The Trees Are Watching You

I'll be working on a new pinned post today 🖤

Would anyone be interested if I made a divinekin confession blog? I know there's already a divinekin confessional blog ( @divinekinfessions-blog ), but since it hasn't been active in 9 years, I thought it might be fine if I made a new one. I'm not sure how to run those types of blogs, so it would take me a little bit to think it through before I actually make it, if anyone even is interested, but let me know!

stimboard for : an angel with eyes, white wings, and shiny stuff

x | x | x x | x | x x | x | x

An image of my wings

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Crow Stimboard

PT: Crow Stimboard

Made for: @cottondaycarestims (Phil)

I had a nap half way through making this because I loved looking at the crows. I hope you like this as much as my tired brain did.

Credits: x x x x x x x x x

Ancient realm

michael.paramonti

I don't know if my Pantheon is actually the one I work with in this life, or perhaps it's just this life's equivalent. But my connection feels the same way it did back then, in whatever time/universe it had occurred in. The same thing goes for my original God and It's regime.

Everything had to be oh so painfully perfect- everything was created with a Purpose and an Appearance and one Did Not Stray from that. Even if you were different upon creation, and had not the intelligence nor intention to be as such, it was You who had Strayed from your purpose. And so it would be You who would be at fault.

I don't know how nor why I was different. I don't know why having golden eyes was so abhorrent that I had to wear a viel at all times- everyone (including myself) forbidden from gazing upon them. I was handicapped for Its mistake. For having something It couldn't control. I was alienated and shunned and had no true purpose to fulfill, which meant I was left to rot away while my peers and my Creator ignored my very existence.

And then I met someone. I cannot remember their face, nor their name, but I remember their hands- the strange feeling of their callouses, which none of my peers had. I don't remember what it sounded like, specifically, but I remember their voice- their tone belonging to one who'd not seen someone like me so close to their home. Not angry, not scared.. Kind. And... I'd say possibly curious/amused.

I remember falling in love with the forest- with the dirt and the plants and moss under my feet. With food, and beds, and fire. Oh, the fire... How perfectly imperfect it was- something that could burn and turn to ash, but also keep you warm and cook your meat. I'd never seen fire before- not in this way. Everything had its role to play, but it was messy and imperfect and happened in ways that could be harnessed- but never controlled. I fell in love with this world we were forbidden from exploring- in this world we knew nothing about.

I remember the veil barely let me see anything. In my mind, I could see my 'home' and my peers and my Creator- it was inherent knowledge etched into deep my being. So deep, if all of my senses had failed, I wouldn't notice. But only in that place.

I remember, after many visits, finally letting them lift it from my face. I didn't let them take it off- I couldn't bear the thought at the time- but I let them lift it. I remember seeing everything, seeing Them. They were so perfect. So different from my peers and unlike anything I had ever known, it was overwhelming. That moment was The Moment, I believe. The moment I was destined to leave my arrogant God, and join the Pantheon that felt like home.

I wonder who they were, the one who gave me my sight... I wonder if they've died and reborn just as I have- reforming and living under new names across time and space. I wonder if they're here now, a human like I am. I wonder if they remember the angel hiding golden eyes, who became the hearth tender of their Pantheon.

#🐦‍⬛🖤

🌌

here's from sunday with... you guessed it! the crows! 3.23.25

Had a dream of an old woman. Her home was dark and made of wood, and the air was full of the smell of rain. She had white hair, and the wrinkles on her face danced as she smiled her millionth smile, looking at me with soft eyes. As if we were old friends, reminiscing on older times. She hands me a well-loved child's toy. Nothing fancy, nothing flashy or intricate. It was a simple doll, made of old simple fabric, with a kind simple expression. Its hair was made of yarn, and it was small in her thin hands, which had held countless other things. But those hands held this doll so preciously, so gently- like a young babe; precious, and loved with the full capacity of the human heart. And she hands it to me. Places it gently in my hands, saying not a word, that expression unwavering. She was showing it to me, sharing the decades of memories and love stored inside every fraying thread.

The fire is a comfortable warmth for the woman, despite her gentle body being easily chilled. The rain thudded against the old wood of her home, which gave it's life for her to continue her own- and, in a way, she gave it a new one. A life it would've never known otherwise. And so they took care of each other. And I took care of them.

She calls me a strange name, one of the many I've been called- one of the many that had been forgotten as generations had come and gone. I say her name in a tongue I do not recognize, though it passes by my lips easily. It is not the first, nor the last time I have said this name. I am one of the few who remembers it.

I gently put the doll among the other things she has given to me over the years, all holding an amount of love only a human could carry, and I cherish them all. She lights candles that she made herself, dyed green for the forest I so dearly love. I stare at them a while, watching the flames flicker gently, tilted slightly in my direction.

As I look around the home, tend to the fire and make sure the home is steady, the woman sits in the chair her son made for her, gazing out at the rain. We both know this will be her last storm, and so I do not bother her. Only keep my presence nearby. She may take her time, enjoy the world a few moments longer. Enjoy the world for as many moments as she may wish.

I held her hand and shared with her memories of when she was young. Of when she first said my name, and when she first offered me a little flower crown she made, to her mother's delight. I shared with her memories of her children, and her children's children- and of the children who've yet to come. Her family is all in good health, and happy.

She hopes, with a smile, that her passing does not interrupt that.

It will, but only for a moment. They will learn to be happy, because she would want them to be. And so they will, and they will do so with all their hearts. She will remind them just how important happiness is.

She rests, then. And I stay until the candles' flame dies out one last time.