When it’s your time, it’s your time.

I pull her against me, not to make love to her, but just to love her. To hold something good and imperfect and fucked up, and to feel someone holding all of that in return.

When you love yourself, exactly as you are, you become a beacon of love.

You are the cove of which our storm-struck ships moor. The beacon of light in the darkest night leading us home. A candle whose flame flickers against the coldest wind. You've given them hope.

At night, I rest on my couch and look to the sky. If the sky knew how much I adore you, it would give up its moon and keep you as love’s beacon in the heart of the sky. If the earth understood my love for you, it would stop spinning around itself and around the sun, and it would start to spin around you and rotate around my heart. But I am sure God knew how I would love you; that is why He created you.

Life is depressing and hopeless enough, without imbibing further depression and hopelessness through story. I don’t care how realistic people like to think that is. It’s not what inspires me, or makes me love and cherish a book or a television show or a movie. When I am imbibing fiction, I want to be inspired. I want bold tales, told boldly. I want genuine Good People who, while not perfect, are capable of rising beyond their ordinary beginnings. To make a positive difference in their world. Even when all hope or purpose might seem lost. Because this is what I think fiction—as originally told around the campfires, through verbal legend—ought to do, more than anything else: Illuminate the way, shine a spiritual beacon, tell us that there is a bright point in the darkness, a light to guide the way, when all other paths are cast in shadow.

Maybe this place is like a bright beacon in a vast, dark space. Maybe they see potential of us, but also how easily we could be lost. It's a fine balance, don't you think? The line between love and fire is very thin.

When you have two people who love each other, are happy and gay and really good work is being done by one or both of them, people are drawn to them as surely as migrating birds are drawn at night to a powerful beacon.

She would not let that light go out. She would fill the world with it, her light--her gift. She would light up the darkness, so brightly that all who were lost or wounded or broken would find their way to it, a beacon for those who still dwelled in that abyss. It would not take a monster to destroy a monster--but light, light to drive out the darkness. She was not afraid. She would remake the world--remake it for them, those she had loved with this glorious, burning heart; a world so brilliant and prosperous that when she saw them again in the Afterworld, she would not be ashamed. She would rebuild it for her people, who had survived this long, and whom she would not abandon. She would make for them a kingdom such as there had never been, even if it took until her last breath. She was their queen, and she could offer them nothing less.

My first kiss...and it was everything I’d imagined it to be, with the exception of there being an audience for it. But it was hard to acknowledge them or their cheering and whistles. Flames scorched my already heated skin. Dez’s lips moved against mine, working the tight seam open. I gasped, wondering where in the world he’d learned to kiss like that. Jealousy flared like a beacon on the heels of that thought. Okay. I didn’t want to know how he’d learned.

But if I know anything, I know that the love Lilah and I shared was a beacon of light to both of our lives. We didn’t have time on our side, but we did have a relationship that renewed my faith in pretty much everything worth believing in.

Love is a flame; we have beaconed the world's night.

Let your devotional life be the beacon that guides you through the tough terrain you will face.

Matthew turned to Lucie, who was scribbling intently but who looked up as if sensing his glance and smiled. Matthew wondered how it would be, to be self-sufficient and welcome with it, like a house with sturdy walls and a beacon of light burning within.

Choose to live, Elisabeth. There's a fire within you; keep it alight. Feed that flame with music and seasons and chocolate torte and strawberries and your Grandmother's Gugelhopf. Let it grow with your love for your family. Let it be a beacon to set your heart by, so that you remain true to yourself." He stroked my cheek. "Do this, so that I remember you like this: fierce and full of life.

Unwittingly, evil serves as a beacon to warn others away from its own shoals. Because most of us have been graced by an almost instinctive sense of horror at the outrageousness of evil, when we recognize its presence, our own personalities are honed by the awareness of its existence. Our consciousness of it is a signal to purify ourselves. It was evil, for instance, that raised Christ to the cross, thereby enabling us to see him from afar. Our personal involvement in the fight against evil in the world is one of the ways we grow.

Soon, she is dreaming:  I am reading a letter addressed to me by an unknown hand:  Dear Kate.  The moon rises over the tips of the mountain peaks as we sit here in the darkness thinking of you – and remembering.  Remembering the smells of flowers long ago dried and withered away, their faint fragrances hanging in the misty air.  Remembering whispers of times gone by.  As we have done in the past, we dig deep, looking for clues to your whereabouts.  Eyes peek out at us from within the stillness of the night – eyes filled with longing and desire – curious orbs floating like lanterns in the misty void.  Looking up from the letter still within her dream, Kate finds herself face to face with two golden beacons of love-filled radiance.

Far away in the west the sun was setting and the last glow of all too fleeting day lingered lovingly on sea and strand, on the proud promontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever the waters of the bay, on the weedgrown rocks along Sandymount shore and, last but not least, on the quiet church whence there streamed forth at times upon the stillness the voice of prayer to her who is in her pure radiance a beacon ever to the stormtossed heart of man, Mary, star of the sea.

We face many crossroads in our lives. God wants us to be that beacon of faith to those around us. He shows us his love like a rainbow on a sunrise. He helps lift us up when we fall. For our stay in this world is just a short time. A pass over from here to his loving arms. Like the morning star, he will guide us along our way.

There aren’t any rules about how long you gotta know someone to know you love them.

When we recognize that our personal good coincides with the Good of everyone, our inner light is turned on: at this point, when a human being becomes a Human Angel, their light, like a beacon, shines all around. The more lights are lit, the more humanity will be enlightened in these dark times, when the world of the ego, driven to its extreme, has begun its dramatic collapse.

And Rocky still sounds angry at me for drilling a hole through his skull. I only did it to keep him close. Woulda lost him otherwise. Do we have to hurt the ones we love to keep them close?

She brushed the tears from their faces and sang them a melancholy lullaby. Her obvious devotion to her daughters pulled at my heart strings, making my chest ache with longing for my own mother.

Graceful. Lean. Coordinated as she whirls, though how she knows what dancing is, [her grandfather] could never guess. The song plays on. He lets it go too long. The antenna is still up, probably dimly visible against the sky, the whole attic might as well shine like a beacon. But in the candlelight, in the sweet rush of a concerto, Marie-Laure bites her lower lip, and her face gives off a secondary glow, reminding him of the marshes beyond the town walls, in those winter dusks when the sun has set but isn't fully swallowed, and big patches of red pools of light burn - places he used to go with his brother, in what seems like lifetimes ago.

Through knowing death we can hold a beacon of love for every moment that has just passed, for every friend who has lost a friend, for every child who has lost a parent, for every parent who has lost a child; for any suffering anywhere.

If you killl yourself, Comorra, it will wreck him. Utterly. Believe me on this one. So there you go - there's another casualty of war. And sure, in the grand scheme of things, whoop-dee-doo, who gives a crap about some dude's broken heart. But what about the not-so-grand scheme? Doesn't love count for something? Do you think all this...this carnage would have happened if the Romans hadn't taken Prasutagus away from your mother? If she hadn't been so blinded by grief maybe she would have found a way to work things out with the governor instead of goading him to war." Clare shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Maybe not. Maybe two people alone in the darkness can't generate enough light to drive it back. But maybe they can be a beacon for others. A candle in the window at midnight, you know? I mean, they can at least be there for each other, right?

For cities are museums of time, and to live in them is to be haunted by the places they once were. The waterways that existed before the skyscrapers and freeways are a vanished world that beacons to us. When we catch glimpses of them, the city disappears. Its too-known streets dissolve into unfathomable terrain. It becomes innocent again. We want to unmake the city. To regain a lost paradise.

I let her stay a few feet ahead of me and try to memorize her exactly as she is: running, laughing, tan and happy and beautiful and mine; blond hair flashing in the last rays of sun like a torch, like a beacon of good things to come, and better days ahead for us both.

There is a glimmer of metal that wavers between his thighs. He turns to face me. The balls of his large gauge nipple rings catch my eye as they glint in the light of the room. But, it is the tintinabular rings below that cause my eyes to descend to his shining metallic beacon of love. I feel my jaw slightly drop open and a small puff of air escapes over my lips. I am wildly transfixed. What is that? What will he do with it? I nervously wonder without a solution. He moves toward me with the sound of pockets full of change, and I know my life will never be the same.

Such is the beauty of unshackled love. It is the beacon that finds lost sheep, the oil that fills virgins’ lamps, the seed sown on fertile soil. A heart in chains is a slave to passion. It moves and breathes by the will of another. But when it is set free, true love abounds, for the will of another can never dictate love’s free choice. Jesus said, ‘If the Son shall set you free, you shall be free indeed.’ Glorious freedom! Oh, let my heart ever be unshackled! My body, my words, and my thoughts are all His. I freely set my heart in His hands, and I have no other true love.

Across the ethereal realms, whether in heaven's embrace or amidst the trials of hell, my heart declared that it was her, and only her, who held the key to my happiness. In any corner of existence, be it heaven or hell, she was the beacon of light that guided my path, the solace that soothed my tormented soul.

As if Spencer's thoughts were sending out a homing beacon, Justice looked over in his direction, making eye contact, and Spencer understood what Gimli saw when he gazed upon Galadriel. But, no. Just no. He hadn't even known this kid existed five hours ago. It was scientifically impossible to develop a crush in that amount of time, right?

May I be a pillar on which upon you stand, a leaning post for young ones, my lover and my friend. May I be a beam of light that you bestow upon your hopes, your dreams, your wisdom, so we may carry on. May I be a beacon, a tree with roots so strong, treetop spreading high and wide, a trunk so wide and long. May I be your music a flute for you to play whatever you desire with each forthcoming day. May I lose myself to find you, support all those who need my love, my core, my laughter, permeate my every deed.

The heart's need to make its journey through life calls to us. Some hearts will back away from the journey, too fearful to leave the familiar even though it withers. Others wills leap forward and never look back, bruising the hearts left behind. Pain will force some to begin the journey. For others, love will be a beacon that keeps them moving forward.

You belong only to the night; outsiders are forbidden to infiltrate your heart. Only the cold, aching darkness is privileged to know your identity.

God's already let go of your past. He doesn't remember it. He doesn't count it against you. Now it's time for you to let go too.

She'd made a wreck of things, but thankfully God could take the wreckage and turn it into something beautiful.

I guess I figured that as long as I was with people I loved, I was home. It didn't matter where we were or what kind of place we lived in. We had each other and that was enough.

Something about an inner value, about love; the love that shone from him as if from some kind of a beacon.

My beacon. My dream catcher. My love. My life. Someone wants to kill us. Damn them.

Aubrey’s name flashed bright in the dimness. Like a beacon. Or my salvation.

In the end, Dodd proved to be exactly what Roosevelt had wanted, a lone beacon of American freedom and hope in a land of gathering darkness.

When we feel incomplete, lonely and disconnected from ourselves, the ideal of true love becomes a beacon of hope promising to save us. Soon we start sincerely believing that our beloved will “complete us,” and thus make our lives meaningful again. Unfortunately, such a myth is destructive to our mental, emotional, and psychological well-being in the long term.

The summer evening had begun to fold the world in its mysterious embrace. Far away in the west the sun was setting and the last glow of all too fleeting day lingered lovingly on sea and strand, on the proud promontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever the waters of the bay, on the weedgrown rocks along Sandymount shore and, last but not least, on the quiet church whence there streamed forth at times upon the stillness the voice of prayer to her who is in her pure radiance a beacon ever to the storm-tossed heart of man, Mary, star of the sea.

It is a land bright with truth, where a man’s word is his pledge, and falsehood is banished, where children sleep safe in their mothers’ arms and never know fear or pain. It is a land where kings extend their hands in justice rather than reach for the sword; where mercy, kindness and compassion flow like deep water over the land, and men revere virtue, revere truth, revere beauty, above comfort, pleasure, or selfish gain. A land where peace reigns in the hearts of men, where faith blazes like a beacon from every hill, and love like a fire from every hearth,

The world right now is filled with fog. Honesty is a beacon. Your honesty—saying no to the lying—is what will bring the lost ships home. It’s what will bring health, love, and money to you.

I die, and yet not dies in me The ardour of my love for Thee, Nor hath Thy Love, my only goal, Assuaged the fever of my soul. To Thee alone my spirit cries; In Thee my whole ambition lies, And still Thy Wealth is far above The poverty of my small love. I turn to Thee in my request, And seek in Thee my final rest; To Thee my loud lament is brought, Thou dwellest in my secret thought. However long my sickness be, This wearisome infirmity, Never to men will I declare The burden Thou has made me bear. To Thee alone is manifest The heavy labour of my breast, Else never kin nor neighbors know The brimming measure of my woe. A fever burns below my heart And ravages my every part; It hath destroyed my strength and stay, And smouldered all my soul away. Guidest Thou not upon the road The rider wearied by his load, Delivering from the steeps of death The traveller as he wandereth? Didst Thou not light a beacon too For them that found the Guidance true But carried not within their hand The faintest glimmer of its brand? O then to me Thy Favour give That, so attended, I may live, And overwhelm with ease from Thee The rigor of my poverty.

Let dry my tears, let me gaze into the truly everlasting gleam in your eyes, knowing that what we hold dear in our hearts will forever illuminate our parting journey from now forward. Each drop that falls bears witness to the bittersweet ache of farewell, as we bid adieu to the warmth of shared moments and the comfort of familiar embraces. Yet, amidst the sorrow, there lies a glimmer of solace in the knowledge that the love we've nurtured will transcend the boundaries of time and distance. As we embark on separate paths, may the radiance of cherished memories serve as guiding stars, lighting our way through the darkness of separation. Though tears may blur our vision momentarily, let them not obscure the beauty of the connection we've forged, nor dampen the flicker of hope that dances in our souls. For even in the midst of goodbyes, our love remains an unwavering beacon, casting its luminous glow upon the road ahead.

