I’ll (24f) start from the beginning. So I have questioned my sexuality a few times (first time in high school). Growing up I only ever had crushes on guys. I honestly don’t think I have ever had a crush on a girl- there definitely were some that made me insecure and some that were good friends I enjoyed hanging out with but I really don’t think I had crushes on them. I was also never a very sexual person and I was always super nervous around guys. I went through one phase of watching “porn” on twitter (lol cringe) in eighth grade that aroused me. But beforehand and after that very short experience I never had a sex drive (libido) and I don’t think I experience sexual attraction. I never had the desire to watch porn anything either, and sex scenes in shows/movies made me feel uncomfortable (but this may be just because I was questioning)
I think the part that is most confusing to me is that I think I have very strong aesthetic attraction to women. I definitely see women I think are pretty all the time, especially in media, but I don’t think I ever had the thought or feeling like I wanted to touch them sexually. I have also been aroused by women’s bodies before, not a lot but a few times. I don’t have this same strong attraction to men, but it grows a lot with romantic attraction. I don’t get repulsed by the idea of sex with a women but I don’t particularly desire it either and I don’t think about it unless I’m anxious or stressed about me questioning my sexuality, like the idea only comes to my head during those times.
Since being sexually actively with past boyfriends, the idea does stress me out, since I’ve had issues with pain for most of my time being active and having to stop sex in the middle of it leaves me feeling guilty and I hate that feeling. So many people say to experiment, but I genuinely have no desire to. If I never had sex again, I’d be fine with that. Don’t get me wrong I enjoy pleasing my partners and sex is fine with me as long as it doesn’t hurt, but it’s not something I particularly crave. I’ve been horny once in my entire life (idk of it was triggered by something), but my bf at the time was who I wanted to have sex with and I was fulfilled so idk. Idk i feel like I’m asexual and that identity gave me peace for a while but then sometimes anxiety kicks in and I feel like I’m lying to myself and I can’t pick a side bc romantically I fall for men, but in the past I definitely notice women’s bodies more. I’m also single so the idea of not knowing what to tell future partners stresses me out

Hey everyone! I’ve decided that I want to transform my car into a Kagura themed car. I’m planning on painting the interior panels and need some input. I know Kagura is known for her yellow dress but when she transforms in the show, her smoke is pink. Would it be better to paint the panels yellow or pink?
Also, if anyone knows where I can get custom car accessories, please let me know. I’m starting from scratch so it’s going to be a process.
I actually spoke with Tia Ballard, Kagura’s English dub voice actor about this and she was pretty excited about it so the pressure is on lol

Obviously, I understand that people’s perception of me shouldn’t define who I actually am, and I don’t feel anything when this person makes comments about me to my face, but it is extremely irritating and I worry if they carry this behaviour forward that it may hurt someone else.
I (16F) was sitting with a friend of mine (also 16F) and we were just having a discussion between us where another girl (13F) was sitting beside my friend. She wasn’t involved in the conversation at all, and I was reading through some papers that I was studying for an exam until she bursted out laughing. Me and my friend both looked up and the girl blurted out in a sarcastic voice, “oh my God, did you cut your fringe yourself?”
I knew that she was obviously making fun of me, even after I had just managed to say “uh, yeah, I did” because she was still giggling after I went back to reading. I still wish I had said more to her to make her aware that snide comments like that can be harmful and that it did ruin my confidence for the day, and that saying things like that isn’t okay. I don’t know what I should say to her (as I know the root cause of why she acts that way but I don’t want to bring up her home life as some sort of argument) because I want to be mature and impactful but also firm with what I say. The only problem is I get very severe anxiety during confrontations, and when I’ve had to confront the girl before on lying about me SAing another student her age, I nearly passed out after. Does anybody have any tips for pacing myself and being able to confront her on her actions without coming off as overly anxious or downright rude?

Hey all, I am a 16 y/o AFAB. For the past 6 months or so I've been questioning my gender.
Throughout my life, I've always felt as if I was more masculine than other girls. During my childhood, I often wished that I would have a deeper voice when I grew older, and had more male friends in general due to me having more "masculine" interests(though that could be attributed to me growing up with other males). When I was 12, I completely stopped wearing dresses/skirts since it felt "wrong" for someone like me to wear them. Going forward, I have referred to myself as a male in my mind, often felt as if my mind was that of a man, fantasized about being male, being happy whenever someone said I was a tomboy(ignoring the tom part and just focusing on the boy part), even asking my female classmates on what if they were born a male. At the time though these were all just "jokes" to me.
So I know that what I described would be a typical trans male experience, but I don't think it's as simple as that. Even though I do lean more towards a masculine mind, I feel as if I still have some "feminine" traits. I still want to keep my long straight hair, don't plan on having any bottom surgery since there's multiple risks, and I still want to dress in a feminine way at times(though no dresses/skirts). Basically, I want people to look at me and think I'm male, however still have some ambiguity as to what my actual gender is.
I resonated strongly with being a demi-boy, rather than with genderfluid since I do not feel as if I am a girl and instead fluctuate between being a boy and non-binary. For now I have come out to 2 of my friends and told them to use he/they pronouns just to see how things work out, but I also have this sense of feeling that I will regret this in the future. I'm still 16 which is typically the age that teens are still trying to figure themselves out, so I'm scarred that this will just be a phrase. I'm scarred that I'm just an impostor of some sort since I don't have a strong sense of dysphoria with my bottom genitals and am not currently seeking any hormonal treatment or surgery due to the risks and stories I've been reading about.
So yeah, that's my situation. I would appreciate any comments/advice about what I'm dealing with currently.

Throw away account as this is the only time I have told the entire truth about myself.
I, 27F, know I have something fundamentally wrong with me. And I always have. Even as a toddler. My father is diagnosed NPD and to say the least I did not grow up in a happy home. I grew up as my mothers protector. I would wait outside their bedroom door until odd hours in the morning if I heard them fighting just to make sure nothing ever got physical. At the same time my mother was embarrassed of me and shamed me growing up because I was a tomboy. I'm thinking this is what turned me into a little sociopath.
My tendencies started early. I started pathologically lying as a toddler. About weird things too. I also jump at the opportunity to gossip and to manipulate the relationships around me anyway I can. It sucks being so aware of something but not being able to help yourself.
Lets fast forward to middle school. Jaded perception of myself has already started and I think I am way more important than I am. I am not, internally I know this. I created a series of catfish profiles that lasted from grade 6 - grade 11. The people I was "falling in love with" were not random strangers they were some of my closest friends at the time. And I did not feel remorse. It did however get me in a lot of trouble and I did get sent off to a boarding school for high school.
Fast forward to high school - I was away from my friends in a school where I knew no one. Not to mention my family was broke and this school was filled with some of the wealthiest in our city. So I lied. A lot. Also had a heightened sense of self importance there even though there was absolutely nothing significant about me. Did not get good grades. Did not have the most money. Just a mopey kid getting into trouble.
Fast forward to today. Everything has escalated. It's worse because I have years of therapy under my belt so it's almost like I know how to be shitty better. How to seem sincere when I want to. How to make people feel special. Make people feel seen. Make people feel safe. However, quite frankly, I am none of those things. Don't get me wrong, the people I do love I love passionately and would do anything for. But that is a very, very small circle.
No one in my life knows what actual education I have because I have lied about that. No one in my life knows what I actually do for work because I have lied about that. The life I have painted for myself makes me look pretty great, and it's mostly fool proof in regards to being able to fact check.
Most of my friends I don't even actually like. Some of the people who think they are the closest to me I don't even care about. But I play the part that I do. Spending time with other people is exhausting even though I do get lonely.
My therapist thinks I am a good person but even they don't know that most of what I tell them isn't even true.
Like I said in the subject, fundamentally, something is wrong with my brain. Pretty sure I am some type of aware sociopath. My interactions with people are like moves on a chessboard. I wont ever be able to get help for this because I am too ashamed that this is how I exist.
At least I look great on the outside.

