Delphi - Tumblr Posts
L’Oracle de Delphes by John William Godward (1899)
YEESS MY POST BUTTON SI WORKING
Have some cats
So, we have some street cats in Crete
Then we have a hungry Knossos cat, who ate my sandwich
He didn’t get any ice cream tho.
Back to mainland, Delphi was mid (for me, the fucking hills are too much and the tour guide would not move her mouth away from the microphone even slightly for the entire bus ride), but the cats were top tier.
We have the ones outside a museum, plus a tortoise who scared calico
I named a few
The orange one tried to eat my hand after I fed him my leftover bolognese meat, there was also a cat who was very pregante.
Know Thyself
By Author Eli Kittim
“Through the study of books one seeks God;
by meditation one finds him.”
(Padre Pio)
According to the Greek writer and geographer, Pausanias, the ancient Greek aphorism “Know Thyself” (γνῶθι σεαυτόν) was a maxim inscribed on the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. Throughout the centuries, people have studied the physical and metaphysical world through science and philosophy. But how can a person study himself or herself? By turning inward! In the Phaedo, one of Plato’s famous dialogues, Socrates explains that the senses are incapable of informing us about the true nature of reality, and thus are not to be trusted. One needs to look beyond the senses in order to find meaning and clarity. Socrates says to Simmias:
“Did you ever reach them [truths] with any
bodily sense? – and I speak not of these
alone, but of absolute greatness, and
health, and strength, and, in short, of the
reality or true nature of everything. Is the
truth of them ever perceived through the
bodily organs? Or rather, is not the nearest
approach to the knowledge of their several
natures made by him who so orders his
intellectual vision as to have the most exact
conception of the essence of each thing he
considers?”
Later in the Phaedo, Socrates begins to expound on what we today would call “silent meditation.” Remember, this is not India. This is 5th to 4th century BCE Greece! Gautama Buddha happens to be Plato’s contemporary. Socrates begins to describe the practice of meditation as follows:
“He who has got rid, as far as he can, of
eyes and ears and, so to speak, of the
whole body, these being in his opinion
distracting elements when they associate
with the soul hinder her from acquiring truth
and knowledge – who, if not he, is likely to
attain to the knowledge of true being?”
Over 500 years later, the Neoplatonist philosopher Plotinus would also base his entire philosophy on meditative silence. So, given that Socrates (Plato’s teacher, who coined the phrase “Know Thyself”) lived in the 5th century BCE, it is difficult to say if this contemplative practice originated in the East or the West. Let’s not forget that Plato is deeply indebted to an older mystical philosopher named Pythagoras (6th century BCE), who was probably one of the first great and well-known mystics in the west!
Plotinus follows Socrates’ advice regarding the path to self-knowledge and the philosophy of Being. He insists that the soul must discard all form, image, and thought. It is through concentration, away from the sense world, that we reach the “One” (i.e. God). And the self discovers this when it is annihilated. In other words, a person loses his/her identity during the supreme mystical union with the “One.” it’s as if the person has been “ ‘seized’ by an elemental force and swept into liberation by mystical frenzy” (Thomas Merton). Plotinus says:
“shut your eyes . . . and wake
another way of seeing, which everyone has
but few use.”
The “awakening” in the presence of the “good” is a result that is accomplished by removing multiplicity through the process of negation (which later became known as apophatic theology). That is to say, there is a detachment from the many to the One. The disciple must proceed by way of negation. Rather than positing what the One is, the practitioner gets rid of all knowledge and begins by contemplating what the One is not. This practice has been alternatively called “silence” or “stillness.” It is a way of putting away all otherness and reaching an ineffable union with the One (or God). In the mysticism of Plotinus, the student must not chase after the good but wait quietly til it appears.
Unfortunately, since the time of the Renaissance and the Age of Reason, the contemplative aspect of the Platonic tradition is no longer discussed in modern academia. Plato is often taught as a cold, rational thinker whose insights are solely derived from discursive thought. However, Plotinus thought that he was simply clarifying Plato’s teachings. According to Wikipedia:
“Plotinus was not claiming to innovate with
the Enneads [his book], but to clarify
aspects of the works of Plato that he
considered misrepresented or
misunderstood. Plotinus
does not claim to be an innovator, but
rather a communicator of a tradition.
Plotinus referred to tradition as a way to
interpret Plato's intentions. Because the
teachings of Plato were for members of the
academy rather than the general public, it
was easy for outsiders to misunderstand
Plato's meaning.”
Plotinus lived in Alexandria, Egypt in the 3rd century CE. Over 150 years earlier, another Platonic philosopher, Philo of Alexandria, had done the same:
“Philo of Alexandria had written on some
form of ‘spiritual exercises’ involving
attention (prosoche) and concentration and
by the 3rd century Plotinus had developed
meditative techniques.”