I pulled myself out of the memory. My breathing was ragged. I couldn’t push out the feeling that the memory left. Something so whole that my body craved and curled around it. I thought my soul was leaning toward the stone, wishing desperately to cling to a truth, a beacon that could guide me back to myself. That raw tenderness. That kiss that said goodbye, come back, and I love you all at once. This memory showed me hope. And that was something I could chase to the ends of the earth.

You're following the Lord wholeheartedly, yet you're missing out on the forgiveness part. God's not just in the business of saving us from our sins. He's also in the business of forgiving those sins and putting them as far as the east is from the west.

Defective souls have an uncanny way of finding each other. They have built-in homing beacons that light up whenever they come close to another soul whose wavelength closely matches their own. The act of coming too close will inadvertently sear them together.

Thuuuuump…thu…thu…thump… “I love you, Shannon like the river…” Thump, thump, thump, thump… Devastation flooded my body, joined by deep regret. Johnny’s face was a beacon of lost hope behind my closed eyelids as I accepted the hand I had been dealt. Hot tears of bitterness and regret dripped from my lashes, splashing onto my cheeks and mixing with the dried blood. I felt so sad, like I had been robbed. Maybe in another life things could have been different. I could have been happy. “I think I need you for keeps…

Lands that stretch on forever. Skies one could drown in. The heartbeat of nature, silent yet strong. And amidst it all, a people. Beacons of light and life. Laughter that warmed my heart like naught else before. They are my meaning and my purpose. My love. In spite of...or perhaps because of this, I choose to believe. In mankind's potential. In his ability to find a way forward. So let there be no way back. From that temptation I sunder us. No more shall man have wings to bear him to paradise. Henceforth, he shall walk.

I have been so great a lover: filled my days So proudly with the splendour of Love's praise, The pain, the calm, and the astonishment, Desire illimitable, and still content, And all dear names men use, to cheat despair, For the perplexed and viewless streams that bear Our hearts at random down the dark of life. Now, ere the unthinking silence on that strife Steals down, I would cheat drowsy Death so far, My night shall be remembered for a star That outshone all the suns of all men's days. Shall I not crown them with immortal praise Whom I have loved, who have given me, dared with me High secrets, and in darkness knelt to see The inenarrable godhead of delight? Love is a flame; -- we have beaconed the world's night. A city: -- and we have built it, these and I. An emperor: -- we have taught the world to die. So, for their sakes I loved, ere I go hence, And the high cause of Love's magnificence, And to keep loyalties young, I'll write those names Golden for ever, eagles, crying flames, And set them as a banner, that men may know, To dare the generations, burn, and blow ved.

The truest form of beauty lies within us, emanating from the depths of our souls and shining through our eyes. It is not something that can be purchased or attained through physical means, but rather it is a reflection of how we feel on the inside. When we are happy, content, and at peace with ourselves, that inner beauty radiates outwards, illuminating our entire being. It is a beacon of light, drawing others in and making them feel the same sense of warmth and joy. It is in these moments that we truly radiate beauty, and we become a shining example for others to follow.

But what is particular to America is that many who suffered enormous loss and destruction have had to do so alone, had to marshal language to tell the story, only to find that there was no one to hear it because their suffering contradicts the story that the nation keeps telling itself—the story of American exceptionalism. America is a beacon of light, the singular enforcer of truth. Our story of exceptionalism doesn’t allow us to confront our past with open eyes. A nation that cannot see its own past cannot see the suffering it has caused, suffering that persists into the present.

Do you think you love him?" Phaedra had once asked. "I don't know really what that is," Quintana had responded in her cold, practical way. Yes, you do, my queen, Phaedra wanted to say now. Quintana's love was unabashed. Wondrous. The type of love that lit a strange, strange face and turned it into a beacon.

There’s a theory,” said Anna, handing him a cup of tea as she climbed back into bed, “that we are all Atlanteans.” “Who?” “Us. San Franciscans.” Edgar grinned indulgently, bracing himself for another yarn. Anna caught it. “Do you want to hear it … or are you getting stuffy on me?” “Go ahead. Tell me a story.” “Well … in one of our last incarnations, we were all citizens of Atlantis. All of us. You, me, Frannie, DeDe, Mary Ann…” “Are you sure she’s out of the building?” “She’s gone to her switchboard. Will you relax?” “O.K. I’m relaxed.” “All right, then. We all lived in this lovely, enlightened kingdom that sank beneath the sea a long time ago. Now we’ve come back to this special peninsula on the edge of the continent … because we know, in a secret corner of our minds, that we must return together to the sea.” “The earthquake.” Anna nodded. “Don’t you see? You said the earthquake, not an earthquake. You’re expecting it. We’re all expecting it.” “So what does that have to do with Atlantis?” “The Transamerica Pyramid, for one thing.” “Huh?” “Don’t you know what dominated the skyline of Atlantis, Edgar … the thing that loomed over everything?” He shook his head. “A pyramid! An enormous pyramid with a beacon burning at the top!

I belong to myself. Always. Eternally. Without question. My own safe house. My own sheltered harbor. I am my own solid ground. I am the lighthouse beacon. I call the ships safely home from sea. I am the North Star and the compass. I am my own port in the wildest storm. I am the spell caster and the spell breaker. I am a witch of alchemy and transformation. I am the pages in the grimoire of knowledge, I am the source of all the magic ever known. I am the kiss that wakes us all from slumber. I am the white horse knight in shining armor. I am my own happily ever after fairytale godmother. I am my own rest stop on the longest journey of living. The final destination on every treasure map I will ever need. I am my own primary relationship, my own till death do us part. I am my own center and saving grace, my own best-kept secret. I am the lineage of wisdom itself, the home of my own belonging. I am my own. And my own. And always my own.

From the vantage point of the stars, the world below stretched out in a vast expanse, a tapestry of shimmering lights against the backdrop of infinite darkness. Yet, amidst the grandeur of the cosmos, there lingered an unmistakable sense of loneliness—an ache that reverberated through the void, echoing the emptiness of the universe itself. In the silent expanse of space, I found myself confronting the stark reality of my own existence. I had outlasted all my desires, watched as my dreams drifted further and further away, until they were mere specks in the distant horizon of memory. What remained was a cavernous grief, an echo chamber of loss reverberating within the hollow confines of my heart. But amid the desolation, there existed a beacon of light—a solitary name that pierced through the darkness, igniting a spark within me. In that lonesome place, your name resonated like a melody, stirring my soul from its slumber, infusing it with the warmth of love and companionship. With each beat of my heart, I felt the tender embrace of your presence, a reminder that amidst the vastness of the cosmos, we are never truly alone. In your love, I found solace—a refuge from the solitude of the stars, a sanctuary where emptiness gave way to the richness of connection and belonging. Thank for existing!

Sometimes 1. Something came up out of the dark. It wasn’t anything I had ever seen before. It wasn’t an animal or a flower, unless it was both. Something came up out of the water, a head the size of a cat but muddy and without ears. I don’t know what God is. I don’t know what death is. But I believe they have between them some fervent and necessary arrangement. 2. Sometime melancholy leaves me breathless… 3. Water from the heavens! Electricity from the source! Both of them mad to create something! The lighting brighter than any flower. The thunder without a drowsy bone in its body. 4. Instructions for living a life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it. 5. Two or three times in my life I discovered love. Each time it seemed to solve everything. Each time it solved a great many things but not everything. Yet left me as grateful as if it had indeed, and thoroughly, solved everything. 6. God, rest in my heart and fortify me, take away my hunger for answers, let the hours play upon my body like the hands of my beloved. Let the cathead appear again- the smallest of your mysteries, some wild cousin of my own blood probably- some cousin of my own wild blood probably, in the black dinner-bowl of the pond. 7. Death waits for me, I know it, around one corner or another. This doesn’t amuse me. Neither does it frighten me. After the rain, I went back into the field of sunflowers. It was cool, and I was anything but drowsy. I walked slowly, and listened to the crazy roots, in the drenched earth, laughing and growing. Mary Oliver, Red Bird (Beacon Press, 2008)

What happened to your arm?" she asked me one night in the Gentleman Loser, the three of us drinking at a small table in a corner. Hang-gliding," I said, "accident." Hang-gliding over a wheatfield," said Bobby, "place called Kiev. Our Jack's just hanging there in the dark, under a Nightwing parafoil, with fifty kilos of radar jammed between his legs, and some Russian asshole accidentally burns his arm off with a laser." I don't remember how I changed the subject, but I did. I was still telling myself that it wasn't Rikki who getting to me, but what Bobby was doing with her. I'd known him for a long time, since the end of the war, and I knew he used women as counters in a game, Bobby Quine versus fortune, versus time and the night of cities. And Rikki had turned up just when he needed something to get him going, something to aim for. So he'd set her up as a symbol for everything he wanted and couldn't have, everything he'd had and couldn't keep. I didn't like having to listen to him tell me how much he loved her, and knowing he believed it only made it worse. He was a past master at the hard fall and the rapid recovery, and I'd seen it happen a dozen times before. He might as well have had next printed across his sunglasses in green Day-Glo capitals, ready to flash out at the first interesting face that flowed past the tables in the Gentleman Loser. I knew what he did to them. He turned them into emblems, sigils on the map of his hustler' s life, navigation beacons he could follow through a sea of bars and neon. What else did he have to steer by? He didn't love money, in and of itself , not enough to follow its lights. He wouldn't work for power over other people; he hated the responsibility it brings. He had some basic pride in his skill, but that was never enough to keep him pushing. So he made do with women. When Rikki showed up, he needed one in the worst way. He was fading fast, and smart money was already whispering that the edge was off his game. He needed that one big score, and soon, because he didn't know any other kind of life, and all his clocks were set for hustler's time, calibrated in risk and adrenaline and that supernal dawn calm that comes when every move's proved right and a sweet lump of someone else's credit clicks into your own account.

She found her view stuck to him, and it was impossible for her not to melt from within. His beautiful dark brown eyes that used to send her wild as a teen, still had the same effect. His dark unruly hair she used to toy with. And his lips, pink, and in need of her kiss. She was blushing like a beacon with so many passions coming back to her. There was a doubt, that maybe he would recognise her. But now, she could see what an empty man he was. He didn’t recognise her at all.

Societies sometimes smear Wisdom and her natural, symmetrical beauty. She is at times caked beneath the extreme makeup of dirty politics and yellow journalism. At times she may appear to be the red, far-right extremist to a majority that has drifted too far left - and at other times, the blue, far-left extremist to a majority that has drifted too far right. 'She' is Wisdom, a beacon in the center of hope and a lighthouse to be utilized. She is truth that must be washed by the sea of Love.

The man of perfect virtue in repose has no thoughts, in action no anxiety. He recognizes no right, nor wrong, nor good, nor bad. Within the Four Seas, when all profit—that is his repose. Men cling to him as children who have lost their mothers; they rally around him as wayfarers who have missed their road. He has wealth to spare, but he knows not whence it comes. He has food and drink more than sufficient, but knows not who provides it…. In an age of perfect virtue, good men are not appreciated; ability is not conspicuous. Rulers are mere beacons, while the people are as free as the wild deer. They are upright without being conscious of duty to their neighbors. They love one another without being conscious of charity. They are true without being conscious of loyalty. They are honest without being conscious of good faith. They act freely in all things without recognizing obligations to anyone. Thus, their deeds leave no trace; their affairs are not handed down to posterity.5 [62a]

MUHAMMAD (PBUH) In a world of darkness, despair, and wrong, Came Muhammad (PBUH), with a light so strong. Guided by Allah, the best of creation, He brought to hearts a pure salvation. With justice, mercy, and words so true, He showed what faith and love can do. Idols shattered, ignorance erased, By his hand, the path of truth embraced. Sent as mercy, unmatched and kind, A beacon for every soul and mind. O Beloved Prophet, your light remains, Forever in hearts, your love sustains.

We take so much of the universe on trust. You tell me: “In 1950 I lived on the north side of Beacon Street in Somerville.” You tell me: “She and I were lovers, but for months now we have only been good friends.” You tell me: “It is seventy degrees outside and the sun is shining.” Because I love you, because there is not even a question of lying between us, I take these accounts of the universe on trust: your address twenty-five years ago, your relationship with someone I know only by sight, this morning’s weather. I fling unconscious tendrils of belief, like slender green threads, across statements such as these, statements made so unequivocally, which have no tone or shadow of tentativeness. I build them into the mosaic of my world. I allow my universe to change in minute, significant ways, on the basis of things you have said to me, of my trust in you. I also have faith that you are telling me things it is important I should know; that you do not conceal facts from me in an effort to spare me, or yourself, pain. Or, at the very least, that you will say, “There are things I am not telling you.” When we discover that someone we trusted can be trusted no longer, it forces us to reexamine the universe, to question the whole instinct and concept of trust. For a while, we are thrust back onto some bleak, jutting ledge, in a dark pierced by sheets of fire, swept by sheets of rain, in a world before kinship, or naming, or tenderness exist; we are brought close to formlessness.

APRIL 17 BIND THE POWERS OF DARKNESS THAT CONTROL THE AIRWAVES MY CHILD, IT is My desire that you will do what is right in My sight and that you will walk in the ways of righteousness. Seek My face, and like My servant Josiah, purge your life and your home of the powers of darkness that arise as altars of wickedness in this present generation. Break down the wickedness of the media, which has corrupted the eyes of this present generation. Take authority over the powers of the enemy that are permeating the airwaves and releasing filth and violence upon this land. Seek My righteousness, and fill the eyes and the ears of this generation with the wonders and miracles of My great love and power. 2 CHRONICLES 34; EPHESIANS 2:2, LEVITICUS 26:30 Prayer Declaration Lord, I take authority over the princes of media in the name of Jesus. Let the high places of witchcraft be destroyed, and let the eyes and ears of this present generation be turned to Your righteousness. Make me a beacon of light in this evil world, and raise up a standard of righteousness in this land.