Im still not over the actor change for blippi not because i have a problem with the new person or anything but my daughter can 100% tell the difference and gets so mad when i put on new episodes. she just says "no, blippi!" and no mater how many times i explain that is blippi she just doesnt have it. i guess im just stuck on reruns for the rest of my life 😭

I was with my first ex when I was 19 and he was 25. Our relationship wasn’t great but I was a bit too young to see the red flags. He ended up breaking up with me and I was devastated he ended up messaging me that night telling me he wanted to be happy and he didn’t feel he could with me and we got back together the day after because I was stupid. We then build a life together got an apartment and talked about marriage. We spend 5 years together until through friends I found out he took a high schooler on a graduation dinner. He then lied to me but admitted that he wanted to be happy. We broke up and I was again devastated. He messaged me again telling me everything that everyone who’s going through a break up wants to hear about getting back together. Only for the next day to find out it was a drunk text. I was still heartbroken but the anger of that made it easy to move on.
Last year on holiday I met another guy who was about my age. We spent a lot of time visiting each other and talked everyday. We had all the same interests and it was kinda like finally seeing what being in love was like. We decided I should move over to his country cause I had a dual citizenship and he didn’t so it’d be easier. Two weeks after the move and he told me that long distance was fine but being together was a bit too much.
I’m heartbroken and moving back to live with my parents. I quit my job and everything for this. I don’t hate him and I’m not mad as my last relationship taught me that sometimes it’s just best to let things go. But I feel stupid for this happening twice in a row and I’m heartbroken again. I’ve still got awhile in my 20’s and everyone keeps just saying I gave it a go and sometimes it just doesn’t work. That there’s no harm or anything with what I’ve done but I just feel lost and alone especially after messaging someone everyday. I’m trying to be positive about everything like learning what I want and stuff but it’s hard to know where to move from here.

Alright, these 3 seasons are almost universally considered to be the low-point of the series and I'm just going to run through the most common complaints for each.
​
TDROTI

1. The toxic waste setting feels too "out there" and gimmicky.
2. The new cast are a mixed bag. Real-life reality shows swap out contestants (almost) every time, so you a viewer cannot know for sure what to expect, but ROTI's cast simply isn't interesting enough as a whole to carry the season. A lot of the early outs are one-note gimmick characters for example.
3. Dakota's mutation seems unnecessarily disturbing and harsh.
4. The elimination order is pretty bad, to put it bluntly.
5. Worst of all, the season is highly forgettable. After it's done, you'll probably forget you even saw it.

​
TDAS

1. Flanderization. The series obviously runs on stereotypes for character templates, but All-Stars really disregards previous character development. Characters like Lindsay and Sierra are reduced to one character trait for example.
2. FreshTV leaked the elimination order before the season aired which ruins the suspense.
3. Most of the challenges have very little theming. It just goes all over the place.
4. Mike (and Zoey) get(s) so much screentime and attention that it's downright silly. Remember when this was a Survivor parody? Now, it's about an MPD patient trying to overcome an evil personality in his head? What?
5. The unholy trinity. The last three episodes are widely considered to be abysmal.
6. Worst finale of the series by a country mile.

TDPI

1. The cast is loaded with misfits. I know the series uses stereotypes, but the characters tended to be grounded in reality previously. Here, most of them are completely absurd and are difficult to relate to.
2. The season aired an episode a day on TV (at least on Cartoon Network) which made it go by in a flash.

You might think that it is a strange things to say being grateful for the hurt, for the unbearable feeling that you were not enough but let me tell you how my first heartbreak change my entire life. First love, that’s something everyone talks about in the movies, in the songs I always thought it was just a fantasy until I fell in love for the first time. It was the kind of love at the first sight when you just couldn’t look away. So here we were looking into the souls of each others trying to understand our own feelings. When I got home that day I remember daydreaming about him non stop, and the more I got to know him the more I was sucked into that incredible feeling. Being with him was like being in the ocean in the middle of nowhere, he got that thing where whenever we were with each other nothing else mattered, nothing else existed, only the feeling of content and complete peace. That was one of a kind feeling, something I never felt. Until the ocean became agitated until the waves began until everything changed. He ended things. Noticed how I said it was his doing, I would have never thought of it. I would have bared anything if it meant staying with him, experimenting the peace just one more time. But no he ended things. The day it happened felt unreal. I went with my day like nothing happened, and it was when I got home that I broke down. I always was the type of person who never shows sadness or pain, I also rarely cried. I thought those were weaknesses so I always prefered crying from the inside to drown those negative feelings. But that day I cried, so heavily I thought I was choking. It was not really losing the person that broke me but letting everything that came with him go, letting the memories go, letting the peace that I once felt go. I lost track of time. I was lost in my sadness. But I think that being lost helped me find my true self . Before him I was not really into anything. I was a good student and got decent grades. However, I sucked at English. I was not passionate about anything. I had no goal in life. I was like those sims who all look the same, with no taste or personality of their own. The first week was hard. I was lost in the infinite ocean of my thoughts. Then I started listening to songs about break ups to feel less lonely to have someone else verbalize my feelings. It also happened that those songs were in English and in order to fully feel connected to the song I looked the lyrics up then I learned them all but heart. It made it easier to sing someone else’s feelings than to face my own. I was lonely, I felt empty but every time I listened to those songs I felt more complet. Then something in me changed. It was slow at the beginning but I started to change. In the sadness the confidence took place in the loneliness the desire to learn new things took place I put standards for myself so high that I wasn’t able to feel depressed. I started to want to learn things about my feelings to have a better control on them so I read books about them, most of which happened to be in English. With confidence the desire to be the best version of myself slowly got into me. I started to be passionate about things I studied hard to reach my goals. My grades got better, I was the first in my class in English, I discovered activities I liked. I changed. So yes I am forever thankful to him for making me change, for making me who I am today. The feeling that I experimented with him never came back but I strongly believe that the lack of it made me better.