(Wikipedia)
According to Plotinus, the One is not simply an intellectual concept but rather something that can actually be experienced; an existential experience where one goes far beyond all multiplicity. The individual eventually reaches a state of tabula rasa, a blank state where everything is deleted, so to speak, while the person merges with the One. The self is dissolved, completely absorbed into the One. But in order to reach this stage, “the Proficient’s will is set always and only inward” (Enneads I.4.11). This process eventually leads to ecstasy:
“The essentially devotional nature of
Plotinus' philosophy may be further
illustrated by his concept of attaining
ecstatic union with the One (henosis).
Porphyry relates that Plotinus attained such
a union four times during the years he knew
him. This may be related to enlightenment,
liberation, and other concepts of mystical
union common to many Eastern and
Western traditions.”
(Wiki)
In Greek, Henosis is the term for mystical "union.” In Platonism, and particularly in Neoplatonism, the aim of henosis is union with the ground of being or absolute reality: the source or the One (τὸ Ἕν):
“Henosis for Plotinus was defined in his
works as a reversing of the ontological
process of consciousness via meditation
. . . toward no thought . . . and no
division (dyad) within the individual (being).
Plotinus words his teachings to reconcile
not only Plato with Aristotle but also various
World religions that he had personal
contact with during his various travels.”
(Wiki)
Plotinus, and his successor Proclus, influenced many great philosophers and theologians, such as Kant, Hegel, Kierkegaard, Husserl, Heidegger, Barth, Bultmann, and others. Plotinus’ meditation is not unlike that described in Ps. 62.5, which reads: “For God alone my soul waits in silence.” According to Wikipedia, “Plotinus' final words were: ‘Try to raise the divine in yourselves to the divine in the all.’ “ Meditation, therefore, is the method by which we not only grasp the essence of true Being, in the Platonic sense, but also how we find the sure way of salvation, in the Biblical sense:
“Be still, and know that I am God!”
(Psalm 46.10)
everywhere, man .ᐟ.ᐟ
Leon x Reader - public sex - mdni
you could bully leon into fucking you almost anywhere.
he's got this thing about free use and exhibitionism - likes the idea of it, hates the consequences. his job isn't cushy, see, but it provides for you. he can't give that up. he's got no back-up plan, hasn't needed one since 1998. all his skills are particular, well-honed but completely non-transferable to civilian work.
but at parties, when you've been teasing him all night, ass rubbing against his crotch every time you adjust yourself on his lap - that's where he starts to loosen his grip. you aren't subtle. his fingers curl into your hip. not a warning, a plea. either spare him or put him out of his misery.
you make your choice when no one's looking, when you have a chance to slip outside. quick, painless, humane. he hoists you up against the side of the house, right next to the sliding glass door. your legs wrap around his waist and both of you realize you've gotten two steps ahead. back down. your sweatpants drop to your ankles and he hefts you back up.
you're laughing - which means he's laughing. he pauses, forehead pressed to yours. light pours out from inside, enough to leave parts of you silhouetted to him.
"shut up," he murmurs. his hand cups your jaw, guides your face up from his shoulder so he can kiss you.
you giggle against his mouth when he kisses you. his cock misses your entrance twice, but the slide feels so fucking good he doesn't think he minds. he gives up on trying to enter you, satisfied with the slow burn that's coiling in his gut.
"shh." he smiles against your lips, kissing another giggle from you. "gonna get us caught."
your hand snakes between your bodies, guiding him to your tight hole. you want more, want him inside - who is he to say no? he fucks into you slowly, the same languid thrusts that had him slipping through your folds.
it sneaks up on him. too much teasing gets him all backed up, has him ready to pop. you know this - he knows you know it. he's barely gotten fully seated inside you, barely been able to settle into slow, grinding thrusts that make you claw at his shoulders, when his hips jerk.
leon's breath shallows, quick, hard puffs against your skin. he tucks his forehead against your shoulder. his hips slap against you - quick. staccato. every time he tries to hold back, his hips snap. you pet his hair.
"it's okay," you murmur. you're squeezing him like a goddamn vice. he whimpers. "go ahead."
"sorry," his hands grip your ass tight, spread you open for him. leon fucks you quick, hard, rhythmless. "i'm sorry, can't- shit. oh, fuck-"
keeping quiet turns his moans into quick, shaky inhales, whimpers that ooze out of him and dribble down your skin the same way his cum slips down the curve of your ass, splatters onto his friend's deck. he's breathless, hips still pumping against you even when he softens and slips out of your warmth.
leon's arms tremble, but he's still got you all folded up and pinned securely to the side of the house. he mouths kisses against your flushed skin, mumbled apologies.
you finally slip out of his grasp, touching the ground toes first. a consequence of his reluctance to let you go.
