L'Eglise Aristotelicienne Romaine The Roman and Aristotelic Church

[Jolieen]

Library & Scriptorium of the Bishop of Lamia

Rich decorated wood shelves had been brought via ship to Lamia, made of the finest carpenters in Scotland. Books fill those shelves up to the brim as there was nothing the Bishop of Lamia deemed more important then the works and knowledge of the dogma and the scriptures of various theologicans. But there was more, worldly lecture as well as scientific reports or even books telling about heretic beliefs. For Caillen there was nothing more important, than information. One can not judge about something when one does not know about it. Information, knowledge and much more the desire to make use of it, were important to the scottish blond.

The library as well hosted her own workspace for her private scriptures on theological matters and some more private translations.
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Cardinal-Deacon of the British Isles -Bishop In Partibus of Lamia - Prefect to the Villa of St.Loyat - Expert to the pontificial collages of Heraldry - Assessor to the Developing Churches

[Jolieen]

Taking a deep breath, there was nothing like this special scent of books. It told her about undiscovered stories and wisdom that waits for one to get discovered - Untold stories.

There was a project she wished to work upon for already quite a while, yet it was never the right time and neither the right place. Lamia was giving her freedom to start on those projects and maybe create a place for such creativity in here. Maybe even a guest would join her on that as she has asked for some guidance.

Taking her seat at the desk, which had been placed on her demand especially within the colorful light of the large glass windows. She took out some document.

[Gregorius]

[You make me feel so young]

Il n'y avait rien de mieux que d'être loin de Rome. Parfois, la vie pouvait sembler tellement plus apaisante hors de toutes les agitations de la Ville Éternelle et se sentir beaucoup plus près de la campagne. La campagne rappelait au vieillard son petit village auprès de San Marino dans le nord de l'Italie, un endroit paisible en lequel il passa sa tendre jeunesse. Ces souvenirs très marquants revenaient souvent à sa mémoire quand il se rendait à un autre endroit aussi semblable.

Le vieux Cardinal s'était décidé à se retirer avec Caillen en acceptant sa proposition de séjourner quelques jours dans un lieu plus isolé du Vatican. Aurait-il pu refuser ? Impossible. Elle devenait un peu chaque jour son péché, parfois un objet de tentation, d'autres fois un objet de plaisir et souvent un objet de fascination. Tant de qualifications créant au travers lui, la cause de son envie. À son âge, il ne pouvait se le permettre, la jeune écossaise pourrait bien être sa fille dans une autre vie. Il était devenu à présent Prince de l'Église pour conseiller le Vicaire de Christos. Le grisonnant italien désapprouvait ses propres actes, honteusement. À quoi bon ? Elle le rendait différent, plus jeune.

La douceur de l'évêque écossaise lui rappelait sa première épouse tant aimée. Quand cette dernière mourut, le chagrin l'avait fait totalement oublier à quoi ressemblait la douceur. Il ne savait plus sourire, ni rire, ni donner de l'affection. Ce fut la première chose qu'il fit en arrivant dans la bibliothèque, juste embrasser les lèvres de la belle créature, son joli ange comme il aime la surnommer désormais.

Pieuse, charmante. Je peux aussi ajouter travailleuse dans les qualités.

Une fois assis, il déposa sa canne sur sa cuisse, se plongeant dans la lecture de l'hagiographie.

C'est un très bon début de travail. Je lis que ton saint a des origines celtiques, je pense qu'un tel saint pourrait aider certains druides bretons à revenir sur le bon chemin.
Simple suggestion. Peut-être serais-tu d'accord pour développer son histoire autour de la nature ?
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in progress...

[Jolieen]

Feeling good

There was more energy in the young blond for some time now, being more aware of herself as well. As if someone had changed her being, waking a side in her she was not even aware of herself. Sometimes confessions were need to be made, asking for salvation, remembering this confession she could not help but to smile, which was rare for her usually. With a blink of the eye, this strict, work focused blond, allowed herself to enjoy and it felt good, too good maybe.
They both had doubts, both their words questioned their doings, being aware it was a sinful action but on the other hand, it felt so good.