You might think that it is a strange things to say being grateful for the hurt, for the unbearable feeling that you were not enough but let me tell you how my first heartbreak change my entire life. First love, that’s something everyone talks about in the movies, in the songs I always thought it was just a fantasy until I fell in love for the first time. It was the kind of love at the first sight when you just couldn’t look away. So here we were looking into the souls of each others trying to understand our own feelings. When I got home that day I remember daydreaming about him non stop, and the more I got to know him the more I was sucked into that incredible feeling. Being with him was like being in the ocean in the middle of nowhere, he got that thing where whenever we were with each other nothing else mattered, nothing else existed, only the feeling of content and complete peace. That was one of a kind feeling, something I never felt. Until the ocean became agitated until the waves began until everything changed. He ended things. Noticed how I said it was his doing, I would have never thought of it. I would have bared anything if it meant staying with him, experimenting the peace just one more time. But no he ended things. The day it happened felt unreal. I went with my day like nothing happened, and it was when I got home that I broke down. I always was the type of person who never shows sadness or pain, I also rarely cried. I thought those were weaknesses so I always prefered crying from the inside to drown those negative feelings. But that day I cried, so heavily I thought I was choking. It was not really losing the person that broke me but letting everything that came with him go, letting the memories go, letting the peace that I once felt go. I lost track of time. I was lost in my sadness. But I think that being lost helped me find my true self . Before him I was not really into anything. I was a good student and got decent grades. However, I sucked at English. I was not passionate about anything. I had no goal in life. I was like those sims who all look the same, with no taste or personality of their own. The first week was hard. I was lost in the infinite ocean of my thoughts. Then I started listening to songs about break ups to feel less lonely to have someone else verbalize my feelings. It also happened that those songs were in English and in order to fully feel connected to the song I looked the lyrics up then I learned them all but heart. It made it easier to sing someone else’s feelings than to face my own. I was lonely, I felt empty but every time I listened to those songs I felt more complet. Then something in me changed. It was slow at the beginning but I started to change. In the sadness the confidence took place in the loneliness the desire to learn new things took place I put standards for myself so high that I wasn’t able to feel depressed. I started to want to learn things about my feelings to have a better control on them so I read books about them, most of which happened to be in English. With confidence the desire to be the best version of myself slowly got into me. I started to be passionate about things I studied hard to reach my goals. My grades got better, I was the first in my class in English, I discovered activities I liked. I changed. So yes I am forever thankful to him for making me change, for making me who I am today. The feeling that I experimented with him never came back but I strongly believe that the lack of it made me better.

{THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THE FOLLOWING: Existential dread, emotional moments, romance, and a singular phrase which could be seen as suggestive depending on how dirty your mind is. ;) }
(Any sentences or phrases wrapped with brackets "[ ]" are designated as inner monologue!)
Thank you to u/SpacePaladin15 for creating this wonderful literary universe!
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Memory transcription subject: James Willik, Human Historian
Date [standardized human time]: July 15, 2165
“Umm. Sooo, isn’t the universe only around 14 billion years old?”
“You would be correct.” The scientist’s expression showed that he was as dumbfounded as I was. “I should add that the highest number that any of our new dating devices can go is to around 20 billion, it is entirely possible that the artifact could be even older than we can detect.”
[What the fuck.]
A shrill voice from my left shook me out of my stupor. I looked to my side to see Lemva standing out of her seat, her tail lashing angrily. “Is this some elaborate joke? That isn’t possible. What you’re saying isn’t possible.” President Zhao began to speak. “I am fully aware how frankly nonsensical this is sounding, but this is serious and we need to approach this with an open mind. The Federation rated this item as a danger to the entire galaxy for a reason. We have no idea what we’re dealing with here and with something that could pose this much danger that is not acceptable.” Lemva suddenly spat with a ferocity I haven’t heard in a long time. Her anger frightened me not just because of her abnormal behavior and proximity, but also because of the recipient of her anger.
“You are aware that what you’re saying undermines everything we know about existence, right? Are you aware of that? Do you have any idea how INSANE this is sounding? You’re telling us, US, a couple of unqualified nobody misfit historians, that we’re somehow prophesied by this magical indestructible artifact that existed before time to do… something? AND YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT SOMETHING IS?! You just expect us to take this sitting down? Uh-uh, no, I’m not accepting this.” I tapped the table gently to get her attention, she snapped one of her orange eyes at me in response, I could barely get out what I was going to say in fear of her. “Maybe we shouldn’t yell at President Zhao?” I squeaked my suggestion at her. She just smoldered at me.
Lemva quickly pushed her chair backward and power-walked through the doors of the conference room, the force from her slamming the door rattled its hinges. I sometimes forget how strong she is, perks of evolving on such a high gravity planet I suppose. I glance at my remaining two partners and they are just as shaken as me. We all slowly look back at Zhao in fear of his response to Lemva’s attitude. Zhao still looked calm, so that’s good, but his posture indicated exhaustion.
“You three can leave for now, I’ll schedule another meeting for tomorrow once she’s settled down. If you could talk to her, that would be greatly appreciated.” Zhao started to rise from his seat but paused momentarily. “Oh I forgot to mention, you’ve been granted access to the guest residence wing. Lars, hand them their cards please.” A large man walked around and passed us our cards, handing me a second one presumably for Lemva. “The suite’s code on the tram is S29. You’re dismissed.”
Cayek, Tassak, and I quickly hurried out of the room to catch up with the furious venlil. Thankfully she hadn’t gone far, and was just waiting at the tram. We approached her quietly, none of us having the courage to start a conversation. She barely acknowledged us as we drew closer. I steeled myself to initiate contact but to my surprise she decided to do it first. “We’re leaving. Fuck this, they expect us to just accept that everything we know is wrong? They can take their invitations and shove them up their asses.” I gathered the courage to respond to her.
“I’ve never seen you this angry before. Talk to me.” She sighed, seeming to deflate as she did. Most of her anger melted off of her and left defeat in its place. “I need some time, I don’t have the energy right now.” “Alright, that’s ok. Before we left the conference room, we were handed keycards to the suite. Zhao said that we could stay there for a while.
Lemva looked up at my face with an eye. The happy glint she usually carried in her eyes was replaced with a dull feeling of hopelessness. “Okay.” I gently placed a hand on her shoulder. She answered my request to hug her before I had even asked. She buried the side of her head into my chest. We sat there for a few seconds, and it felt good, but all good things had to come to an end eventually. I silently guided her into the tram, Cayek and Tassak following close behind. The doors closed and I typed in the code for our suite, S29. The tram took off and winded through a maze of hidden tunnels before arriving at our destination.
Exiting the tram, we came to a closed set of heavy fake wooden doors with a keycard reader to the side. I swiped my card and the hidden locks on the doors clicked several times, before the doors swung open. [Wow. This is a really nice room.]
I guided Lemva onto a nearby sofa and marched into the gargantuan kitchen provided to us in order to prepare some coffee for her. As I waited for the coffee machine to finish, I saw Cayek and Tassak exploring their new surroundings. Cayek walked around and admired the luxurious artistry that permeated the space, while Tassak… Tassak poked at various objects as if she had never seen them before. She reminded me of a curious child. She accidentally tore a hole in a chair with her claw before hastily trying to hide the damage with a very obviously out of place pillow.
The coffee machine sputtered the last few drops of liquid ambrosia into Lemva’s mug and I hurried over to where she was sitting. I placed the warm cup into her paws and sat beside her. For several minutes we watched some TV on the large screen across from us. Lemva leaned more into my shoulder the longer we sat there. Tassak and Cayek had gone to their rooms by now. After watching 8 episodes of the ninety-seventh season of The Simpsons, she had calmed down.
I looked down at her. “Are you ready to talk now?” She nodded. “Mhm.” “Ok, do you wanna tell me why you got so angry during the conference?” She frowned slightly. “Everything they were saying… the artifact, I just…” She stopped for a moment to gather her words. “If what they said was true, and the artifact is from before the universe, and it depicts us… that implies so much. If what they said is true, then whoever made the artifact could see the future. If they could see the future, that means fate exists. If fate exists, then that means that everything I’ve ever done, everything that we’ve ever done, was meaningless. I mean, all my struggles, all my successes, for no reason.” She looked up at me and I could tell she could see my confusion.
“If you were playing a game, and every action you took did absolutely nothing to change the end result, but the whole time you thought that they did, wouldn’t it hurt to realize in the middle of a round that your input is entirely meaningless and changes nothing? But then, if you look at it another way, there’s the idea that you’re not even really alive, that you’re just a machine going through the motions. The idea that everything you were, are, and will be, every action you take, every thought you think, every emotion you feel is just a set of directions and ideas set to play out for the rest of eternity, that you’re just a couple words on a page to be read…”
I had no idea how to respond to that. I was never all too good at imagining such high-brow philosophical concepts, and I’ve always been even worse at handling the emotions of others, so wrap the two up into a depressing little veggie wrap and you’ve got me stumped. I did the only thing I could think to do at that moment. I wrapped my arms around her and placed my chin on her forehead. She snuggled into my body. I hadn’t felt this much comfort for a long, long time.
“Y’know… after I dropped contact those few years ago, I always wanted to send you a message, tell you I miss you, tell you why I stopped contacting, those sorts of things. But I never did. Because I was afraid.” I lifted my chin off Lemva’s head and she looked up at my face. I stared down back at her. “What were you afraid of?” She asked me in a soft voice. “Lots of things. I was afraid of explaining what happened, the “incident” was too recent to talk about. I was afraid that you’d hate me for disappearing, and the fear only got worse the longer time went. But mostly…” I inhaled sharply as I prepared myself. “I was afraid you’d betray me.” Lemva’s eyes held a puzzled and pained expression.
“I didn’t tell you who killed my parents, only that someone did. Soon after I was born, my father went into the venlil exchange program and met a venlil named Draton. They became friends almost immediately, or at least, Draton pretended to become friends.” Malice filled my voice as I talked about the scum who murdered my family. “I loved him growing up, almost as much as my parents, for a while he was like, my third favorite person in the world. He was like an uncle to me and a sibling to my parents.” I gulped and looked away. “Hopefully it should be obvious what I’m saying he did.” I took a shuddering breath and looked deep into Lemva’s eyes. “I was terrified that another loved one would turn out to be a monster. I was terrified that you would turn out to be a monster.”
I closed my eyes and mustered all the courage I could manage and called upon every deity from every religion I could remember or had even heard of in passing. I opened my eyes and placed my hands gently on the sides of Lemva’s head. She didn’t resist. “Alright… this is my greatest secret yet. I’ve been so scared to tell you but I can’t keep holding it in anymore, I need you to know.” Lemva held her breath.
“I love you Lemva, I’ve loved you since we first hung out in history club, I loved you when you cheered and hopped around at our graduation, I loved you when you talked so enthusiastically about your job. I always have, and I always will, love you.” I could feel my face burning as blood rushed through my cheeks. Lemva had it even worse though, her face was more orange than the fruit the color was named after. Her eyes were so wide I could barely see her irises anymore.
Tears formed in her eyes, but I could tell right away that these weren’t tears of sadness. The goofiest and cutest smile I had ever seen in my life quickly formed on her little face. She squeaked at me in delight. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.” She reached up, grabbed my hands, and squeezed them tight. I could feel her tail wrap around my back, a gentle force guided me closer to her. “You sure you wanna do this?”
“I’ve been around humans all my life, I know what a kiss is, dummy.” She whispered amusedly. We closed our eyes and embraced for the first time. All my worries, fears, and doubts melted away and drained off of my mind like meltwater off a cliff as we sat there basking in each other’s warmth.
We separated our faces and stared at each other. The happy glint in her beautiful orange eyes had returned brighter than I had ever seen it before. We sat staring for what seemed like forever, I had forgotten that a world existed beyond this sofa. I looked up at an antique clock mounted on the wall and waited a moment as my implant translated the extraterrestrial time-keeping system into a familiar 12-hour format. 8PM. Almost as if in response to my realization of the time, a wave of exhaustion crashed into me like a rogue space freighter. I wanted so desperately to stay here cuddled with Lemva for the rest of my life, but alas, sleep deprivation is a cruel mistress.
“Lem, it’s 8pm, we gotta get some sleep if we’re gonna attend the conference tomorrow.” “Awww, a couple more minutes? Pleeeeeeeease?” “I know this is really comfy and I know you don’t wanna think about ‘the object’ but we’ve got to do it.” I could tell she was still uncomfortable thinking about the implication that even the mention of the artifact carried with it, and we still would need to talk that through, but for now at least, she wasn’t having an existential crisis.
We untangled ourselves, rose off the sofa, and headed toward our rooms. But Lemva suddenly halted in the middle of the hallway. I spun around to see why she stopped. She looked down at the ground and rubbed her paws together like she does when she’s nervous, her face was an almost neon orange, miraculously managing to be even more vibrant than before. She wore a bashful smile on her face. “Is something wrong?” “no… I was just wondering, could I sleep in your room for tonight?” “Sure. Why, is there something wrong?”
“No… there’s just… something I’ve been wanting to try…”
“Wha- oh.”
“Oh.”
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(I think I've got a hang of the reddit formatting now. However, advice and critiques of the way the story is told are still very welcome.)

Christ is risen!
While we Christians are called to "pray continuously" (1 Th. 5:16-18), there are few times of day that are more fitting for "the lifting up of our hands" (cf. Ps. 140:2 LXX) than the evening, as reflected by the universal tradition of evening and morning prayer. I have found the praying of the Church's evening service, which the layman may offer, to be of incalculable benefit, but I have also heard that many do not know the order of the service as set for the reader, and I know for a fact that it is difficult to find the rule and instruction on how to use it online. Thus, in case one wishes to know the rules of the service so that they might not have to pray it with a computer using liturgy.io, here is the order!
The Psalms are numbered slightly differently in the Hebrew and the Greek; I give the Greek numbering first and the Hebrew second in parentheses. Translations are pulled from many sources, from Fr. Lash to various Orthodox sources and the 1662 BCP.

Vespers:

The Opening:

Through the prayers of our holy fathers, Lord Jesus Christ our God, have mercy on us. Glory to you, O God, glory to you. Heavenly King...
The Trisagon [Holy God... (x3), Glory... both now..., All-holy Trinity..., Lord, have mercy (x3), Glory... both now..., Our Father..., Through the prayers...) Lord, have mercy. (x12) Glory... both now.
Come, let us worship the King, our God. Come, let us worship Christ, the King, our God. Come, let us worship Christ Himself, the King, our God.

Bless the Lord, O my soul!