And I did it for Him and He loves them. He betrayed us! Do you know why they get to come back from the dead to slaughter more and more of us? I thought it was some demon’s trick. That maybe we could fix that, too, or instead if our first mission failed.” Now she’s laughing at herself, at her naivety. “But He did it. Because He loves them. He loves the demons. He still loves them! After they sold their souls, after they’ve tortured the Templars and Beacons, and countless random innocents, He still loves them! He wants to give them time to change their minds before they’re committed to hell. He wants to give those murdering bastards the ability to be redeemed. They slaughtered my family, bathed in the blood of my friends, and He still loves them.” She looks at me and I see in her expression so much pain, so much bitterness, so much rage that I would have stepped back, had the demons not been holding me in place. The darkness that has taken over her personality since she became a demon becomes suddenly clear. After everything she has sacrificed to His cause she can’t understand how He can forgive her enemies. But I do. I do and it hits me with the force of a train.

before he went back to helping the boy. Missing from the Warrior tent were Kalona and Aurox. For obvious reasons, Thanatos had decided the Tulsa community wasn’t ready to meet either of them. I agreed with her. I wasn’t ready for … I mentally shook myself. No, I wasn’t going to think about the Aurox/Heath situation now. Instead I turned my attention to the second of the big tents. Lenobia was there, keeping a sharp eye on the people who clustered like buzzing bees around Mujaji and the big Percheron mare, Bonnie. Travis was with her. Travis was always with her, which made my heart feel good. It was awesome to see Lenobia in love. The Horse Mistress was like a bright, shining beacon of joy, and with all the Darkness I’d seen lately, that was rain in my desert. “Oh, for shit’s sake, where did I put my wine? Has anyone seen my Queenies cup? As the bumpkin reminded me, my parents are here somewhere, and I’m going to need fortification by the time they circle around and find me.” Aphrodite was muttering and pawing through the boxes of unsold cookies, searching for the big purple plastic cup I’d seen her drinking from earlier. “You have wine in that Queenies to go cup?” Stevie Rae was shaking her head at Aphrodite. “And you’ve been drinkin’ it through a straw?” Shaunee joined Stevie Rae in a head shake. “Isn’t that nasty?” “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Aphrodite quipped. “There are too many nuns lurking around to drink openly without hearing a boring lecture.” Aphrodite cut her eyes to the right of us where Street Cats had set up a half-moon display of cages filled with adoptable cats and bins of catnip-filled toys for sale. The Street Cats had their own miniature version of the silver and white tents, and I could see Damien sitting inside busily handling the cash register, but except for him, running every aspect of the feline area were the habit-wearing Benedictine nuns who had made Street Cats their own. One of the nuns looked my way and I waved and grinned at the Abbess. Sister Mary Angela waved back before returning to the conversation she was having with a family who were obviously falling in love with a cute white cat that looked like a giant cottonball. “Aphrodite, the nuns are cool,” I reminded her. “And they look too busy to pay any attention to you,” Stevie Rae said. “Imagine that—you may not be the center of everyone’s attention,” Shaylin said with mock surprise. Stevie Rae covered her giggle with a cough. Before Aphrodite could say something hateful, Grandma limped up to us. Other than the limp and being pale, Grandma looked healthy and happy. It had only been a little over a week since Neferet had kidnapped and tried to kill her, but she’d recovered with amazing quickness. Thanatos had told us that was because she was in unusually good shape for a woman of her age. I knew it was because of something else—something we both shared—a special bond with a goddess who believed in giving her children free choice, along with gifting them with special abilities. Grandma was beloved of the Great Mother,

They reached for her, faces shadowed and twisted. Yet—yet even those faces, so warped with hatred … she still loved them—even if they loathed her, even if it ached; loved them until their hissing faded, until they vanished like smoke, leaving only Aelin lying beside her, as she had been all along. She looked at Aelin’s face—the face she’d once worn—and at her still outstretched hand, so small and unscarred. The darkness of the Valg princes flickered. There was solid ground beneath her. Moss and grass. Not hell—earth. The earth on which her kingdom lay, green and mountainous and as unyielding as its people. Her people. Her people, waiting for ten years, but no longer. She could see the snow-capped Staghorns, the wild tangle of Oakwald at their feet, and … and Orynth, that city of light and learning, once a pillar of strength—and her home. It would be both again. She would not let that light go out. She would fill the world with it, with her light—her gift. She would light up the darkness, so brightly that all who were lost or wounded or broken would find their way to it, a beacon for those who still dwelled in that abyss. It would not take a monster to destroy a monster—but light, light to drive out darkness. She was not afraid.

When I was 15 years old, I came in contact with my first ashram, my first spiritual commune, in the form of Ljusbacken ("The Hill of Light") in Delsbo in beautiful Halsingland in the north of Sweden. Ljusbacken consisted of an international gathering of yogis, meditators, therapists, healers and seekers of truth. It was on Ljusbacken that I for the first time came in contact with my path in life: meditation. It was also on Ljusbacken that I meet people for the first time in my 15 year old life, where I on a deep wordless level felt that I meet people, who were on the same path as me. It was the first time that I meet people, who could put words on and confirm my own inner thirst after something that I could only occasionally sense vaguely, like some sort of inner guiding presence, or like a beacon in the distant far out on the open and misty ocean. For the first time in my life, I meet brothers, sisters and friends on the inner path. It was also on Ljusbacken that I meet the mystery called love for the first time in my 15 year old life. With my 15 year old eyes, I watched with wide eyed fascination and fear filled excitement the incomprehensible mystery, which is called woman. My own thirst after truth, together with my inner guiding light, resulted in an early spiritual awakening when I was 15 years old. It led me back to the inner path, which I have already followed for many lives. It led me back to a life lived with vision, with dedication and meaning, and not only a life governed by the endless desires of the ego, a mere vegetating without substance between life and death. It led me to explore the inner journey again, to discover the inner being, the meditative quality within, and to come in intimate contact with the endless and boundless ocean of consciousness, like the drop surrenders to the sea. At the source, the drop and ocean are one.

What is faith? It is a memory. Of a time when all was perfect in the world. When there was no fear and no judgment and no death. It is a memory of a time before we were born, a beacon to guide us back from the end to the beginning, to the memory of where we came from. It is a memory of a promise made before the earth was formed, before the stars glittered in the primordial sea. A promise that says that we will remember what we have learned on this journey so that we may return full circle, the same and yet different. Older. Wiser. Filled with compassion for others. And for ourselves. What is faith? It is the memory of love.

From the vantage point of the stars, the world below stretched out in a vast expanse, a tapestry of shimmering lights against the backdrop of infinite darkness. Yet, amidst the grandeur of the cosmos, there lingered an unmistakable sense of loneliness—an ache that reverberated through the void, echoing the emptiness of the universe itself. In the silent expanse of space, I found myself confronting the stark reality of my own existence. I had outlasted all my desires, watched as my dreams drifted further and further away, until they were mere specks in the distant horizon of memory. What remained was a cavernous grief, an echo chamber of loss reverberating within the hollow confines of my heart. But amid the desolation, there existed a beacon of light—a solitary name that pierced through the darkness, igniting a spark within me. In that lonesome place, your name resonated like a melody, stirring my soul from its slumber, infusing it with the warmth of love and companionship. With each beat of my heart, I felt the tender embrace of your presence, a reminder that amidst the vastness of the cosmos, we are never truly alone. In your love, I found solace—a refuge from the solitude of the stars, a sanctuary where emptiness gave way to the richness of connection and belonging. Thank you for existing!

Good faith, this same young sober-blooded boy doth not love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh—but that's no marvel; he drinks no wine. There's never none of these demure boys come to any proof; for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches. They are generally fools and cowards-which some of us should be too, but for inflammation. A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble, fiery, and delectable shapes; which delivered o'er to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent sherris is the warming of the blood; which before, cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice; but the sherris warms it, and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extremes. It illumineth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their captain, the heart, who, great and puff'd up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage—and this valour comes of sherris. So that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil till sack commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and till'd, with excellent endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris, that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first humane principle I would teach them should be to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.

Touch is the most basic and fundamental of human experiences. Before we can suckle, before we can even see, we are enveloped by the welcoming arms of our mother. As we nestle into her body, feel the steadiness of her heartbeat, breathe her smell, we embed ourselves with her as our beacon. Her body, her voice, her skin, her touch become the way we orient ourselves as we make our personal journey through infancy, childhood and beyond. And touch is among the most crucial of these elements, not only providing us, in the case of loving touch, with a sense of security and ease in our bodies, but shaping our biology and our neurocircuitry in ways that will affect our tempers and our personalities throughout our lives.

IS there such a feeling as love at first sight? And if there be, in what does its nature differ from love founded in long observation and slow growth? Perhaps its effects are not so permanent; but they are, while they last, as violent and intense. We walk the pathless mazes of society, vacant of joy, till we hold this clue, leading us through that labyrinth to paradise. Our nature dim, like to an unlighted torch, sleeps in formless blank till the fire attain it; this life of life, this light to moon, and glory to the sun. What does it matter, whether the fire be struck from flint and steel, nourished with care into a flame, slowly communicated to the dark wick, or whether swiftly the radiant power of light and warmth passes from a kindred power, and shines at once the beacon and the hope.

Ground Zero by Stewart Stafford At the rim of the abyss, Among the malignant smoking rubble, And the plane and body parts, The traumatised rediscovered their purpose. In a moonscape of fallen pride, identity, and ambition, The anonymous saved something of the unsalvageable, Searchers with sandwiches and coffee in the toxic dust, Manna from Good Samaritans with unconditional gratitude. As the lungs struggled to take in air, The hearts of each participant enlarged, And found shelter in non-partisan synergy, Becoming a family of former strangers. The lesson of the lost was to stay loving and open-hearted, Not turn away and isolate from life and others, Even when the scars became unbearable, Their stolen affection remained a towering beacon from the ruins. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.

Darkness: I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day, And men forgot their passions in the dread Of this their desolation; and all hearts Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light: And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones, The palaces of crowned kings—the huts, The habitations of all things which dwell, Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd, And men were gather'd round their blazing homes To look once more into each other's face; Happy were those who dwelt within the eye Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch: A fearful hope was all the world contain'd; Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks Extinguish'd with a crash—and all was black. The brows of men by the despairing light Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits The flashes fell upon them; some lay down And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd; And others hurried to and fro, and fed Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up With mad disquietude on the dull sky, The pall of a past world; and then again With curses cast them down upon the dust, And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd And twin'd themselves among the multitude, Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food. And War, which for a moment was no more, Did glut himself again: a meal was bought With blood, and each sate sullenly apart Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; All earth was but one thought—and that was death Immediate and inglorious; and the pang Of famine fed upon all entrails—men Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh; The meagre by the meagre were devour'd, Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one, And he was faithful to a corse, and kept The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay, Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food, But with a piteous and perpetual moan, And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand Which answer'd not with a caress—he died. The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two Of an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies: they met beside The dying embers of an altar-place Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things For an unholy usage; they rak'd up, And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath Blew for a little life, and made a flame Which was a mockery; then they lifted up Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld Each other's aspects—saw, and shriek'd, and died— Even of their mutual hideousness they died, Unknowing who he was upon whose brow Famine had written Fiend. The world was void, The populous and the powerful was a lump, Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless— A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay. The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still, And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths; Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd They slept on the abyss without a surge— The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before; The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need Of aid from them—She was the Universe.

thing brings us together – the love of the Lord, the Gospel of Jesus and reverence for the Holy Virgin, whether she be the mother of God or the mother of Christ. We have renounced the clamour of the world, and we know the Virgin in our hearts, not through the words of the theologians or their sects. Here we will adhere to the creed they drafted in Ephesus and we will rally people around it in the fold of the Lord, or else Satan will play tricks with the common people if they are disunited. We have a way to God which is not defined in any written creed or by any special words. The monastic life has a mystery which transcends words, rises above language and is too subtle to articulate. Monasticism, the communal and monastic life, will remain a beacon to guide the faithful, a path for those who have dedicated themselves sincerely to their love for the Lord, and who have deep faith in Jesus Christ and reverence for the Virgin.’ I liked what

My voice comes from faraway, therefore it is faint and, also, because it is a woman’s voice, it is trembling of the emotion imposed by your presence, as much as of the honour of being listen to. My voice comes from faraway, but it hopes when you will listen to it that it will resound in your hearts. My voice comes from the midst of this nation, which having been placed on the threshold of Europe, will have loved and admired France and like France, and often through it, she would have strived for Freedom, vowed to have accomplished a splendid destiny and face bravely the changing mood of Fortune. You may well recognise in these qualities Romania, land of suffering, land of enlightenment and of valour placed across the promontory against the dredge of Asian invasions and like a beacon being mightily conscious of defending the civilization, which gave it its people and its laws. - Paris, 27th April 1925; addressing the League of Nations (translated Constantin Roman

Her people, waiting for ten years, but no longer. She could see the snow-capped Staghorns, the wild tangle of Oakwald at their feet, and … and Orynth, that city of light and learning, once a pillar of strength—and her home. It would be both again. She would not let that light go out. She would fill the world with it, with her light—her gift. She would light up the darkness, so brightly that all who were lost or wounded or broken would find their way to it, a beacon for those who still dwelled in that abyss. It would not take a monster to destroy a monster—but light, light to drive out darkness. She was not afraid. She would remake the world—remake it for them, those she had loved with this glorious, burning heart; a world so brilliant and prosperous that when she saw them again in the Afterworld, she would not be ashamed. She would build it for her people, who had survived this long, and whom she would not abandon. She would make for them a kingdom such as there had never been, even if it took until her last breath.