Sitting in the light, reading various scriptures that tell about the ancient Saint of Scotland she was completely concentrated on this work. As usual she took the brush as she prefered this tool to a feather to write, a present she got within the very first days in Glasgow which she treasured.
The sources to create a hagiography were many, and some of them contradict to the others. About to start on the next paragraph, she felt him again, his presence and her heart began to beat just a bit faster.

Of course she had invited him here to join the sun of Greece, for a time away from Rome. But she did not know what she had expected how their reunion would be like. It was obvious that she had no experience in this meta-level and he surprised her again as their lips met, as if this was something natural. It was in some ways but she still needed to realize that. Being insecure was a new facette for her, but it was a different sort of insecurity, one that even made her feel excited. More present in the here and now, more grounded.

It was obvious he had managed to astonish her, it took her a while to refocus on the text in front of her.

"Merci -I have been working on this for a while already. The parts you read here have been created as well by the currently absent archbishop of Glasgow. Mungo, was someone who spread the faith in Scotland and set the base for what we do today in all over Scotland."

She stopped her explanation reaching for anoter document stating shortly about those four miricles of the scottish ancient.

"See, the tree that never grew, was an iced piece of wood which shouldn't be able to be set on fire. His strong prayers and belief made the miricle happen.

The bell that never rang, was a bell he brought back from Rome, while there is not much more I found about this miricle yet I admit.

And the fish that never swam, was a fish that revealed the wrongdoings of a King who tried to get his wife killed for cheating on him. He accused her for having given their marriage ring to her lover, while it was the king who stole the ring and throw it into the River Clyde. Mungo was convinced the wife of the king was innocent and he prayed for her. The fish jumped right out of the water and in his mouth there was said ring.

All those parts of the story can be seen even today within the Coat of Arms of Glasgow. You see this man had a great impact within Scotland.

He was archbishop and he built the first church in Glasgow."

Her hand without even her noticing it herself, placed itself on top of his, again there was this desire for vincinity that she could not explain herself, and that happened naturally without even thinking.
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Cardinal-Deacon of the British Isles -Bishop In Partibus of Lamia - Prefect to the Villa of St.Loyat - Expert to the pontificial collages of Heraldry - Assessor to the Developing Churches

[Gregorius]

[That was unforgettable
I wanna do it again]

Même si cela ne se voyait guère, beaucoup d'entraves le retenaient encore dans cette toute nouvelle relation naissante entre eux. Les chaînes de la sainteté l'empêchaient de se délecter totalement dans cette récente passion. Souvent, elles le retenaient tel un châtiment infligé à son mental. Il était comme un Prométhée condamné aux fers, condamné à subir le bec de l'aigle qui lui dévorait éternellement le foie car en effet le vieil homme devait subir aussi les remords créés par le fait d'avoir fauté. Le prélat se sentait sale, taché par la faute, peut-être les porcins devaient être plus propres que lui, tant il se sentait devenu une horrible salissure. Coupable, le péché rougissait son front et l'avait marqué à vie, le pensait-il. Il vivait quotidiennement avec ce mal-être avoué à Caillen. L'éternelle question demeurait à chaque fois : Ô Seigneur, que penses-tu de ton serviteur ? Il pensait sincèrement avoir offensé Dieu, que si il ne faisait rien pour redevenir blanc comme neige, les princes-démons hanteraient jusqu'à la fin des temps son séjour parmi les morts.

En bon jésuite, le Cardinal vivait à présent une vie d'ascétisme, parfois très austère. Tous les châtiments corporels étaient devenus une source de salvation, un moyen de se rapprocher de ce qu'il perdit, à savoir la blancheur de son âme. Maintenant, il se promettait d'utiliser régulièrement la flagellation pour infliger à son propre dos les marques vivifiantes du lavement. Grâce à ce procédé, peut-être obtiendrait-il le pardon du Seigneur en prouvant qu'il veut redevenir un homme meilleur et solvable. En tout cas, le vieillard voulait se montrer actif dans sa pénitence. Étant théologien, il le savait, l'homme en quête du pardon devait montrer son envie réelle de gagner son propre pardon. On réussissait à entrer dans l'estime divin seulement par les oeuvres.