Psalm 103 (104) Refrain: (The sun knew the hour of its setting. / You made darkness, and it was night. / How your works have been magnified, O Lord! In wisdom You have made them all.)
Glory. Both now. Alleluia. [This is an abbreviation for: Glory... both now... Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia; glory to You, O God. (x3)] Lord have mercy. (x12) Through the prayers...

Psalter Reading:

One kathisma of the Psalter (that is, one-twentieth) of the Psalter is read. Each kathisma is divided into three stases (sg. stasis). After the first two stases, pray
Glory. Both now. Alleluia. Lord, have mercy. (x3) Glory... both now...
After the third stasis, simply pray "Glory. Both now. Alleluia."
The appointed readings are below. I use Roman numerals for the numbering of the kathismata and stases to keep it less cluttered. The Psalms are labeled with the evening of the calendar day (which begins at midnight), not the liturgical day (which begins at sundown); thus, "Saturday" means "Saturday evening" not "Friday evening."

Day	Kathisma	Stases
Sunday	-	-
Monday	VI: 37-45, (38-46)	I: 37-39 (38-40); II: 40-42 (41-43); III: 43-45 (44-46)
Tuesday	IX: 64-69 (65-70)	I: 64-66 (65-67); II: 67 (68); III: 68-69 (69-70)
Wednesday	XII: 85-90 (86-91)	I: 85-87 (86-88); II: 88 (89); III: 89-90 (90-91)
Thursday	XV: 105-108 (106-109)	I: 105 (106); II: 106 (107); III: 107-108 (108-109)
Friday	XVIII: 119-133 (120-134)	I: 119-123 (120-124); II:124-128 (125-129); III: 129-133 (130-134)
Saturday	I: 1-8 (1-8)	I: 1-3 (1-3); II: 4-6 (4-6); III: 7-8 (7-8)

Note that Sunday has no appointed kathisma and that there is no distinction between the Hebrew and Greek Psalms for the first kathisma. If you cannot pray the full kathisma, pray a single stasis, and work your way up!

Lord, I Have Cried:

Ps. 140 (141), 141 (142), 129 (130), and 116 (117). Glory... both now...
In the full service, daily hymns are chanted between the last ten, eight, or six verses (the number depends on the importance of the day's celebration!) However, since the hymns for the single cycle rotate on an eight-week cycle, I can't provide them all here. Interested readers should purchase a copy of St. Ignatius Orthodox Press's Anthologion or a copy of the Octoechos, the book containing the hymns.

Phos Hilaron (O Gladsome Light):

O Gladsome Light of the holy glory of the Immortal Father, heavenly, holy, blessed Jesus Christ. Now we have come to the setting of the sun and behold the evening light, we praise God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. For it is right at all times to worship You with voices of praise, O Son of God and Giver of Life, therefore all the world glorifies You.

Evening Prokeimenon:

Like the Psalms, these cycle through a weekly reading.

• Saturday: The Lord is King, He has clothed Himself in Glory! / The Lord has clothed and girded Himself with power. / The Lord is King... / He has established the world, which will not be shaken. / The Lord is King... / Holiness befits Your house, O Lord, to length of days. / The Lord is King...
• Sunday: Come, bless the Lord, all you servants of the Lord. / You that stand in the house of the Lord, in the courts of the house of our God. / Come, bless the Lord...
• Monday: When I call to the Lord, He will hear me. / Answer me when I call, O God of my justice. / When I call...
• Tuesday: Your mercy, O Lord, will follow me all the days of my life. / The Lord is my shepherd, therefore I can lack nothing. / Your mercy, O Lord...
• Wednesday: Save me, O God, by the power of Your Name, and vindicate me by Your might. / Hear my prayer, O God, and listen to the words of my mouth. Save me, O God...
• Thursday: My help comes from the Lord, Who made both heaven and earth. / I have lifted up my eyes to the hills, from which my help will come. / My help comes...
• Friday: O God, You are my helper, Your mercy will go before me. / Deliver me from my enemies, O my God, ransom me from those that rise up against me. / O God, You are my helper...

On Saturday evenings alone:

Lord, have mercy. (x40) Through the prayers...

The Evening Prayer:

O Lord, keep us this evening without sin. Blessed are you, O Lord, God of our fathers, and praised and glorified is your name to the ages. Amen. O Lord, let your mercy be upon us for we have set our hope in you. Blessed are you, O Lord, teach me your commandments. Blessed are you, Master, grant me understanding of your commandments. Blessed are you, Holy One, enlighten me with your commandments. Lord, your mercy is forever; do not despise the works of your hands. To you is due praise, to you is due song, to you is due glory, to the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, now and forever and to the ages of ages. Amen.
Lord, have mercy. (x12) Through the prayers...

The Aposticha:

Usually, these miscellaneous verses are sung with hymns from the Octoechos between them, including one before the first verse. Again, I only provide the verses. Furthermore, on Friday, the verses are variable; I suppose one could either skip it or pray the Sunday–Thursday verses.

• Saturday: The Lord is King, he has clothed himself with glory; the Lord has clothed and girded Himself with power. / He has established the world, which will not be shaken. / Holiness befits your house, O Lord, to length of days. / Glory... both now...
• Sunday–Thursday: I have lifted up my eyes to You Who dwell in Heaven. Behold, as the eyes of servants look to their lord's hands; as the eyes of a maid to her mistress's hand; so do our eyes to the Lord our God, until You have mercy on us. / Have mercy on us, Lord, have mercy on us, for we have had our fill of contempt, our soul has been filled to overflowing. Let reproach be fore the prosperous and contempt for the proud. / Glory... both now...

Nunc dimmitis (The Song of Simeon, the God-receiver):

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace according to thy word. For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, Which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; To be a light to lighten the Gentiles and to be the glory of thy people Israel.

Apoloytika:
This is the "ending hymn" of the day. It's a lot of material, specifically for Sunday, but one may sing the Troparion of the day here, found here: https://www.archdiocese.ca/sites/default/files/liturgical-music/3-liturgy/02-Great%20Litany,%20Daily%20Antiphons/Daily%20Troparia%20and%20Kontakia.pdf
The Closing:

Lord, have mercy. (x40) Through the prayers... May the Lord God strengthen the holy and pure faith of devout and Orthodox Christians, with His holy Church, to the ages of ages. Greater in honor than the cherubim and beyond compare more glorious than the seraphim, truly the Theotokos, we magnify you. Glory... both now... Lord, have mercy. (x3) Through the prayers...