They work with feverish haste, even though the country road they’re on is silent except for birdsong. They take their cue from Parks, who is grim-faced and urgent, speaking in monosyllables, chivvying them along. “Okay,” he says at last. “We’re good to go. Everybody ready to move out?” One by one they nod. It’s starting to sink in that a journey you could do in half a day on good roads has just become a four- or five-day trek through terra completely incognita, and Justineau presumes that that’s as hard for the rest of them to come to terms with as it is for her. She was brought to the base by helicopter, directly from Beacon–and she lived in Beacon for long enough that it became her status quo. Thoughts from before that time, from the Breakdown, when the world filled with monsters who looked like people you knew and loved, and every living soul went scrambling and skittering for cover like mice when the cat wakes up, have been so deeply suppressed, for so long, that they’re not memories at all–they’re memories of memories. And

Wessex Heights There are some heights in Wessex, shaped as if by a kindly hand For thinking, dreaming, dying on, and at crises when I stand, Say, on Ingpen Beacon eastward, or on Wylls-Neck westwardly, I seem where I was before my birth, and after death may be. In the lowlands I have no comrade, not even the lone man’s friend – Her who suffereth long and is kind; accepts what he is too weak to mend: Down there they are dubious and askance; there nobody thinks as I, But mind-chains do not clank where one’s next neighbour is the sky. In the towns I am tracked by phantoms having weird detective ways – Shadows of beings who fellowed with myself of earlier days: They hang about at places, and they say harsh heavy things – Men with a frigid sneer, and women with tart disparagings. Down there I seem to be false to myself, my simple self that was, And is not now, and I see him watching, wondering what crass cause Can have merged him into such a strange continuator as this, Who yet has something in common with himself, my chrysalis. I cannot go to the great grey Plain; there’s a figure against the moon, Nobody sees it but I, and it makes my breast beat out of tune; I cannot go to the tall-spired town, being barred by the forms now passed For everybody but me, in whose long vision they stand there fast. There’s a ghost at Yell’ham Bottom chiding loud at the fall of the night, There’s a ghost in Froom-side Vale, thin lipped and vague, in a shroud of white, There is one in the railway-train whenever I do not want it near, I see its profile against the pane, saying what I would not hear. As for one rare fair woman, I am now but a thought of hers, I enter her mind and another thought succeeds me that she prefers; Yet my love for her in its fulness she herself even did not know; Well, time cures hearts of tenderness, and now I can let her go. So I am found on Ingpen Beacon, or on Wylls-Neck to the west, Or else on homely Bulbarrow, or little Pilsdon Crest, Where men have never cared to haunt, nor women have walked with me, And ghosts then keep their distance; and I know some liberty.

ENTHUSIASM FOR CHRIST Therefore, get your minds ready for action, being self-disciplined, and set your hope completely on the grace to be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ. As obedient children, do not be conformed to the desires of your former ignorance but, as the One who called you is holy, you also are to be holy in all your conduct. 1 Peter 1:13-15 HCSB John Wesley advised, “Catch on fire with enthusiasm and people will come for miles to watch you burn.” His words still ring true. When we fan the flames of enthusiasm for Christ, our faith serves as a beacon to others. Our world desperately needs faithful women who share the Good News of Jesus with joyful exuberance. Be such a woman. The world desperately needs your enthusiasm—and your testimony—now! We must go out and live among them, manifesting the gentle, loving spirit of our Lord. We need to make friends before we can hope to make converts. Lottie Moon One of the great needs in the church today is for every Christian to become enthusiastic about his faith in Jesus Christ. Billy Graham A TIMELY TIP If you become excited about life . . . life will become an exciting adventure.

Torin, I didn’t know it was possible to find someone like you. You love me for who I am, not what I am. You’ve taught me that it’s okay to walk on my own, yet you’re always there to carry me when I can’t. You’ve taught me it’s okay to run, stumble, and fall, and pick myself up because a fall is nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve taught me it’s okay to fly because the sky is the limit and you’ll catch me if I fall. You inspire me, challenge me, and celebrate me. You are the first man I’ve ever loved and you will be the last man I’ll ever love. You are my one and only true love, and I promise I will love you for eternity.” Hawk draped the silk rope around our wrists and picked up the second one. Torin looked into my eyes as he started to speak, his voice sure, his words sincere. “Raine Cooper, from the moment you opened your door and our eyes met for the first time, I knew I had reached the end of my quest, yet I didn’t even know what I was searching for. I just knew you were the one, my omega. Where there was cold, you’ve brought warmth. Where there was sadness, you’ve brought happiness. Where there was pain, you’ve brought relief. Where there was darkness, you’ve brought light. You know me better than anyone, my fears, my shortcomings, my habits, yet you still love me. My vows to you are a privilege because I get to laugh with you, cry with you, walk with you, run with you, and fight with you for the rest of our lives. I promise to be patient. Most of the time,” he added, smiling. “I promise to be faithful, respectful, attentive, and to become even a better man for you. I promise to celebrate your triumphs and step back so you can shine like the star you are, but I’ll always be there when you need me. My shoulders are yours to cry on and to carry your burdens. My body is the shield that blocks the blows that might harm you and yours to do with as you wish. My hopes and dreams will always start and end with you. Yours will be the name I cry when I’m in need. Your eyes are the balm I seek when I’m in pain. And your soul is the beacon that my soul searches for when I’m lost. I will love you fiercely, tenderly, and passionately. And when we have children, I promise to be the best father a child could ever want. For you, Raine Cooper, deserve the best and I plan to give it you. You are my one and only true love, and I promise I will love you for eternity.

And when the day closes, I shall know I have done my part. To every soul, who feels that there's a bunch of dreams left unrealised, remember that as long as the Life remains, the possibility to dream remains. Remember that sometimes some dreams that we paint in our hearts are not meant to grow us in our journey of Life and then while we walk along the path, even the detours and broken dreams pave way to a whole lot of waking dreams that only the heart of gratitude can see and feel. I have seen and felt, that sometimes some souls have to go through a lot of trials and tribulations, lessons and sufferings, and even then they never fail to wear kindness and grace simply because they know that what happens around them should not intrude upon what is inside their heart. To know that we are here for a purpose and to not live idly, to know that the purpose is as simple as to stay kind and open to every possibility is as beautiful as the sky who knows no matter how dark the night is the stars would always lit her face. In a world where everything comes at a price, if you're choosing to stay kind, if you're choosing to value your dignity and your integrity, if your choosing to understand and embrace the smile of Solitude, if you're choosing to employ your faculties to understand the real questions of Life, then you're alive, much more alive than your human dreams could have made you feel. Because no matter what, when sunset hits the night, and the day comes to a close you know you've done your part, you know you have embraced one more day with gratitude and grace, with a formidable zeal for Life and an invincible spirit of human understanding that stands firm pillared with Hope and Faith. And then no matter how many voices shrill your mind, the echo of your soul would pierce through your heart and enlighten every inch of your mind, body and soul, and you would know how proud the Universe must be to see the faithfulness, the strength and resilience in your soul, the very mould that was shaped in the fire of the Stardust that shines upon the sky, sometimes becoming a beacon to others while sometimes lying beautifully hidden but always there, always alive. And so each time, I look at the sky with a bunch of stars, I know I am alive, burning with all that Life is made up of. And someday when the day closes for another dawn altogether, I shall know that I have done my part, pretty well.

Lies. Everyones lies. Not everyone lies well. I'm one of those people, a bad liar. My truths are like little flashes of light, stars blinking in the inky black sky. They beacon to the sea of people beneath me, revealing I'm nothing more than a plastic smile melting away in the harsh burn of reality. And my reality, hurts like hell. Beneath my weak attempts at pretend happiness, I'm a void. Emptying emptiness. Dripping nothing into a endless pool of nothingness. My pain is the truth i know best. Aching, soul shattering, longing. The loneliness pulling my every cell into its dark depths is almost too much to bare. Somedays I can barley breathe. This suffering is a sadist, cutting me little by little, day by day. Until one day I'll be completely drained, dried up and hollow. One last kick to the heart before I'm scattered into the wind. Forgotten. I’m in love with my best friend. Lie. I’m in love with my enemy. Truth. But they’re the same. They. Are. The. Same. Lines in my world are blurry between fantasy and reality. Truth and lies. Love and hate. Copeland Justice is my enemy. My once best friend. The sadist in my heart plucking and pulling at every thread of who I am until I’m unraveled at his feet. His mouth says he hates me. His eyes burn with animosity for me. His heart beats for someone else. But Copeland Justice is the best liar of us all.

Simon laughs when I audibly exhale. “Relieved she’s not here yet?” I roll my suitcase into one of the barren bedrooms and then plunk down on the rock-hard, hideous orange sofa in the lounge. Simon takes a swivel chair from my room and slides it in front of me, where he then plants himself. “Why are you so worried?” I cross my arms and look around the concrete room. “I’m not worried at all. She’s probably very nice. I’m sure we’ll become soul mates, and she’ll braid my hair, and we’ll have pillow fights while scantily clad and fall into a deep lesbian love affair.” I squint my eyes at a cobweb and assume there are spider eggs preparing to hatch and invade the room. “Allison?” Simon waits until I look at him. “You can’t do that. You can’t become a lesbian.” “Why not?” “Because then everyone will say that your adoptive gay father magically made you gay, and it’ll be a big thing, and we’ll have to hear about nature versus nurture, and it’ll be soooooo boring.” “You have a point.” I wait for spider eggs to fall from the sky. “Then I’ll go with assuming she’s just a really sweet, normal person with whom I do not want to engage in sexual relations.” “Better,” he concedes. “I’m sure she’ll be nice. This kind of strong liberal arts college attracts quality students. There’re good people here.” He’s trying to reassure me, but it’s not working. “Totally,” I say. My fingers run across the nubby burned-orange fabric covering the couch, which is clearly composed of rock slabs. “Simon?” “Yes, Allison?” I sigh and take a few breaths while I play with the hideous couch threads. “She probably has horns.” He shrugged. “I think that’s unlikely.” Simon pauses. “Although . . .” “Although what?” I ask with horror. There’s a long silence that makes me nervous. Finally, he says very slowly, “She might have one horn.” I jerk my head and stare at him. Simon claps his hands together and tries to coax a smile out of me. “Like a unicorn! Ohmigod! Your roommate might be a unicorn!” “Or a rhinoceros,” I point out. “A beastly, murderous rhino.” “There is that,” he concedes. I sigh. “In good news, if I ever need a back scratcher, I have this entire couch.” I slump back against the rough fabric and hold out my hands before he can protest. “I know. I’m a beacon of positivity.” “That’s not news to me.

In a matter of sixty short minutes, that thing could whisk Neil away to civilization, I thought. Hmm. My goodness, that was a beautiful prospect. Somehow I had to get on that chopper with him. I packed in thirty seconds flat, everything from the past three months. I taped a white cross onto my sleeve, and raced out to where Neil was sat waiting. One chance. What the heck. Neil shook his head at me, smiling. “God, you push it, Bear, don’t you?” he shouted over the noise of the rotors. “You’re going to need a decent medic on the flight,” I replied, with a smile. “And I’m your man.” (There was at least some element of truth in this: I was a medic and I was his buddy--and yes, he did need help. But essentially I was trying to pull a bit of a fast one.) The pilot shouted that two people would be too heavy. “I have to accompany him at all times,” I shouted back over the engine noise. “His feet might fall off at any moment,” I added quietly. The pilot looked back at me, then at the white cross on my sleeve. He agreed to drop Neil somewhere down at a lower altitude, and then come back for me. “Perfect. Go. I’ll be here.” I shook his hand firmly. Let’s just get this done before anyone thinks too much about it, I mumbled to myself. And with that the pilot took off and disappeared from view. Mick and Henry were laughing. “If you pull this one off, Bear, I will eat my socks. You just love to push it, don’t you?” Mick said, smiling. “Yep, good try, but you aren’t going to see him again, I guarantee you,” Henry added. Thanks to the pilot’s big balls, he was wrong. The heli returned empty, I leapt aboard, and with the rotors whirring at full power to get some grip in the thin air, the bird slowly lifted into the air. The stall warning light kept buzzing away as we fought against gravity, but then the nose dipped and soon we were skimming over the rocks, away from base camp and down the glacier. I was out of there--and Mick was busy taking his socks off. As we descended, I spotted, far beneath us, this lone figure sat on a rock in the middle of a giant boulder field. Neil’s two white “beacons” shining bright. I love it. I smiled. We picked Neil up, and in an instant we were flying together through the huge Himalayan valleys like an eagle freed. Neil and I sat back in the helicopter, faces pressed against the glass, and watched our life for the past three months become a shimmer in the distance. The great mountain faded into a haze, hidden from sight. I leaned against Neil’s shoulder and closed my eyes. Everest was gone.