Bien que la tentation restait trop forte...L'évêque breton aimait la ferveur, l'innocence et la pudeur de son évêque écossaise. Il adorait répondre à ces questions dont elle cherchait les réponses inlassablement, aussi bien par les actes et les mots. Elle ignorait beaucoup de choses concernant son propre intimité, les capacités d'un simple toucher, que son physique sous bien des aspects pouvait forcément attirer les yeux masculins en quête de découverte, ce qu'elle pouvait sentir au plus profondément d'elle. Et par-dessus toute chose, elle méconnaissait encore l'étendue des capacités d'un corps masculin sous tous les aspects. Il n'y avait pas besoin de lui poser la question sur ses savoirs, à en voir son regard, son visage et ses hésitations, Iaudas devinait bien qu'elle ne maîtrisait pas forcément le sujet. Cette inexpérience des choses de la vie et la timidité visible en voulant les apprendre, tout ce naturel presque ingénu la rendait très attirante.

Je vois que ce saint a eu un grand impact sur l'Écosse et sa tradition. Beaucoup de fidèles le vénèrent-ils dans ton pays ? Qu'a t-il fait d'autres comme oeuvres ?

L'autre main prélatrice se déposa sur celle de la jeune blonde en voulant lui offrir une caresse. Il aimait la douceur et la chaleur de sa peau, elle lui rappelait qu'il ne serait plus jamais seul sans personne. Après tout, ses enfants, ses petits-enfants vaquaient à leurs autres occupations en le laissant à sa solitude sans fin. À ce propos, la discussion dévia sur un sujet complètement hors contexte:

As-tu de la famille ?
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in progress...

[Jolieen]

Again and Again...

Time was a weird thing, some moments could feel like eternity and some just pass by as if they were about to vanish at highest speed.
And very rarely one feels as if time as simply stopped or at least the rest of the world has stopped and only the very here and now was reality.
For some reasons she was unable to explain, maybe she even did not want to explain what happened each time he was around her.

It shouldn't be, she was sure about that fact. It was a sin that did threaten all what she believed in and all she already had achieved on her path of Virtue towards the Most High and the Solar Paradise. Aware of the fact that she was a member of the clergy and much more aware of what Christos had said about his bishops and apostles. Not really sure about how to deal with it she relied on him who had given into the temptation. Neglacting the knowledge she had in a way as for some reasons all the work that she was contributing within the church, in Glasgow as well as in Rome did feel all of a sudden way easier. More joyful maybe, aware of a new side of life, one that is by knowledge wrong, but by experience something good.
She remembered a discussion she had once with another Cardinal about this topic and decided that he was right about the believe that the Most High wanted us to love and to know love in all its facettes.

Refocusing on the texts, it seemed as if it was easy to get distracted in his presence. She pointed on the various documents on the table.

"Those are ancient texts, written by monks, secular historians and many other who tried to pay St.Mungo tribute to the work he has done within Scotland."

While she answered his question she felt his caress on her hand and her blue eyes wandered up from the documents to his. Takeing a breath as she wanted to continue her speak he managed to astonish her with his question about her family.

She looked down, remembering now, what had been hidden in her mind for so long since this one dramatic night in which Dux, her Dodo escaped and by all the misery this caused she got rescued to find out about her past.
Again she took a deep breath and started to tell him about her story.

"Not a long time ago I would have answered your question with, no I don't I only have been excepted by the Clan Rose as their Kin, but in the present, I can tell you more.