[Question:] The UNO, America, Britain, in fact the entire western media accuse the Taliban of violating the rights of women; of banning them from jobs, of ordering them to observe 'Purdah'. The Taliban are also accused of depriving women of their right to education.
[Answer:] The basic question here is what are the rights of women and who will determine them.
If the women's rights have been determined and fixed by Allah Ta`ala, if these rights have been given to the women by Allah Ta`ala Himself, then what the Taliban are doing seems perfectly right. The rights granted by then are fully in accordance with the orders of Allah Ta`ala. On the other hand if women have been given their rights by the West, if the right to determine what these rights are lies with America, Europe, Britain, the United Nations then admittedly the Taliban are in the wrong.
Now we are Muslims. The Taliban are Muslims. The people of Afghanistan are Muslims. All of us firmly believe that neither do we acknowledge the rights given to women by the West, nor are we bound by them. People who agree to these rights are welcome to respect them. But people who do not acknowledge the western-bestowed rights at all, to force them into obeying them, to complain against their attitude, to accuse them of not giving these rights to their women, seems to be entirely absurd and stupid. Either that or it would be coercion, oppression in its basest form. It would be denial of their freedom denial of their religious rights. And this is in itself against the principles of the West.
An explanation of the sum and substance of all these allegations is that Islam has put all the responsibility of a woman's upkeep upon the man. If a man is not capable of paying a woman's 'Mahr', (dower), of bearing her expenses then his marriage is not valid. The course of his married life comes to an end. If the husband dies, the women has a right to remarry so that the new husband may bear her expenses, or she can go back to her parents who are responsible for her livelihood. Along with it Islam has made a woman heir of her parent's wealth, as well as heir to the estate of her husband. She is the heir to her children's property too. This has been done so to make ample provisions for a woman. Contrary to this the men in the West have made women an object of their lust and desires. They have used them how soever they pleased. When these slaves-of their-desires had to go to work, to offices and factories they dragged the women along with them too. Women were made to work in offices, restaurants, shops and factories for the gratification of their desires. In this way did the western man destroy the personality, position and identity of a woman.
In Thailand, Holland, Bangkok etc. women so unashamedly, with such pride solicit made attention in markets, in open public places, like men in Pakistan and Afghanistan sell their wares sitting by the roadside. Then the ignominy of it all is that at night these women ask each other how much they have "earned" during the day or night. The poor, wretched western house-wife is not sure whether her husband will return home to her or spend the night in another woman's arms.
The women in the West are labouring under a double burden. One, she is torn by anxiety as to who will look after her in case she remains unmarried, for her culture has deprived her of her right of a share in the property and wealth of her parents, nor is anyone else willing to take on her responsibility. She is thus forced to wander from door to door in search of security. Even in the matter of dress she is exploited. Men wear trousers which cover their ankles too while the women are forced to wear skirts with their legs bare in every kind of weather. In the scantiest of dresses-merely a sleeveless blouse and mini-skirt the western woman can be seen roaming in shops, air-ports, stations etc. She is an target for unscrupulous men who satisfy their lust with them, wherever, whenever, howsoever they please. She has become no less than a b[*]tch, chased by a dozen dogs in heat. If these are the rights of the western women then the West is welcome to them.
What about the eastern or rather the Muslim woman? A Muslim woman is the queen of her house, a princess of the society. Her role is that of a mother, sister, daughter, grandmother and aunt. A man with the sweat of his brow fulfils her needs of food and shelter. He fiercely protects her honour, dignity and chastity. A Muslim man firmly believes that a husband and wife's relation is a one to one relationship. One who interferes in it does so at the risk of his life, for he would be challenging the man's honour.
I ask the western people, specially the UN why, when their women enjoy all kinds of rights, every kind of freedom, do they stop them from going about in the nude in shopping places etc.? Why have they made it necessary for them to cover the upper and lower parts of their bodies with at least two pieces of cloth, as human dignity and civilization demand? This means that the West, the UN admit to code of at least one percent decency for men and women. Now if a nation, as a nation, as a Muslim nation believes in ninety-nine percent decency and honour of women then what right does the West have to criticize it? After all it admits to one percent decency too.
In the end I would like to make an entreaty to Europe too. I would like to ask the Europeans why they are bent upon making other people suffer from that which is the cause of their own suffering? The thing which has destroyed them why are they forcing it upon other people? Your Parliament passes a bill which makes it legal for a man to marry another man, for a son-in-law to marry his wife's mother, i.e. his mother-in-law. Why do you compel us to do the same?
As far as the question is concerned that the women in Kabul have been banned from jobs with no one to look after them, so how will they survive, the answer is that the Taliban have made provisions for them. They have told all women who were working in offices etc. to stay at home and they will receive their entire salary there. There is no need for them to work any longer. Their salaries will be continued. Now if in-spite of this someone creates an uproar that women's rights are being violated, he is actually trying to spread immorality. He is not concerned with the rights of women but wants to propagate prostitution in fact.
Then, who really are these working women and where have they come from? One must go and find out for, Afghani women do work in their own homes but not in offices. And another thing, an Afghani woman may belong to any area, Purdah is inherent in her nature. Purdah is a vital part of Afghan culture; it is its national identity. Now the woman who are demanding freedom from Purdah, right to employment, the women for whose rights the UNO is making such demand, they do not in fact belong to Afghanistan at all but have come from somewhere else. They belong to Tajikistan, Russia and Iran. They have some to Afghanistan with the specific purpose of destroying its environment. Under a well-thought out plan they are working upon undermining the influence of Islamic values.
Then, who really are these working women and where have they come from? One must go and find out for, Afghani women do work in their own homes but not in offices. And another thing, an Afghani woman may belong to any area, Purdah is inherent in her nature. Purdah is a vital part of Afghan culture; it is its national identity. Now the woman who are demanding freedom from Purdah, right to employment, the women for whose rights the UNO is making such demand, they do not in fact belong to Afghanistan at all but have come from somewhere else. They belong to Tajikistan, Russia and Iran. They have some to Afghanistan with the specific purpose of destroying its environment. Under a well-thought out plan they are working upon undermining the influence of Islamic values.
Then among these women demanding rights of employment, are those too who are linked with the Communists in Afghanistan. They went to Moscow, learned all the vices there ad came back, bent upon destroying the Islamic environment of Afghanistan. They were officially appointed for this work. If this is not so, then where are the widows of the 1.6 million Shuhada who died in the Jihaad against Russia? Out of the 1.6 million there must still be at least 0.3 million, alive. What happened to these women? Who is looking after them? Why didn't the UN raise its voice for their rights? Weren't they human beings? Or didn't they need food to stay alive?
The fact is that these widows were Muslims and Muslim men are taking care of them. Either they were given in second marriages or their parents brothers or relatives are looking after in accordance with the laws of Sharee`ah. Their lives are safe and so is their honour.
The women who were living in Kabul mostly belonged to Communists, Mulhideen, and heretics, who enjoyed the patronage of the UN. The leaders sent their husbands to the front, into the mouth of death. They then called these beautiful women and appointed them as, sweepresses in their offices and satisfied their lust with them. The fault thus lies with the UN itself. The rights it gave these women were those of sweeping the offices of lecherous officials. Their responsibility now totally lies with the UN whose charter it is to protect the rights of women in this degraded, shameful fashion.
As far as education is concerned, Islam has given women the right to acquire education and we will certainly give them this right. At present the Taliban are busy in fighting a war, a war demanding all their energies and resources. As soon as they war comes to an end they will make proper arrangements for the education of women. But it must be kept in mind that the Muslim girl will be educated in an Islamic Madrasah from which she will emerge as an epitome of honour and decency, grace and dignity personified.
The UN does not have the right to prescribe a course of studies for our women. The western world is welcome to provide its brand of education to its own women which casts their modesty out of the window, which fosters sexual relationship between men and women; an education in which are taught the etiquettes of drinking and dancing, of merry-making; an education which causes young girls to attain puberty well before their age, which bestows upon them the status of unmarried mothers well before they have completed their college education.
The saddest fact is that those professing to be highly civilized have they never pondered upon the meaning of "civilization"?
The British Parliament passes a law according to which 'gays' could marry each other, i.e. a man was allowed to marry another man. Next, another law was passed which allowed a man to marry his mother-in-law. He has in his marriage the daughter and the mother both! Curses be on such animals, damned be such swines. Whatever did happen to their humanity, to their sense of shame?
Copulation with dogs has become common in England. It is a usual custom to make dogs heirs to a legacy. It is said that the Satan Pope John Paul II wedded a man to a frog. Such dirty evil people then criticize the experts, the true followers of Islam-the Taliban!
"Ashamed of yourself, you aren't!" as the saying in Urdu goes.
[Source]