He'd found a sweet-water stream that I drank from, and for dinner we found winkles that we ate baked on stones. We watched the sun set like a peach on the sea, making plans on how we might live till a ship called by. Next we made a better camp beside a river and had ourselves a pretty bathing pool all bordered with ferns; lovely it was, with marvelous red parrots chasing through the trees. Our home was a hut made of branches thatched with flat leaves, a right cozy place to sleep in. We had fat birds that Jack snared for our dinner, and made fire using a shard of looking glass I found in my pocket. We had lost the compass in the water, but didn't lament it. I roasted fish and winkles in the embers. For entertainment we even had Jack's penny whistle. It was a paradise, it was." "You loved him," her mistress said softly, as her pencil resumed its hissing across the paper. Peg fought a choking feeling in her chest. Aye, she had loved him- a damned sight more than this woman could ever know. "He loved me like his own breath," she said, in a voice that was dangerously plaintive. "He said he thanked God for the day he met me." Peg's eyes brimmed full; she was as weak as water. The rest of her tale stuck in her throat like a fishbone. Mrs. Croxon murmured that Peg might be released from her pose. Peg stared into space, again seeing Jack's face, so fierce and true. He had looked down so gently on her pitiful self; on her bruises and her bony body dressed in salt-hard rags. His blue eyes had met hers like a beacon shining on her naked soul. "I see past your always acting the tough girl," he insisted with boyish stubbornness. "I'll be taking care of you now. So that's settled." And she'd thought to herself, so this is it, girl. All them love stories, all them ballads that you always thought were a load of old tripe- love has found you out, and here you are. Mrs. Croxon returned with a glass of water, and Peg drank greedily. She forced herself to continue with self-mocking gusto. "When we lay down together in our grass house we whispered vows to stay true for ever and a day. We took pleasure from each other's bodies, and I can tell you, mistress, he were no green youth, but all grown man. So we were man and wife before God- and that's the truth." She faced out Mrs. Croxon with a bold stare. "You probably think such as me don't love so strong and tender, but I loved Jack Pierce like we was both put on earth just to find each other. And that night I made a wish," Peg said, raising herself as if from a trance, "a foolish wish it were- that me and Jack might never be rescued. That the rotten world would just leave us be.

The Night-Song, the immortal plaint of one who, thanks to his superabundance of light and power, thanks to the sun within him, is condemned never to love. It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my soul too is a gushing spring. It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too is the song of a lover. Something unquenched and unquenchable is within me, that would raise its voice. A craving for love is within me, which itself speaketh the language of love. Light am I: would that I were night! But this is my loneliness, that I am begirt with light. Alas, why am I not dark and like unto the night! How joyfully would I then suck at the breasts of light! And even you would I bless, ye twinkling starlets and glow-worms on high! and be blessed in the gifts of your light. But in mine own light do I live, ever back into myself do I drink the flames I send forth. I know not the happiness of the hand stretched forth to grasp; and oft have I dreamt that stealing must be more blessed than taking. Wretched am I that my hand may never rest from giving: an envious fate is mine that I see expectant eyes and nights made bright with longing. Oh, the wretchedness of all them that give! Oh, the clouds that cover the face of my sun! That craving for desire! that burning hunger at the end of the feast! They take what I give them; but do I touch their soul? A gulf is there 'twixt giving and taking; and the smallest gulf is the last to be bridged. An appetite is born from out my beauty: would that I might do harm to them that I fill with light; would that I might rob them of the gifts I have given:—thus do I thirst for wickedness. To withdraw my hand when their hand is ready stretched forth like the waterfall that wavers, wavers even in its fall:—thus do I thirst for wickedness. For such vengeance doth my fulness yearn: to such tricks doth my loneliness give birth. My joy in giving died with the deed. By its very fulness did my virtue grow weary of itself. He who giveth risketh to lose his shame; he that is ever distributing groweth callous in hand and heart therefrom. Mine eyes no longer melt into tears at the sight of the suppliant's shame; my hand hath become too hard to feel the quivering of laden hands. Whither have ye fled, the tears of mine eyes and the bloom of my heart? Oh, the solitude of all givers! Oh, the silence of all beacons! Many are the suns that circle in barren space; to all that is dark do they speak with their light—to me alone are they silent. Alas, this is the hatred of light for that which shineth: pitiless it runneth its course. Unfair in its inmost heart to that which shineth; cold toward suns,—thus doth every sun go its way. Like a tempest do the Suns fly over their course: for such is their way. Their own unswerving will do they follow: that is their coldness. Alas, it is ye alone, ye creatures of gloom, ye spirits of the night, that take your warmth from that which shineth. Ye alone suck your milk and comfort from the udders of light. Alas, about me there is ice, my hand burneth itself against ice! Alas, within me is a thirst that thirsteth for your thirst! It is night: woe is me, that I must needs be light! And thirst after darkness! And loneliness! It is night: now doth my longing burst forth like a spring,—for speech do I long. It is night: now do all gushing springs raise their voices. And my soul too is a gushing spring. It is night: now only do all lovers burst into song. And my soul too is the song of a lover.

Life without meaning, hope, and love breeds a coldhearted, mean-spirited outlook that destroys the individual and others.

Glance in the mirror Peek at the substantiality the mirror holds. A beacon of sunshine A miracle wandering the lands of the Universe. A force. A genuine, boundless majestic being

The opposite can happen, as well. We can be better men. We can learn to love truth and wisdom. When enough little lights grow into a mighty flame, we can be a beacon for good in a world that has lost its mind. But we’re going to have to get tough and bold and understand that such a stand will cost us something personally. But it will be worth it.

The burn in my chest became near unbearable. Icy needles pierced my skin. "I love you, Ansel." My vision clouded as the waves truly descended, shocking and brutal. Though they pulled me away from him, I'd remember his smile until the day I died. Until the day I saw it again. His fingers slipped from mine, and he drifted backward, a beacon of light in the darkness. "I love you too.

You can't heal the people you love, You can't make choices for them, You can't rescue them, You can't promise them that they won't journey alone, You can loan them your map, But the trip is theirs. You can lend them strength when theirs runs thin, You can light the way when darkness creeps in. You can offer love, a hand to hold tight, But their path's their own, through day and night. They'll navigate highs, they'll face the lows, Their journey's unique, the way it goes. You'll stand as guide, a source of care, But in their footsteps, they'll learn to fare. Your support, a beacon along their track, A guiding presence, to help them back. Yet the road they tread, the course they chart, It's theirs to walk, it's from their heart. They'll find their way, through wind and rain, With lessons learned, they'll ease the pain. Your love's a compass, in the journey they're on, But healing's theirs, when the night turns to dawn.

In a world that thrives on diversity, the LGBTQ+ community stands as a testament to the beauty of authenticity and the strength of the human spirit. We are a tapestry of vibrant colors, interwoven with the threads of love, courage, and resilience. Our existence is not defined by societal norms but by the unwavering belief that love knows no boundaries. In embracing our true selves, we challenge the confines of convention and rewrite the narrative of what it means to be human. We are the bold pioneers who refuse to be silenced, forging paths of acceptance and equality for future generations. Through every step we take, we paint a brighter tomorrow, where love is celebrated in all its forms. Our community is a symphony of voices, harmonizing in a chorus of authenticity. From every corner of the globe, we rise above prejudice and discrimination, demanding recognition, respect, and the right to love freely. We are the embodiment of resilience, turning adversity into opportunity, and transforming hate into understanding. In our journey, we find solace in unity. We stand shoulder to shoulder, a collective force that cannot be ignored. We are family, friends, and allies, bound by compassion and a shared commitment to creating a world where everyone is embraced for who they are. Our pride radiates like a beacon, illuminating the path towards a society that celebrates diversity and champions equality. We are the architects of change, dismantling the walls of ignorance and prejudice. With every act of love and every act of defiance, we redefine the boundaries of possibility. So let the world bear witness to the kaleidoscope of love that we embody. Let our colors shine unapologetically, guiding others towards a future where acceptance is the norm. Together, we will continue to paint the world with the brushstrokes of compassion, understanding, and love, leaving a legacy of inclusivity that will endure for generations to come. In a world that can sometimes be gray, let us be the vibrant hues that light up the sky, reminding all that love has no limits, and the LGBTQ+ community is a testament to the infinite power of the human heart.

Bigotry is a poison that corrodes the very fabric of humanity, staining our hearts with prejudice and our minds with ignorance. It is a destructive force that thrives on fear, division, and the rejection of our shared humanity. To combat bigotry is to dismantle the barriers that separate us, to recognize the inherent worth of every individual, regardless of their race, religion, gender, or sexual orientation. It is to embrace diversity as a source of strength, understanding that our differences are what make us beautifully unique. Bigotry blinds us to the richness of the tapestry of human existence, condemning us to a world of narrow-mindedness and intolerance. It stifles progress, stifles progress, hampers empathy, and perpetuates injustice. It is an affront to the principles of equality and the fundamental rights we all deserve. Confronting bigotry requires courage, empathy, and a commitment to unlearn the biases ingrained within us. It is an ongoing process that demands self-reflection and a willingness to challenge our own preconceived notions. It is about standing up against discrimination in all its forms, whether overt or subtle, and refusing to be complicit in the face of injustice. In the fight against bigotry, we must be vigilant and steadfast, for it is not enough to be non-racist or non-discriminatory; we must actively be anti-bigotry. We must use our voices to amplify the silenced, to advocate for change, and to build bridges of understanding where there were once walls of prejudice. Let us remember that the power to eradicate bigotry lies within each and every one of us. It is through education, dialogue, and empathy that we can dismantle the walls of hatred and forge a society built on acceptance, respect, and love. Together, let us be the fierce advocates for equality, the beacons of hope in the face of darkness, and the champions of a world where bigotry has no place. For in the unity of our actions, we can create a future where every individual can flourish, and where the radiant tapestry of humanity shines in all its glory.

In confessions deep, my heart reveals its weight, As the ink on paper echoes a love so great. At dawn's first light, your thought graces my mind, A gentle whisper, consciousness defined. Magical moments, your essence in the air, Setting joy's tone, a happiness rare. In waking thoughts, I sense you near, A profound love, crystal clear. With patience vast, I embrace life's bends, Winding paths and obstacles it sends. Prepared to wait, my love steadfast and true, Believing destiny will guide us, me and you. Unbound by barriers, a transcendent love, Withstanding time, distance above. In sleepless nights, haunted by silence so deep, Love unwavering, secrets it keeps. Blocked yet unbroken, my love persists, Enduring pain, challenges that exist. Through tear-stained keys, a message I impart, A love resilient, etched in my heart. Fear may linger, a future unclear, Yet hope prevails, refusing to disappear. Blocked or unblocked, my love remains, A steadfast beacon, untouched by chains. In patience and pain, my truth I declare, An unwavering love, beyond compare. Even if faces fades from view, Hope persists, love enduring, and true.

Inner Odyssey In the depths of my being, I feel a stirring, A sense of discontent, a restless yearning. A voice inside me whispers, "There's more to life," And I know that it's time to embrace the strife. Self-improvement is the call of the day, A journey that takes us along the way. To become the best version of ourselves, We must delve deep and know ourselves. The first step on the road to self-improvement, Is to accept ourselves with love and fulfillment. Acknowledging our flaws, without self-judgment, Embracing our strengths, with pride and contentment. Next, we must set our sights on a goal, Something that inspires, that stirs the soul. It could be a passion, a dream to chase, Or a new skill to learn, a challenge to face. With this goal in mind, we chart our course, And take the first step with courage and force. It may not be easy, the path may be rough, But with each step forward, we gain in rebuff. The road to self-improvement is not a sprint, But a marathon, where patience and persistence are the hint. With every day's effort, we inch closer to our aim, And as we move forward, we break free from the chain. Self-improvement requires discipline and focus, The determination to rise above the hocus-pocus. To maintain our momentum, we must prioritize, And make every moment count, as we surmise. The journey is long, and at times, we may stumble, But if we keep our eyes on the prize, we will not crumble. With every setback, we learn and grow, And with every success, we feel the glow. Self-improvement is not just about us, It's about those we touch, those who we fuss. As we grow, we inspire others to follow, And to chase their dreams, without any hollow. We become the beacon of light, a ray of hope, For those who are lost, a guide to help them cope. With our words and actions, we inspire change, And in doing so, our lives are rearrange. Self-improvement is not a destination, But a journey that unfolds, without limitation. As we reach one goal, we set our sights anew, And in doing so, we discover ourselves anew. So let us embrace the journey of self-improvement, And strive to be the best, with every moment. For as we grow and learn, we enrich our lives, And in doing so, we touch others' lives. The journey is long, but the rewards are great, For as we improve ourselves, we change our fate. So let us take the first step with courage and force, And embrace the journey with passion and remorse.

You can hate the moment you line up your barrel, and you can love the second you lower it.

You fucking size queen,” Isaac breathed out, and Daniel dissolved into a giggle fit at the scandalized and vaguely jealous expression on Isaac’s handsome face. “Fucking figures, the porn snob would get the guy with the oversized dick with special accessories!” Isaac hissed, and Daniel gave up trying to be quiet and laughed so hard he almost fell off the bed.

Little Planet on The Prairie (New Earth Anthem) New Earth is an art of love, not a stain of hateful ignorance. New Earth is a land of promise, not of greed and indifference. New Earth is a blank canvas, we gotta decide what we paint - masterpiece of an inclusive dawn, or a bloody reminder of apish days. New Earth is a better Earth, we no longer thirst after blood. We toil together without divide, to be a gentle beacon in the cosmos. Hijab, habit, turban, all are equal, It's bigotry that is unacceptable. On our New Earth character is supreme, primitive traditions are expendable. Existence here is an art of love, at our planet on the cosmic prairie. New Earth is a celebration of life, not a validation of ruinous rigidity.

There aren’t any rules about how long you gotta know someone to know you love them. The army taught me that. You can hate the moment you line up your barrel, and you can love the second you lower it. Back and forth like that. Oscillating grav panels. There’s no up or down to the cosmos, just a whole bunch of fucking sideways. Just people loving and hating. And no rules on how long it takes.

