Thelema Stories

No rádio tocava Corcovado - Tom Jobim e de dentro do barco realmente dava para ver o Cristo cada vez mais longe lá em cima do Pão de Açúcar. A mulher se abanava numa cadeira de praia enquanto o marido orgulhoso guiava o velho barco alugado, olhando para frente como se fosse Ulisses avistando Ítaca ao longe.

Thelemic poem.

My take on organised and not so organised Religions and Faiths.

A compilation of my beliefs about Loki. I'm a Wiccan, and the god I choose to worship is Loki. In this book, I detail why, along with the many stories that describe Loki Flamehair Laufeyson, the god of trickery, fluidity, and the hearth.

In 2012 I visited the Wattpad headquarters. But, you will not believe that, to get there, I had to go through a gang, a clan of magic and cosmic threats capable of making you sleep with the light on for the rest of your life. Do you want to know how I visited Wattpad? Read on and find out. This story is complete, but I am making some adjustments. #WattpadSpeaks #wattys

"There were masks made of faces, faces made of masks, lights and drum noises thundering on the walls. The walls were painted in blood and carved in gold, the lights had no source and the room was so grandeous that both darkness and light were abundant. All sits were taken. I was given a silver mask as I walked in. I glanced on my surroundings to see the huge audience, should I judge them every move. A girl came in with a neon mask, and she stood, there, gazing at the ground. I sang "masks off" and with my left hand I threw it to the audience. My face was made of gold and her face was a mirror of my face. She took a velvet dress from the ground and turn it in to cloth. What an ugly girl, I thought, judging the audience. They laughted at my thoughts. The Jester came in and the dark thickned swalling the light of the moon. "You do not seem pleased". And it was time. My mask was thrown back at me, rusty and sadder. When the face of the mask touched my face I felt the warm and I am awake"

"I know you feel it." Songque feels like she's dreaming. She feels as if she should pull away, but she doesn't, even if her hold begins to slacken as the words register in her hazed mind. "Do you want to do this?" When Songque meets her eyes, she doesn't say a word. Their swaying stops, and the both of them hold each other in their arms in still contemplation. In the end, Songque makes up her mind, and retracts her arms to hold the person's face in her hands. Thelema. A Modern AU