You might think that it is a strange things to say being grateful for the hurt, for the unbearable feeling that you were not enough but let me tell you how my first heartbreak change my entire life. First love, that’s something everyone talks about in the movies, in the songs I always thought it was just a fantasy until I fell in love for the first time. It was the kind of love at the first sight when you just couldn’t look away. So here we were looking into the souls of each others trying to understand our own feelings. When I got home that day I remember daydreaming about him non stop, and the more I got to know him the more I was sucked into that incredible feeling. Being with him was like being in the ocean in the middle of nowhere, he got that thing where whenever we were with each other nothing else mattered, nothing else existed, only the feeling of content and complete peace. That was one of a kind feeling, something I never felt. Until the ocean became agitated until the waves began until everything changed. He ended things. Noticed how I said it was his doing, I would have never thought of it. I would have bared anything if it meant staying with him, experimenting the peace just one more time. But no he ended things. The day it happened felt unreal. I went with my day like nothing happened, and it was when I got home that I broke down. I always was the type of person who never shows sadness or pain, I also rarely cried. I thought those were weaknesses so I always prefered crying from the inside to drown those negative feelings. But that day I cried, so heavily I thought I was choking. It was not really losing the person that broke me but letting everything that came with him go, letting the memories go, letting the peace that I once felt go. I lost track of time. I was lost in my sadness. But I think that being lost helped me find my true self . Before him I was not really into anything. I was a good student and got decent grades. However, I sucked at English. I was not passionate about anything. I had no goal in life. I was like those sims who all look the same, with no taste or personality of their own. The first week was hard. I was lost in the infinite ocean of my thoughts. Then I started listening to songs about break ups to feel less lonely to have someone else verbalize my feelings. It also happened that those songs were in English and in order to fully feel connected to the song I looked the lyrics up then I learned them all but heart. It made it easier to sing someone else’s feelings than to face my own. I was lonely, I felt empty but every time I listened to those songs I felt more complet. Then something in me changed. It was slow at the beginning but I started to change. In the sadness the confidence took place in the loneliness the desire to learn new things took place I put standards for myself so high that I wasn’t able to feel depressed. I started to want to learn things about my feelings to have a better control on them so I read books about them, most of which happened to be in English. With confidence the desire to be the best version of myself slowly got into me. I started to be passionate about things I studied hard to reach my goals. My grades got better, I was the first in my class in English, I discovered activities I liked. I changed. So yes I am forever thankful to him for making me change, for making me who I am today. The feeling that I experimented with him never came back but I strongly believe that the lack of it made me better.

The voice over the phone is distorted, disguised, but the words are unambiguous. "We have your son. You have until midnight to send us five million dollars or the next time you see little Benji will be in pieces at a time. Instructions are in the mailbox in front of your house. Your play on the deal."
They hang up. Then they text me a picture. In his big blue eyes staring up at the camera, he looks terrified.
FUCK.
I retrieve the mail and come back inside. I read the info about the drop off. I sink to the floor, trying to make sense of this. My company has just gone international. The publicity is enormous, as is the financial gain. The idea that an opportunist would take him now makes sense.
Not everyone is impressed. Tara didn’t like how much I worked, and after a year of argument after argument, she asked me for a divorce. We hadn't been prenup people when we’d said “I do” in that modest cathedral. We’d had nothing. And it would have screwed me until I started contemplating Benji's blue eyes just a little longer.
I secretly had us tested and got the gut punch proof. He's not mine.
He’s five, so if there's any time to exit his life, it's now. Maybe he’ll barely remember me, I’d reasoned. But now this, and I'm not a sociopath. I care about him and I don't want him to die.
I call my lawyer's office number, but it's after hours and they don’t pick up. Lance, the chief legal officer who I usually liaison with, is on vacation. I can’t expect work to occupy someone’s mind in the midst of fruit cocktails and day parties, but I leave voicemails anyway, remaining vague while emphasizing that it is urgent. Meanwhile my publicist is at a conference. I leave a voicemail and a text. I need them to help me sort through the logistics of this.
I’m considering paying the five mil. But what if me doing this serves in court as some kind of adultery forgiveness? A sane divorce judge would hopefully not provide this interpretation. But condonation law might establish that in getting him back I had claimed Benji as mine, and factor this in handing over my fortune to Tara.
And what if Tara were able to accuse me of consorting with criminals? I don’t want to make a mess by going to the police about this, but it's possible to spin anything. Someone could easily make this into a story about how I risked Benji's life and crept around being shady instead of going through legal channels. It could cost the company its reputation, and then millions—or eliminate us altogether.
I’ll spare the five million. I’ll be the hero. But I can’t let it cost me the rest.
I pace around, antsy. I leave another set of voicemails. I need them to get back to me soon. The sun is setting.