JAKE: He told me he has feelings for you. ME: He did?! When? JAKE: A few days ago. When he was at the house that morning. ME: Why didn’t you tell me? JAKE: Why would I? I figured he’d tell you that he had feelings. ME: He did. I mean why didn’t you tell me he told you about it?! JAKE: Because I’m not a teenage girl named Stephanie. ME: Who is Stephanie? JAKE: I don’t know! This is why I don’t talk to you about girl stuff! ME: Oh my God why are you like this?! JAKE: Why are YOU like THAT?! Why can’t you just be happy? What, my billionaire best friend isn’t good enough for you? Are you holding out for Elon Musk to take you to Mars? New York isn’t exotic enough? ME: Oh my God. I can’t with you right now. I have to get ready to go. JAKE: I can’t with you either. ME: I love you. Don’t die in a fire. JAKE: Whatever, nutjob. Love you. Don’t die in a plane crash.

I love you.” I kiss him all over his face. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” … “I’ve never not loved you. You don’t have to say anything – just fuck me right now, okay?” He lowers his head, laughing quietly. “I love you too, Little Sweeney. For real for real. And I will fuck you right now.” He kisses my cheek and says “Hang on”.

Your kind words can be a lifeline for someone about to give up. They can be a beacon of hope in the darkest night. They can heal wounded hearts. They can bring peace of mind and make someone’s day just fine. Spread love and kindness wherever you are, and let your light shine.

When the darkness around us refuses to budge, we must shine all the brighter by changing ourselves for the better. For our own souls' sake, we must break free from the toxic grasp of harmful influences and choose the path of righteousness, even if it means leaving others behind. By changing for good, we create a distance between ourselves and the corruption, preserving our moral integrity and ensuring our light continues to shine, a beacon of hope in a world that desperately needs it.

Her people. Her people, waiting for ten years, but no longer. She could see the snow-capped Staghorns, the wild tangle of Oakwald at their feet, and… and Orynth, that city of light and learning, once a pillar of strength—and her home. It would be both again. She would not let that light go out. She would fill the world with it, with her light—her gift. She would light up the darkness, so brightly that all who were lost or wounded or broken would find their way to it, a beacon for those who still dwelled in that abyss. It would not take a monster to destroy a monster—but light, light to drive out darkness. She was not afraid. She would remake the world—remake it for them, those she had loved with this glorious, burning heart; a world so brilliant and prosperous that when she saw them again in the Afterworld, she would not be ashamed. She would build it for her people, who had survived this long, and whom she would not abandon. She would make for them a kingdom such as there had never been, even if it took until her last breath. She was their queen, and she could offer them nothing less. Celaena reached across the earth between them and brushed her fingers against Aelin’s. And arose.

Such is hope, such is love. That lost in darkness, above the dim ever-distant blighted night HOPE is the BEACON and LOVE is the LIGHT.

I will show you my love until you recognize your own, and you can tell me with surety that you love me.

Out in the west, where the rivers run wide, Grady Hale rode with his head held high. With Bess by his side, through the dust and the gales, He lived by the code of the old cowboy tales. (Chorus) Oh, ride on, Grady, ride into the sun, Your story's not over, it's only begun. With each step that Bess takes, your legend will grow, Ride on, Grady Hale, through the high and the low. (Verse 2) He stood for the right, when the wrong came to call, A hero to many, a friend to them all. With a heart made of gold and a will made of steel, He fought for a world where the broken could heal. (Chorus) Oh, ride on, Grady, ride into the sun, Your story's not over, it's only begun. With each step that Bess takes, your legend will grow, Ride on, Grady Hale, through the high and the low. (Bridge) In the town where the shadows had taken their claim, Grady's courage shone through, like a bright, burning flame. And though he fell to a bullet, his spirit stayed strong, In the whispers of wind, you can still hear his song. (Verse 3) Now Emma looks out, where the meadows meet skies, And she feels her love's presence, no need for goodbyes. For the cowboy she loved is still riding so free, In the stories we tell, in the memories we see. (Chorus) Oh, ride on, Grady, ride into the sun, Your story's not over, it's only begun. With each step that Bess takes, your legend will grow, Ride on, Grady Hale, through the high and the low. (Outro) So here's to the cowboy, who rode past the end, With the love of a woman, the trust of a friend. May his tale be a beacon, for all those who roam, Ride on, Grady Hale, forever you're home.

In the heart of the valley, where the green grass grows, There's a whisper of hope, in the river that flows. It sings of the strength, that comes after the rain, Of new beginnings, beyond the pain. Hope is the anthem, of our soul's refrain, A melody of promise, in life's vast domain. It's the light in the tunnel, the break of dawn, The reason we keep, keepin' on. When the night's at its darkest, just before the morn, Hope is the feeling, that helps us be reborn. It's the hand that we hold, when we're lost and scared, A reminder of love, and the moments we've shared. Hope is the anthem, of our soul's refrain, A beacon in the darkness, a relieving balm for pain. It's the courage in our hearts, the unwavering song, The power to move forward to where we belong. It's not just a word, it's a force that's true, A fire inside, that sees us through. Through trials and troubles, it leads the way, To brighter paths, come what may. Hope is the anthem, of our soul's refrain, A steadfast companion, on life's winding train. It's the spark in our spirit, the undying flame, The essence of life, in every name. So let's hold onto hope, with all our might, Through the struggles, through the fight. For with hope in our hearts, we'll find the scope, To climb every mountain, to conquer every slope. May this uplift your spirit and fill you with a sense of hope for the future.

Because we sit there in the gap for a long time saying [gasps]. And that’s when you begin to learn the meaning of ‘Lord Have Mercy’. I can’t do anything to raise my state but what I can do is stay honestly ahead of, in plain sight, what’s happened, acknowledging. Here I am. And I think it’s from that repeated acknowledgement of my own helplessness at that level, but refusing to simply hide from that helplessness, that gradually, gradually, gradually the energy that had originally gone into your, sort of, ego programmes gets recaptured to begin to hold this other kind of field of awareness, of attentiveness, that’s not identified with that small self acting out and can begin to become a nest for that deeper and fuller and truer wiser self to live in. And then we begin to Be. Then we begin to have Being. And it’s from that Being that sometimes we can pull ourselves out of that spiral we were heading into, and it’s from that Being that we can begin to offer our force of Being to the world as love, as assistance, as a shift in the energy field for someone else. ‘Baraka’ the Sufis call it. But it comes slowly, because you can’t just, kind of, click your heels together and have Being. It has to accumulate slowly in your being for a life of painfully bearing the crucifixion of inner honesty, and slowly it emerges. Interviewer: So that brings up the question in me, what is then freedom? Because you go on this journey. We start out on this journey to become free, which we call enlightenment. Cynthia: Well, you know, we have so many mixed metaphors as Western and Eastern ways of contexting reality come together like tectonic plates. And they don’t often match up. I think, in a very obvious way, freedom is easy. At the obvious level, what it means is what you’d call ‘freedom from the false self’. Most of us think we’re free, and yet we are not free at all because we are under the absolute compulsion of agendas, addictions and aversions that have been programmed into us from early life, and sometimes from the womb. We have our values, we have our triggers, we have our flash points, we have our agendas. And, as A.H. Almaas said so famously, “Freedom to be your ego is not freedom.” Because that’s slavery. You’re being pulled around by a bull ring in the nose. So part of the work of freedom begins when you can stabilise in yourself this thing that some of the Eastern traditions helpfully call ‘witnessing presence’, which is something deeper that’s not dependent on the pain-pleasure principle, that’s not attracted by attraction, or repulsed by aversion. You know, as my teacher Rafe, the hermit monk of Snowmass, Colorado, used to say, “I want to have enough Being to be nothing.” Which means he is not dependant on the world to give him his identity, because he’s learned his identity nests in something much deeper. [...] And as you finally become free to follow what you might call the ‘homing beacon of your own inner calling’, you realise that it’s only in that complete obedience that freedom lies. And, of course, the trick to that is the word ‘obedience’, which we usually thinks means knuckling under, or capitulating, really comes from the Latin ‘ob audire’, which means ‘to listen deeply’. So, as we listen deeply to the fundamental, what you might call the ‘tuning fork’ of our being – which is given to us not by ourself and is never about self-realisation because the self melts as that realisation comes closer – you find the only freedom is to be your own cell in the vast mystical body of God.

None of that changed the fact that by base, museums were weird. Pepper understood that you had to get your story down somewhere, and making it tangible was a good way to keep from forgetting. The intent was fine. The content . . . that was what weirded her out. Everything in the Reskit Museum was junk. A clunky early ansible, a burned-out nav beacon, an old tunnel map from the days when the Harmagians were the only ones boring holes in space. Why this stuff? Why this antique exosuit, and not the ten others that had probably come in with it? Why had this one been lovingly stitched, patched, and propped up in a temperature-controlled cube, while the others had been chucked out – or worse, boxed away in an archival warehouse somewhere. A whole building set aside for stuff you couldn’t use, couldn’t fix, and wouldn’t get rid of. Now that was the mark of people who had it good.

love stands head and shoulders above all else and it shines like a beacon of light,

When he finished he had a magnificent house, perched on the edge of a precipice at whose feet the ocean thundered, but it was a house that knew no happiness, for shortly after Whip had moved in with his third wife, the Hawaiian-Chinese beauty Ching-ching, who was pregnant at the time, she had caught him fooling around with the brothel girls that flourished in the town of Kapaa. Without even a scene of recrimination, Ching-ching had simply ordered a carriage and driven back to the capital town of Lihune, where she boarded an H & H steamer for Honolulu. She divorced Whip but kept both his daughter Iliki and his yet-unborn son John. Now there were two Mrs. Whipple Hoxworths in Honolulu and they caused some embarrassment to the more staid community. There was his first wife, Iliki Janders Hoxworth, who moved in only the best missionary circles, and there was Ching-ching Hoxworth who lived within the Chinese community. The two never met, but Howxworth & Hale saw to it that each received a monthly allowance. The sums were generous, but not so much so as those sent periodically Wild Whip's second wife, the fiery Spanish girl named Aloma Duarte Hoxworth, whose name frequently appeared in New York and London newspapers... p623 When the polo players had departed, when the field kitchens were taken down, and when the patient little Japanese gardeners were tending each cut in the polo turf as if it were a personal wound, Wild Whip would retire to his sprawling mansion overlooking the sea and get drunk. He was never offensive and never beat anyone while intoxicated. At such times he stayed away from the brothels in Kapaa and away from the broad lanai from which he could see the ocean. In a small, darkened room he drank, and as he did so he often recalled his grandfather's words: "Girls are like stars, and you could reach up and pinch each one on the points. And then in the east the moon rises, enormous and perfect. And that's something else, entirely different." It was now apparent to Whip, in his forty-fifth year, that for him the moon did not intend to rise. Somehow he had missed encountering the woman whom he could love as his grandfather had loved the Hawaiian princess Noelani. He had known hundreds of women, but he had found none that a man could permanently want or respect. Those who were desirable were mean in spirit and those who were loyal were sure to be tedious. It was probably best, he thought at such times, to do as he did: know a couple of the better girls at Kapaa, wait for some friend's wife who was bored with her husband, or trust that a casual trip through the more settled camps might turn up some workman's wife who wanted a little excitement. It wasn't a bad life and was certainly less expensive in the long run than trying to marry and divorce a succession of giddy women; but often when he had reached this conclusion, through the bamboo shades of the darkened room in which he huddled a light would penetrate, and it would be the great moon risen from the waters to the east and now passing majestically high above the Pacific. It was an all-seeing beacon, brillant enough to make the grassy lawns on Hanakai a sheet of silver, probing enough to find any mansion tucked away beneath the casuarina trees. When this moon sought out Wild Whip he would first draw in his feet, trying like a child to evade it, but when it persisted he often rose, threw open the lanai screens, and went forth to meet it. p625

the Efficacy of Dua for Gay Problem Solution In the realm of spirituality, Dua stands as a powerful practice, offering solace and guidance to individuals facing various challenges in life. For those navigating issues related to their sexual orientation, Dua for gay problem solution serves as a beacon of hope and resilience, providing a path towards inner peace and acceptance. Unveiling the Significance of Dua Dua, deeply rooted in Islamic tradition, refers to the act of supplication and invocation, wherein individuals earnestly beseech the divine for guidance, blessings, and solutions to their tribulations. It embodies a profound connection between the believer and the Almighty, fostering a sense of spiritual communion and trust in divine intervention. Embracing Faith and Surrender At the core of Dua for gay problem solution lies unwavering faith and surrender to the divine will. Through heartfelt prayers and supplications, individuals relinquish their fears and anxieties, entrusting their struggles to the infinite wisdom and compassion of the Almighty. Cultivating Compassion and Understanding In the practice of Dua, compassion and understanding form the cornerstone of spiritual growth and enlightenment. Regardless of one's sexual orientation or identity, every individual is embraced with unconditional love and empathy, fostering a community founded on acceptance and mutual respect. Navigating Challenges with Spiritual Resilience For individuals grappling with issues related to their sexual orientation, Dua offers a sanctuary of strength and resilience. Through sincere prayers and supplications, one can find solace in the divine presence, gaining clarity, courage, and fortitude to confront societal prejudices and personal struggles. Cultivating Inner Peace and Self-Acceptance Central to Dua for gay problem solution is the cultivation of inner peace and self-acceptance. By aligning one's intentions with the divine will, individuals can embrace their authentic selves with confidence and dignity, transcending external judgments and societal pressures. Seeking Divine Guidance and Comfort In moments of doubt and adversity, Dua serves as a conduit for divine guidance and comfort. Through fervent prayers and supplications, one can seek solace in the knowledge that the Almighty is ever-present, offering support and guidance along life's winding journey. Embracing Love, Respect, and Unity At its essence, Dua for gay problem solution embodies the universal values of love, respect, and unity. By fostering an environment of inclusivity and compassion, individuals can celebrate the diversity of human experience, transcending barriers and forging authentic connections rooted in mutual understanding and empathy. Fostering a Culture of Empowerment and Support Within the practice of Dua, individuals are empowered to embrace their true selves and advocate for their rights with conviction and courage. Through collective support and solidarity, the LGBTQ+ community can thrive, harnessing the transformative power of spirituality to overcome obstacles and effect positive change. Advocating for Social Justice and Equality As proponents of Dua for gay problem solution, it is incumbent upon us to advocate for social justice and equality for all individuals, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity. Through education, activism, and advocacy, we can challenge discriminatory practices and foster a society built on principles of fairness and equality. Conclusion In the realm of spirituality, Dua for gay problem solution offers a pathway towards healing, acceptance, and enlightenment. Through sincere prayers and unwavering faith, individuals can navigate life's challenges with grace, resilience, and compassion, embracing their authentic selves and contributing to a world built on love, acceptance, and understanding.