"i'll be right back," you murmur. he finally releases you, let's you drop from en pointe and wiggle back into your sweats.
the sliding door rattles, the noise of the party suddenly crisp when you step inside.
"everything okay?" one of his friends asks from inside.
"yeah," your voice fades. leon can picture your path, the way your hips sway when you glide across the room. "leon's not feeling so hot. i'm just going to get him some water."
it's not just parties. you tempt him where you can, when you can. whenever the mood strikes you, really. it's not like he's going to tell you no. if his baby wants to suck him off in the club, then he will gladly make that happen. he's a provider, remember?
leon's a gentleman most of the time, doesn't want you kneeling on dirty bathroom floors. he fumbles out of expensive leather jackets, lays them at his feet like a prayer mat, waits for your worshipful tongue.
you can get him out of his pants in four seconds flat. he knows - you timed it once. when you're really in a hurry, you don't bother with his belt. that probably shaves another half second off.
you've got him all figured out, see? can't mouth at his balls, can't kiss and lick and squeeze because he'll cum too quick. gotta leave the boys tucked away right now.
you dodge his kiss, sink to your knees in front of him. he wants to pout, but you kiss his dick and that turns his frown the other way around. you're all business tonight. no teasing, no cute little kitten licks while you stare up at him from beneath your lashes. you swallow him down, hand gripping the base of his cock tight. your tongue curls against his head every time you pull back.
the music pounds outside, bass pounding through his feet. sensation floods him. his hand curls at the back of your neck, thumb swiping arcs across your skin while you work him deeper.
the doorknob wiggles just as you gag around his length. too much too quick, your throat constricting. leon moans. he forces his hips to pull back, grasping at the last of his restraint. it would be so easy, feel so good to thrust into your mouth. you could take it - he knows from experience - but it's not polite, not how he wants to treat you.
you drag yourself closer when he draws away. your hands grip his ankles, using his body as leverage to take him in again and this time he can't stop the way his hips pulse into your mouth. he's so close, toes curling in his shoes, hand cramping with the effort it takes not to hold you in place and cum down your throat.
he's halfway through a moan - "don't stop, christ, don't stop" - when you pull off him.
it takes longer than it should for his eyes to blink open. you're wiping your mouth delicately, cleaning drool and snot from your face. leon can't decide if the ache is worse in his chest or in his cock.
"wait, wait, wait," he blubbers. "you can't just--"
"aw, i can though."
you look up at him adoringly. leon swears. he can't quite catch his breath, his chest ruddy, rising and falling too quick. you rock back onto your haunches.
"you're serious?"
"you're a smart boy," you coo, kissing his flushed tip goodbye as you rise to your feet. his cock jerks. you giggle. it jerks again, throbs painfully. christ, he's going to cum and it's going to be pathetic - slow and torturous, dribbling from his head despite his effort to hold himself at bay. "you'll figure something out."
in his fantasies, his solution is simple. he grabs your wrist, drops your little ass on the toilet, and you take him in your mouth again. you have mercy, let him cum on your tongue. you stroke his hip through his shallow, uneven thrusts. you keep lapping at him til he's soft and over-sensitive, and you'd keep going if he didn't stop you. his thumb trails across your swollen lips, drags the plump of your bottom lip down to watch it bounce back in place. you tilt your head to kiss him and he doubles in half to meet you. you pass his cum back to him, make him swallow the taste of himself.
but back in reality, he watches you dust his jacket off and shrug it on. you pause to wash your hands and fix your hair, then you're toddling out of the bathroom. the door slaps closed behind you. your perfume cycles out not much longer, and then it's just him and his dick in this tiny, grimy room.
he joins you back at the bar a few minutes later. you're twirling a cherry in your drink, glib little smile on your pretty, swollen lips.
"did you figure it out?" you chirp, leaning closer to him.
your hand finds itself at home on his knee, fingers stroking back and forth, a pattern so rhythmic he can picture tide marks worn into his skin. leon smiles. somehow, it manages not to look strained.
his hand encircles your wrist, hold soft but insistent. he guides you to palm him, half-hard and tucked uncomfortably in his pants.
"nah. i'm gonna need your help."
delphi, greece. spring 2023
sunset at delphi
Some old-ish color palette drawings that I never really posted on this blog.
Starby and Delphi belong to @chibiccino (Starby palette) | (Delphi palette) Treeby belongs to @thethird-eye / @ask-grillbros (palette) Saiby belongs to @hotflamingmess / @watermelon-flame (palette) Autumn is mine (palette)
All palettes are from Colourpod