(I posted this to yoga. I would like to bring together the yoga and psychedelic-healing communities. But the folks at yoga often scoff at my psychedelic-themed posts so we'll see...)
I recently attended a seminar at the Columbia School of Social Work on the theme of psychedelic healing. It was an eye-opening experience and confirmed my conviction that the yoga community can play a key role in supporting therapeutic outcomes.
The panelists were inspiring. A grad student, currently in training to become a therapist, spoke of her experience with trauma. Psilocybin therapy had allowed her to make tremendous progress. A middle-aged man related the extreme alcoholism that led his doctors to predict, "At the rate you're going, you'll be dead by 30." After three therapy sessions with magic mushrooms, he had not touched a drink in 6 years.
Another man described his PTSD from childhood abuse and wartime horrors, along with his descent into severe depression and heroin use. He was taken to an Ayahuasca ceremony by a fellow vet and credited the experience with saving his life -- "I experienced joy for the first time."
All the panelists were folks operating at high levels within the world of psychedelic healing -- doctors, up-and-coming therapists, leaders of organizations -- and each one had a powerful, personal story of their own healing path.
I spoke in the Q & A session.
I described my experience, whereby 30 years of yoga practice combined with psychedelic therapy had basically ended my lifelong depression stemming from violent trauma in childhood. I said I could not separate the factors -- Yoga and intentional psychedelic work seemed both to be critical for me.
I noted that, while somatic work and breath work were being addressed more often in the psychedelic-healing community, still many patients were being given medicine with no instruction geared toward balancing energy, building awareness of the breath, settling the mind, etc.
The panelists responded unanimously -- and each one took time to respond to my summary question, "Is there a role for yogis?"
Their answer was, "YES, there is a role for yogis!" They all related ways in which yoga or yoga-adjacent practices had contributed to their psychedelic-healing experiences. They reinforced the "All hands on deck!" sentiment I had received from a prominent ketamine therapist (who is also a yoga teacher).
What is the role for yogis?
The obvious answer is to teach breathing, chakra-scanning, simple asanas, properly. The MAPS guide for MDMA therapy, for example, is light on breath work. I have been to psychedelic healing ceremonies where the facilitator clearly knows that deep breathing is important but they describe the process in a clumsy, incoherent way -- A yoga teacher would teach pranayama much more effectively!
There is also R & D. How does the community come up with effective methods quickly, to benefit the countless folks benefits from psychedelic therapy? Science, with its demand for rigor and adherence to a tight method, is slow. Its conclusions may be strong, but they are often hyper-specific, because only one variable has been addressed.
I believe yogis are the best positioned to develop such healing methods, because of their intuitive understanding of body, breath, and mind -- because of their direct experience.
An example is Tibetan Dream Yoga. This ancient set of practices was developed by yogis over hundreds of years -- Its practices owe to the experiences of practitioners, who learned as they went along, experimented and refined at every step. It is hard to imagine such progress having been made if they were beholden to the scientific method, peer review at every stage, etc.
The dream is very similar to some psychedelic states, so Dream Yoga is an auspicious guide for developing yogic methods for psychedelic healing.
I have started two subs dedicated to this topic, one for ketamine and another for cannabis. KetamineStateYoga and CannabisStateYoga.
I am trying to further a conversation between the yoga and psychedelic-healing communities. If you are a yogi (or practitioner of a yoga-adjacent form) with an interest in psychedelic healing, please relate your experience -- What have you learned? What have been your successes and setbacks?
Or comment on the overall endeavor -- How can yogis be of benefit as psychedelic healing gathers momentum in these turbulent and troubling times?

Holy smokes, today is the closest that I have ever come to exploding on a parent. A woman who owns a lovely little coffee shop sometimes likes to brag about her kids' achievements. And usually, I'll just nod and smile and be civil about it all. But today, this same woman went on about how her daughter won a "top student" award at high school, and the lady shoved her phone into my hand. The phone was playing a 10-minute video about a presenter going on and on about how amazing a high school student is and how much this daughter deserved such a stellar, pristine award.
I had to watch this for 10 minutes straight and honestly, wtf. I'll never get those 10 minutes back. I'll even cut down my visits to that coffee shop.
Like listen, if it's a family member bragging to me about their children (my siblings are CF and so am I but maybe aunts and uncles have a few kids), yeah yeah I'll listen and pretend to engage. After all, I do want what's best for family, and I do care to see them happier because of kids. But no way in heck do I need a whole novel on some other person's kid's life story. This isn't even the first time that this has happened. I've noticed, more and more within the past half-year or so, that people want to share with me pictures of their kids and want to tell me how cute their kids are and all. But no one has shoved their phone into my hands like this before. Furthermore, it's always cringe to hear about someone else's offspring. I get it! Your kid's a genius! Your kid is a brilliant musician! Your kid is unique and special! Yeah yeah, aren't we all.
It's not even humble to brag about your kids. They're your offspring, your DNA, basically your mini-me's. Sure, you put aside a lot of your life to raise kids, but you made that decision to do so. Furthermore, you never asked your kids whether they'd like to be brought into this oftentimes cruel world.
And I literally never share with others pictures of my adorable half-bengal kittens unless they specifically ask. Because, news flash, all kittens are adorable and I don't need to state the obvious unless you need to hear it.

(I posted this to yoga. I would like to bring together the yoga and psychedelic-healing communities. But the folks at yoga often scoff at my psychedelic-themed posts so we'll see...)
I recently attended a seminar at the Columbia School of Social Work on the theme of psychedelic healing. It was an eye-opening experience and confirmed my conviction that the yoga community can play a key role in supporting therapeutic outcomes.
The panelists were inspiring. A grad student, currently in training to become a therapist, spoke of her experience with trauma. Psilocybin therapy had allowed her to make tremendous progress. A middle-aged man related the extreme alcoholism that led his doctors to predict, "At the rate you're going, you'll be dead by 30." After three therapy sessions with magic mushrooms, he had not touched a drink in 6 years.
Another man described his PTSD from childhood abuse and wartime horrors, along with his descent into severe depression and heroin use. He was taken to an Ayahuasca ceremony by a fellow vet and credited the experience with saving his life -- "I experienced joy for the first time."
All the panelists were folks operating at high levels within the world of psychedelic healing -- doctors, up-and-coming therapists, leaders of organizations -- and each one had a powerful, personal story of their own healing path.
I spoke in the Q & A session.
I described my experience, whereby 30 years of yoga practice combined with psychedelic therapy had basically ended my lifelong depression stemming from violent trauma in childhood. I said I could not separate the factors -- Yoga and intentional psychedelic work seemed both to be critical for me.
I noted that, while somatic work and breath work were being addressed more often in the psychedelic-healing community, still many patients were being given medicine with no instruction geared toward balancing energy, building awareness of the breath, settling the mind, etc.
The panelists responded unanimously -- and each one took time to respond to my summary question, "Is there a role for yogis?"
Their answer was, "YES, there is a role for yogis!" They all related ways in which yoga or yoga-adjacent practices had contributed to their psychedelic-healing experiences. They reinforced the "All hands on deck!" sentiment I had received from a prominent ketamine therapist (who is also a yoga teacher).
What is the role for yogis?
The obvious answer is to teach breathing, chakra-scanning, simple asanas, properly. The MAPS guide for MDMA therapy, for example, is light on breath work. I have been to psychedelic healing ceremonies where the facilitator clearly knows that deep breathing is important but they describe the process in a clumsy, incoherent way -- A yoga teacher would teach pranayama much more effectively!
There is also R & D. How does the community come up with effective methods quickly, to benefit the countless folks benefits from psychedelic therapy? Science, with its demand for rigor and adherence to a tight method, is slow. Its conclusions may be strong, but they are often hyper-specific, because only one variable has been addressed.
I believe yogis are the best positioned to develop such healing methods, because of their intuitive understanding of body, breath, and mind -- because of their direct experience.
An example is Tibetan Dream Yoga. This ancient set of practices was developed by yogis over hundreds of years -- Its practices owe to the experiences of practitioners, who learned as they went along, experimented and refined at every step. It is hard to imagine such progress having been made if they were beholden to the scientific method, peer review at every stage, etc.
The dream is very similar to some psychedelic states, so Dream Yoga is an auspicious guide for developing yogic methods for psychedelic healing.
I have started two subs dedicated to this topic, one for ketamine and another for cannabis. KetamineStateYoga and CannabisStateYoga.
I am trying to further a conversation between the yoga and psychedelic-healing communities. If you are a yogi (or practitioner of a yoga-adjacent form) with an interest in psychedelic healing, please relate your experience -- What have you learned? What have been your successes and setbacks?
Or comment on the overall endeavor -- How can yogis be of benefit as psychedelic healing gathers momentum in these turbulent and troubling times?