Love of My Life, a beacon so bright, guiding me through the darkness of life.

When you shine with authenticity, your reflection becomes a beacon of hope, inspiring others to discover their own light.

Eyes That Noticed Him” In the quiet corner of a crowded room, With a jukebox playing an old love tune, He was just a shadow, 'til her glance fell, On him like a spell, in that moment, he dwelled. Oh, her eyes lit up the room, like the break of dawn, A love story starting, a new day born, With a smile that shines, bright as the sun, He knew she's the one, his heart she won. They're dancing through life, with joy in their stride, In her eyes, he's found his wild ride, A love so bold, it breaks all the norms, In her gaze, his world transforms. She was the whisper in the summer wind, A gentle touch on his weathered skin, Her smile, a beacon in the night, Guiding him to her, his heart's delight. With just one look, his world stood still, The future bright, theirs to fulfill, Her eyes, a vow of love so true, In that very moment, his life anew. She was the rain to his parched earth, Giving his dreams an endless birth, Hand in hand, they found their way, In her eyes, his forever lay. Now every melody tells their tale, Of a love that's strong, that will not fail, He owes his joy to that twist of life, When her eyes found him, cutting through strife. Those eyes, they spoke without a word, A love story, waiting to be heard, She's the girl who rewrote his every day, Since her eyes found him, in that serendipitous way. In the stillness, their souls did dance, A single look, and they took the chance, He found a haven in her loving gaze, Under the stars, they'll spend their days. And they fell in love, oh so deep, A love to sow, a love to reap, In her eyes, he found his dream, A love so profound, it makes the heart beam. As the night winds down, they hold each other tight, With hearts in tune, under the moonlight, For in her eyes, he found his place, A love story written in time and space. So let the guitars strum, and the fiddles play, For their love's a song that'll never fade away, In a world that spins, sometimes too fast, They found a love in her eyes, that'll always last.

Beneath the boundless sky so wide, Rode Grady Hale, with Bess his pride. A cowboy's life, a tale untold, Of open plains and hearts so bold. With lasso looped and hat set low, He faced each storm and braved each foe. The west was wild, a canvas vast, Each sunset marked a day that passed. In towns where outlaws ruled the night, He stood for what was just and right. His aim was true, his courage firm, A beacon steady, a guiding term. The bullet found its mark one day, And Grady Hale, he slipped away. But in the hearts of those he saved, His legend grew, forever braved. Emma's tears, like rain, did fall, Yet in her heart, she stood tall. For love's embrace knows not an end, And cowboy's whispers, the winds send. So here's to Grady, a life well spent, A cowboy's ride, a heart content. In stories told 'round fires bright, His spirit lives in stars each night.

Eyes That Noticed Him” In the quiet corner of a crowded room, With a jukebox playing an old love tune, He was just a shadow, 'til her glance fell, On him like a spell, in that moment, he dwelled. Oh, her eyes lit up the room, like the break of dawn, A love story starting, a new day born, With a smile that shines, bright as the sun, He knew she's the one, his heart she won. They're dancing through life, with joy in their stride, In her eyes, he's found his wild ride, A love so bold, it breaks all the norms, In her gaze, his world transforms. She was the whisper in the summer wind, A gentle touch on his weathered skin, Her smile, a beacon in the night, Guiding him to her, his heart's delight. With just one look, his world stood still, The future bright, theirs to fulfill, Her eyes, a vow of love so true, In that very moment, his life anew. She was the rain to his parched earth, Giving his dreams an endless birth, Hand in hand, they found their way, In her eyes, his forever lay. Now every melody tells their tale, Of a love that's strong, that will not fail, He owes his joy to that twist of life, When her eyes found him, cutting through strife. Those eyes, they spoke without a word, A love story, waiting to be heard, She's the girl who rewrote his every day, Since her eyes found him, in that serendipitous way. In the stillness, their souls did dance, A single look, and they took the chance, He found a haven in her loving gaze, Under the stars, they'll spend their days.

God of every ache, Help us to befriend our bodies. We confess that it is easy to turn against them as the source of our struggle. Awaken a compassion, a tenderness, toward the parts of us that are changing or hurting, remembering that our bodies are doing everything they can to protect us. That our bodies are fighting, are trying their best to hold back the pain and exhaustion. And with every ailing and unseen thing, guide us toward those capable of listening and perceiving when we are not okay, that we wouldn’t feel pressure to pretend or apologize or explain but could exist in the truth of what we need. Remind us that we are not a burden but a beacon to those who are so poorly attuned to their own bodies and needs that they have forgotten what self-compassion looks like. Hold us in love as we resist the demands of this world. May it be so. For queer bodies

My love for darkness and the night will never end, as it is the only time when I can unveil my mask and be myself.

And not every time when the sun rises do we all feel alive. For some, darkness is life.

When you find love, you'll also find God. The Lord lurks into the depths of affection, in the curves of fondness and in the corners of tenderness. The Almighty is found between devotion and adoration. God is as close to you as your fingerprints and as near to you as your heart.

Your identity has been revealed to a select few. You always plan and never give up. You forgive, but never forget.

And I know at last I'll be presented to the world as the villain, as the darkness in your story. All my efforts will be forgotten and all my truths will be edited away, as you will narrate the tale of your rejected love.

I will forever wish you the best, even though it was me you no longer chose to love. I will forever think you're magic, even though it's not me that will embrace your charm.

You are my beginning and ending, and every sad, happy, hard, easy, beautiful moment in between.

Yung Pueblo, the modern poet and philosopher, is a beacon of personal growth, healing, and self-awareness. His words, steeped in wisdom, resonate with people seeking peace, transformation, and a deeper connection with themselves. Let's look at some of Yung Pueblo's quotes and break them down in a way that adds value to your life. Each quote is followed by an easy-to-understand explainer, using metaphors to help you understand his message's depth. These explanations are guideposts, showing how to apply his insights to your journey. ## Yung Pueblo Quotes on Healing **"True healing is the willingness to treat yourself with kindness."** Healing is like tending to a garden. You can't rush it, and you can't force it. As you carefully water plants and pull weeds, you must approach yourself with patience and compassion. Only by treating yourself kindly will you create an environment where healing can flourish. **"The more you heal, the less you push away what's uncomfortable."** Healing isn't about avoiding discomfort—it's about embracing it. Think of it like building a muscle. Every stretch and strain makes you stronger. As you heal, you grow more capable of sitting with discomfort, knowing that it's part of the process, not a thing to run from. **"Healing happens when you are ready to let go of what is hurting you."** Letting go is like releasing a heavy anchor holding your ship in place. You can't sail forward until you free yourself from the weight of old wounds. Healing begins when you untie yourself from the past and allow yourself to move freely into the future. ## Yung Pueblo Quotes About Self-Love **"You must love yourself so deeply that your energy and presence become a gift to the world."** Imagine your heart as well. The more you fill it with love for yourself, the more you have to share with others. Self-love isn't selfish—the overflow enriches everything and everyone around you. By loving yourself deeply, you become a gift to those you meet. **"Self-love is creating space in your life to take care of yourself."** Self-love is like building a sanctuary in your daily life. You need to create space, even negligible, to retreat and recharge. It's not about indulgence; it's about recognizing that taking care of yourself is essential to thriving in a busy, chaotic world. **"Self-love is accepting that you are a constantly evolving work of art."** You are like a canvas, always in progress. Some days, the strokes are bold; others, they're gentle. Self-love means accepting that your life is a masterpiece in progress—you are never finished, and that's where the beauty lies. Embrace each phase and layer, and know it all adds to something magnificent.

Remember, all you can do is be the light. Be that beautiful, shiny beacon ahead for your clients, team, or loved ones.

That’s not what He calls you. He calls you precious. He calls you beloved. He calls you chosen. You don’t have to listen to the lies of the enemy. God is truth, and He doesn’t lie.

God is God when things work out perfectly and He remains God when things are jagajaga.

Our adversary was not likened to a lion because Apostle Peter wanted to prove he was a bad guy at metaphors abi simile. He is actually looking for believers who will stray out of the herd church so he can devour them.

Presidential campaigns ought to transcend party lines, serving as beacons for all people, building bridges that connect hearts and minds, prioritizing progress and policies that uplift every citizen—promoting love over hate and focusing on a future vision that ensures a better life for generations to come.

The truth is someone is earning a living doing the thing you’re passionate about—doing the thing you obsessively love. But they just got lucky! Well, maybe some of them got lucky, and maybe some were at the right place at the right time, but even luck has a recipe for continued success. Plus, there are thousands of people pursuing your passion (and making a good living from it) who didn’t get lucky, who didn’t achieve stardom or get everything they wanted overnight. They put in a ton of work, experienced debilitating failures and losses, and obsessively followed that beacon of passion until they were able to call it their full-time mission. Why not learn from those people? If you want to learn how to turn your passion into your mission, the fastest, most efficient way is to emulate someone already doing it. It’s called modeling,

Special Place Verse] In a town hall meeting full of whisper and stare, Folks like to chatter, some just don't care, They point their fingers, cast their doubt, But in your arms, I never have a reason to shout. [Verse 2] Mama always said, watch who you choose, There’s someone out there looking to light your fuse, But you stand by me, through trials and tides, In your tender heart, I find my pride. [Chorus] There'll always be someone with a hurtful tone, But you’re the one who makes me feel like home, In this world of hurt and endless race, You’re the one who holds a special place. [Verse 3] Late night rumors, gossip flies fast, But beside you, I’ve found a love to last, When shadows loom and the day turns gray, You’re the beacon, guiding my way. [Verse 4] In church pews and fields of gold, Stories are spun, hearts grow cold, But by your side, I feel so free, With you, I am all I need to be. [Chorus] There'll always be someone with a hurtful tone, But you’re the one who makes me feel like home, In this world of hurt and endless race, You’re the one who holds a special place.

Rhett is perfect. He’ll be the golden beacon for the church and the cookie-cutter husband. Rhett is everything a girl could ask for, and more. If only I wasn’t falling in love with his brother.

Pray for Momma [Verse] I pray for Momma, to ease her every pain, For the strength she’s shown me, in her own special way. With hands that cradled me, and a heart so true, She's the light of our home, and I pray she'll pull through. [Chorus] Oh Lord, help her heal, give her strength to live another day, We still need her laughter, her smile to lead the way. In the quiet of the night, I whisper a tearful plea, Watch over my Momma, like she's watched over me. [Verse 2] Her gentle voice, a soothing lullaby, The warmth of her touch, never asked why. Through storms and trials, she's our steady guide, I've seen her stand tall, though she’s hurting inside. [Chorus] Oh Lord, help her heal, give her strength to live another day, We still need her laughter, her smile to lead the way. In the quiet of the night, I whisper a tearful plea, Watch over my Momma, like she's watched over me. [Bridge] Years of sacrifice, she gave all she could, Raised us with love, in a small neighborhood. Now it’s her turn to rest, but still she fights on, Lord, give her peace, before her strength is gone. [Verse 3] Every dawn I rise, I see her face anew, A beacon of hope in skies once gray and blue. Her love has shaped me, every step of my track, I’ll keep praying for her, until she gets back.

Firefly Sonnet Firefly, oh firefly, why do you gleam so! Who do you try to impress, who is the object of your glow! Oh, ye of little sight, said the gentle little beacon! Creatures with light eternal, don't shine to stir public opinion. I gleam, 'cause that's my life, I know no other way of existence. Puny apes gotta find an agenda, for most are anemic of effulgence. And you have the gall to call us bugs, while your mind is stuck in gutter! My fire bears proof of existence, you carry yours as cheap souvenir. (Note: as a biologist I must mention, this is a purely poetic piece, not to be analyzed with science, for evolutionarily speaking, glowworms use their glow to warn away predators, and attract mate.)

And it is only when we can learn to love the beauty of the darkness that we can be fully alive and centered in our light.

