/lit/ - Literature

Anyone looking for info on fire kasina/trataka should look into what Daniel Ingram has written on it. Very strong practice for concentration:

https://www.mctb.org/mctb2/table-of-contents/part-vi-my-spiritual-quest/69-bhavana-society-2001-retreat/fire-kasina-practice/

He's also done two great episodes on Fire Kasina on the Deconstructing Yourself podcast. Good luck everyone, wish I had found this stuff sooner myself.

Kasina/trataka practice is a spiritual redpill. Daniel Ingram is a great source on concentration meditation.

https://www.mctb.org/mctb2/table-of-contents/part-vi-my-spiritual-quest/69-bhavana-society-2001-retreat/fire-kasina-practice/

There are also some great Deconstructing Yourself Podcasts. Educate yourself on the capabilities of the trained mind.

Hello /lit/ !

I'd really be interested in your opinion regarding a short play I've written, especially concerning grammar and syntax since english is not my mother language.

Thank you in advance, guys.

CANDLESTICK

Boy : Be wary, little sister, for he is cunning and vicious, ready to unfurl his talons and plunge towards you. I see you, sitting your arms akimbo, frail and soon to break before his relentless assaults. Playful and careless, you bite your lip. Had I not sheltered you so, you would surely relinquish these credulous of a world which begets no ill. Fear not though, for my arm extends far and shall rout the huntsman.

Girl : Big brother, you scowl. Do you not see the young man; the candle flame ripples in his pale skin and the candle flame blushes before the fierce fire in his eyes. Will you carry me on your shoulders so that my glance may take off and leap far beyond the planes. He is looking at me, big brother and my cheeks turn crimson.

Boy : He is charging, little sister, driven by a frantic bloodlust. Do you remember that day, in the family cottage where the lark used to wake us with its shrill carol? There, in the attic –the pale walls were indistinguishable from the skylight, please remember- mother implored of me to be your warden. To this day, never have I misfired. However, the threat is real now towering above the candle, casting an ominous shadow between you and I. Oblivious to it all, you sit, shrivelled on your chair.

Girl : Big brother, my soul is an harquebus loaded with sensations –will you fire it? The erupting way is flowing down the candle, forming mounts and valleys frozen in a feverish expectation. Do you remember that day in the family cottage –our stronghold- where we used to revile dusk and welcome dawn? There, on a windy shore, or in a moonlit clearing or facing a soothing hearth, father implored of me to spend my love with supercilious parsimony only. So I have, big brother, but to-night I might misfire.

Boy : You yield, little sister. The stranger’s hand has hold of yours. Already he is dragging you –his weakened prey- towards a dark lair where sharp teeth bury themselves in thin flesh. I shall not let him.

Girl : Big brother, my hand rests in his like the child, as the newborn child rests in the woolly cradle. Already, the light dims and intimacy rises from the darkness. I am drifting to an Eden where strangers become lovers.

Boy : When the candle goes out, little sister, I will kill him.

Girl : Big brother, when the candle goes out, I will kiss him.