He bites back an anguished groan. “Mack! Don’t pull out, Mack!” I don’t know why or how I’ve come to this decision, but I mean it. Maybe it was holding Sammy today. Maybe it’s the fear that this will be the very last time I’ll be with Mack this way. Whatever the reason, I want all of him. All of him. I want him to come inside me. No matter what that might mean. He makes a broken sound, briefly pausing his carnal motion. “You sure?” “Yes. Yes please, Mack! Don’t pull out.” He lets out a low, soft groan that’s stretched out so long it gets choppy as his hips start moving again. He fucks me so hard my entire body jiggles, and he’s reached climax in less than a minute. His body works through the release clumsily. His hips roll as his cock spasms inside me. Then he’s coming in several hard spurts, filling me with his semen. It’s the first time he’s ever done that in all the years since we first got together. His hips keep jerking for a long time with each lingering aftershock. Then he collapses on top of me, all his weight collapsing. He buries his face in the crook of my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him. Hold him tight. After a minute, when his body finally starts to soften, I whisper, “I love you, Mack. You know that, right?” He makes a weird, rough sound. Almost like a sob. He doesn’t lift his head, but he presses a few kisses against my skin. It’s a long time before he can form any words. And when he does, they’re mumbled against my neck. “I love you too.

My words have an effect. Every bit as much as they did last night. His face, his whole body, twitches briefly in reaction. “I love you too, angel. You know I do.” I nod and swallow and fight tears all at the same time. “I hate that this keeps happening to us. That it can’t be… it can’t be easier for us. That we can’t just be together.” His eyes squeeze shut, and his shoulders shake a few times. It takes a minute for him to recover enough to say, “I know. I hate it too.” “But I think it’s… it’s right to keep following our separate roads since they’re the right roads for us. And maybe one day…” I can’t hold back the tears any longer. A few slide down my cheeks and then my neck. “Maybe one day our roads will come back together.” “I hope so,” he murmurs. He leans down to kiss me, soft, seeking, and desperate.

Don’t lie to me, Anna. Don’t lie just to make me feel better. This world might suck most of the time, but other people didn’t let it break them. Not the way it broke me.” “Stop it!” I’m still massaging his back with firm, relieving strokes, but my voice is almost angry, and tears are streaming down my cheeks. “Stop it! Stop saying that about yourself. Stop thinking it. All the people you just listed—including me—had major stuff to work on in themselves. You began as brave and strong and loving and generous. You’ve been that way for as long as I’ve known you. There’s no way for you to get any better than you already are!” He’s making some harsh, breathless sounds, and his body has started to shudder slightly. Since neither one of us can speak for a minute, I swipe away my tears and apply more lotion so I can rub down to his lower back, kneading the brown skin and tight muscles there. “Th-thank you for saying that,” Mack says at last. “For believing it. But the truth is I haven’t even stayed the same. I’ve gotten worse.” “You—” “You don’t understand, Anna. You’re thinking about me the way I used to be, but I’m not that anymore. I’m supposed to be… strong. People are supposed to be able to rely on me. I’m supposed to face the things that threaten us so other people don’t

I’m still scrubbing when I’m suddenly aware of Mack’s presence in the door from the kitchen. I sense him rather than see or hear him. It feels like he’s standing there watching me silently. I keep scrubbing, leaning over the arm of the chair to reach the stained spot. Then I hear him walking toward me. Feel him pressing up against my back as I straighten. “You’re mad at me,” he says in a low, gruff voice. “Why do you say that?” “Because you won’t look at me. I don’t like when you’re mad at me.” “I don’t like it either.” I love the feel of his big, warm body at my back. I’m dying to turn around and cuddle against him, but I don’t. “You never used to get mad at me.” “Because you never used to treat me the way you did just now.” He makes a soft, rough sound. “I know. I’m sorry.” “Are you?” “Yes. I am. I was an ass to you, and I’m sorry. It felt like you were… prying.

The Prophet (ﷺ) married Aisha when she was young, developed the capabilities she had, and produced the most beautiful female personality: balanced, confident, strong, reliable, pious, satisfied, and truly guided. He equipped her with knowledge and whatever is necessary to develop a sound character from childhood. Allah gave her years to live after the Prophet (ﷺ) and she remained a beacon emanating knowledge to the world until the Day of Judgment.

It is as if the moon and the trees have switched places. The sky is plunged into the heavy cloud-lidded darkness that seems to come every night, but in the valley below, the trees—or the places between the trees, it is impossible to tell the source—are fully lit, glowing. The woods are alight like an ember, bluish white and cradled by the rolling hills. It’s like a beacon, I think with a chill. So this is what happens when the world goes black. The forest steals the light from the sky. Cole straightens beside me, taking ragged breaths. I cannot stop staring at the glowing trees. It is strange and magical. Almost lovely. The wind song has become simply a song, clear and articulate, as if made by an instrument instead of the air. It is all a perfect dream.

Your husband wants to be big in your eyes, edify him and lift him up and he will become what he sees in your eyes. He needs to feel the love of the Holy Spirit and see what God can do for him. Love him as Christ loves you with an unconditional love. Step aside so that he might see the miracles as you see them and his heart will be totally changed. You are not your husband’s Holy Spirit, let Jesus do His job. Your husband will come to a place where he loves Jesus with an unfailing love. God has called you to be a woman of excellence, don’t settle for anything less. Sometimes this means humbling yourself and stepping aside so your husband may shine. You came out of the darkness and into the light; you are a beacon on a hill, a lighthouse for many. Love your husband, lift him up, be love to him. When his heart is fully God’s you will have what you seek.

I've always dreamed of having the kind of home we used to have," she said. "I kept waiting for that. I didn't think I'd ever be happy until I had a home like that again. But now, after all that's happened, I realize I can't put all my hopes and dreams in a home or a husband. I have to put my hope in Him above everything else.

Copaface I'm quick learning lessons from the devil but can't decide whether I arrived or was contrived I view so many faces form a tower up above neglected inner wants and hungers for what I love cluttered bunched black eyed and voiceless I fill up the sugar cup to stay up at night in my black upabove where my face is a moon full of craters with crummy eyes and cyst-thighs a perfect beacon for the fictionettes who spread their legs wide open on the plasma embodiments of everything i hide about my self today hips rashed elastic crowded barely wrenched into my upmost ambition for attraction so I nurse fellow wilted and the withered shallow love smut love our love in my black upabove my face is a room full of mirrors with crummy eyes and blistered thighs a bent brain full of lies a beacon for the fiction body voodoo embodiments in morbid tense misplace your grace to chase your copaface

I am intelligent I am attractive I am powerful I am proactive I am health I am strength I am stealth I am surrounded by love I am a beacon of hope I-- HORKFLAKGLORKSPUKE .... That was a hairball And I am a cat And what just happened I am fine with that

Thank you again for joining me in my journey with the Beacons of Hope. I hope the books have inspired you to visit a lighthouse or two. More than that, I pray you've been both encouraged and inspired to trust in the Giver of Hope. Maybe, like Nathaniel, you've let yourself be haunted by your parents' mistakes. Perhaps you've even started down the same destructive path. I pray God will help you break free of your chains and help you walk in His freedom down a new path. If you're like Abbie, having been hurt or abandoned by the people you thought loved you, I pray that you will recognize that God will never abandon you. He is always there offering you His hope, love, and forgiveness. Please, never forget all that He offers.

So Sorscha lifted her head, even as her mouth trembled, even as her eyes burned, and stared down the King of Adarlan. “You destroyed everything that I had, and you deserve everything that’s to come,” she said. Then she looked at Dorian, whose eyes were indeed wide, his face bone-white. “I was not supposed to love you. But I did. I do. And there is so much I wish … I wish we could have done together, seen together.” The prince just stared at her, then walked to the foot of the dais and dropped to his knees. “Name your price,” he said to his father. “Ask it of me, but let her go. Exile her. Banish her. Anything—say it, and it will be done.” She began shaking her head, trying to find the words to tell him that she hadn’t betrayed him—not her prince. The king, yes. She had reported his movements for years, in each carefully written letter to her “friend.” But never Dorian. The king looked at his son for a long moment. He looked at the captain and Aedion, so quiet and so tall—beacons of hope for their future. Then he looked again at his son, on his knees before the throne, on his knees for her, and said, “No.

The four of them stand in the cockpit of the Misdemeanor as they motor from one town to another. They pass their house, which is not theirs any longer. Libby cuts the throttle, and they stall there in front of their sprawling memory. The four of them have come up for the closing; since all of them are owners, they all must be present to sign away this place. They have given most of the land to the Maine Preservation Society, and the house, they have sold to a family who promises not to tear the whole thing down, though they know that is a lie. The oak is yellow and peeks from behind the house. The glossy white windows of the great room look down upon them. It is cold and they all wear their foul-weather gear, bright-yellow slickers, except Gwen, in a red poncho to accommodate the swell of her belly. Libby keeps one hand on the tiller and the other she slips into Tom’s hand. He gives it a squeeze and then puts his arm around her. Danny moves from the stern to stand between Tom and Gwen. They all stand on the starboard side looking at the house. Libby and Tom, then Danny, his hand resting on his brother’s shoulder, and Gwen next to him, her arms crossed over her protruding belly, her hair long and dark hanging down her back. She is no longer a beacon, but a buoy in her poncho, red right returning. The sky is gray and low and promises a choppy ferry ride to the mainland, but there in the safe haven of the harbor it is calm and windless, and the house isn’t empty, but expectant. The flat water, dark green now, lies empty, the float pulled out the month before. Going from town dock to town dock, there is no need for a tender. There is no way for them to come ashore, even if they wanted to. A house like this is not supposed to exist now. It comes from another era. It is a ghost, like the schooners that sail through the thoroughfare every summer. It is an aberration, a figment. It is their great shingled memory.

There’s no up or down to the cosmos, just a whole bunch of fucking sideways. Just people loving and hating. And no rules on how long it takes.

I sobbed out the story of the day thus far, too far gone in my relief to see Drake to care that I was watering his tux again. “Kincsem, I understand that it was difficult to be banished in that way. I do not understand why you believe your hands are possessed, but I am confident you will fill me in on that aspect of your day. We must leave now, however. I cannot protect this house, and I will not have you at further risk.” I sniffled and accepted the tissues that he had recently started carrying. “I know. And I want to go. I’m just so glad you’re here. Sometimes things get so overwhelming, and only when you’re around do I feel better.” Drake tipped my chin up, his eyes sparkling with a brilliant emerald light. “That has to be one of the nicest things you’ve said to me. You have made yourself necessary to me, as well.” I balled up my fingers and punched him in the stomach. He laughed as he rubbed his belly, then pulled me tightly against his chest. “All right, I will say it, but you must make note that this fulfills the requirement for the day.” “Too much talking and not enough kissing,” I said as I grabbed his head and pulled it down to me. His kiss was as hot as his dragon fire, scorching more than just my lips. His tongue danced along mine, driving me into squirming against him, wanting what only he could give me. “Give it,” I whispered into his mouth, and quivered to the tips of my toes when he opened his mouth and let his fire sweep through me. It blazed a trail along my veins, burning my blood, carrying me along in an inferno of desire, love, and need. “I love you more than all the treasures of the world, Aisling. Our love will burn for an eternity until we have taken our last breaths, and even then it will continue to shine as a testament to that which we are together, a beacon of passion for all to see like a glittering star in the darkness of the night sky.” “You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” I said, kissing the corners of his delectable mouth as his dragon fire faded away. I felt empty inside without it, as if a part of me was missing, a sadness so profound it made my soul weep. “I love you, too.” “We must leave. I do not like this place.” “I know the feeling

I have come to believe, through my studies, that it is not God who does things – good or evil, right or wrong, careless or thoughtful – it is men. Perhaps God was the creator, or perhaps God is the encompassment of generosity and love, and as such, acts as a beacon by which men can see the paths they choose.

He had had to be father and mother to her, and he had taken to his tasks with determination, seeking perfection in everything he did. Now, as an adult, she realized how hard her mother's death had been for him, understood the enormity of his loss. The love that her parents had shared had been a beacon of light for her in a dark and dangerous world. She wondered if she would ever have the chance to find such a love herself. As her father talked excitedly about the latest young horse he had bred, Megan saw the years fall away from his face and the lingering sadness lift a little. She owed him everything- her resourcefulness, her skills as a horsewoman, her knowledge of medicinal herbs, as well as her undeniable stubbornness.

Nehemia was gone. That vibrant, fierce, loving soul; the princess who had been called the Light of Eyllwe; the woman who had been a beacon of hope—just like that, as if she were no more than a wisp of candlelight, she was gone.

Mother is like the beacon of hope in the darkest hours, the light when the world comes tumbling down. Her unconditional love for us is the dawn sun that shines to give us fresh hope each day.

I wasn’t going to be stupid or ignorant. And I would refuse to believe it if someone insulted my intelligence. Believing it would bring shame to me and everyone who loved and helped me find my way to freedom. Even in my agonizing grief, a beacon of hopeful light broke through the shadows:

But since the day you came back into my life I have not once stopped thinking about you. You consume my thoughts. You consume everything about me. I was lost without you, floating…. drifting…. completely bored and without purpose. Which, by the way, it’s really hard to get that way when you’re King. And then there was you. You walked into my life and stole that part of me. You took whatever ugliness I had become and you reminded me of the man I could be, the man I was supposed to be. You are this beacon of light, this destination I will fight to get to. You are everything I need and want and want to become. I have fallen completely in love with you, Amelia. So yes, I do want a beach and rum, but most of all I want to give you a ring, because when I visualize my future, every scenario I come up with includes you. You are my life now and I will fight with everything I am to end this conflict and give you the life you deserve.

This was the moment where she would decide her fate. She could choose to become the powerful Arella she saw or she could remain ignorant and clumsy. She understood now that the choice was entirely hers.

I am the Beacon.

Someone told me there’s evil in every man’s heart. I’m beginning to see it.' 'I’m sorry, Arella.

A voice whispered underneath her anger. The Higher Power chose you out of love. Arella bristled at the words. If the Higher power truly loved her, he would have given her a choice.

I pull her against me, not to make love to her, but just to love her. To hold something good and imperfect and fucked up, and to feel someone holding all of that in return.