See I got kidnapped from where I have been born, the Inner Herbrides of Scotland on the beautiful Island Iona. Maruders, or I might better name them heretics slayed most of my clan, and most of my family right in front of my eyes. From what I know by now, my uncle Conradh and my sister have survived, maybe some more of our kin. I was born as the daughter of the clan-head and it is therefor my birth-right to be now the head of clan.
My sister has abandon my uncle and according to him married a pagan....I have not seen her ever since that night many years ago.

To answer your question without ending up in endless stories, yes I do have family, my uncle Conradh who I named deacon of Glasgow and a sister, somewhere, somehow, probably. Maybe even some of my kin of the Clan MacKinnon have survived....we don't know by now. I only wish to recapture the Islands Islay, Mull and Iona back to the rightful faith and under the watch of the Clan MacKinnon."

It was not easy for her to talk about all this, it was still a bit weird to have all those memories back that were lost for a very long time. She was a strong scottish lass, but the desire to get back to Iona.
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Cardinal-Deacon of the British Isles -Bishop In Partibus of Lamia - Prefect to the Villa of St.Loyat - Expert to the pontificial collages of Heraldry - Assessor to the Developing Churches

[Gregorius]

[Je lui parle et j'apprends à quel point elle a souffert
C'est une enfant de la guerre qui cache ses sentiments à des milliers de pieds sous terre]

Sa foi était mystiquement celle des anciens, prise de la profonde attrition d'avoir blessé le Très-Haut. La crainte de son propre jugement lui donnait envie de tout arrêter et rester enfermé à l'intérieur d'une abbaye froide, marquée par l'austérité. À chaque fois que leur intimité se resserrait ensemble, le vieillard avait cette impression de continuer à flageller les blessures toujours ouvertes de Christos. Ce péché était très mal, sa formation savante au Séminaire Saint-Benoît lui avait apprise que le Prophète ordonna à ses apôtres de se tenir loin de toutes ces choses de l'amour pour pouvoir se consacrer à l'amour divin. C'est pour cette raison qu'il le savait, jamais le prélat pourrait donner son amour à la belle Caillen.

L'amour était réservée à Dieu, à lui seul, ses sentiments devaient absolument se tenir loin de ceux des Hommes. Son âme restait adoratrice de la force divine, impossible serait-il de changer cet aspect de lui, pas même les belles cuisses d'une femme. Il se souvenait quelles merveilles fit Dieu pour le sauver, à une époque où sa solitude et ses blessures de la vie lui firent le plus grand mal, vers qui s'était-il tourné ? En direction du Très-Haut. Quand il cessa de croire en toute chose, croire en Dieu lui permit de conserver son espérance. Voilà la raison pour laquelle, cet amour ne pouvait être brisée par quoique ce soit existant sur terre. La question de son enveloppe charnelle restait quant à elle très flou.

Un jour, ton nom figurera peut être avec celui de ce saint homme.

Il se plaisait aux instants entre ses cuisses, à leurs baisers, et à leurs câlins. Pour lui, son corps n'était rien d'autre qu'une chose superflus, un déchet n'ayant pas la moindre importance. Il pouvait en faire n'importe quoi, après tout quand on naissait à l'état de poussière, on y revenait de façon logique à ce même état quand on devait rejoindre l'autre monde de l'au-delà. Cette pensée philosophique séparant les choses du matériel et de l'immatériel devenait son seul moyen d'échappatoire pour penser s'éloigner de la terrible réalité. La flagellation et la cilice pouvaient bien massacrer son corps, il ne lui servait plus à rien. Son corps vieillissant n'avait plus quelconque utilité, à part le faire gémir de souffrance à causes de ses articulations arrivées au stade du rhumatisme. D'un autre côté, pourquoi ne gémirait-il pas de plaisir ? La seule chose encore accessible à sa vétuste enveloppe charnelle.

Le Cardinal l'écoutait attentivement raconter son histoire, une triste histoire et terrifiante. Dans chacun de ses gestes, il voyait la profondeur de sa peine, inutile de chercher à lire dans ses pensées car l'obscurité de ses sentiments se voyaient sur le visage de la jeune femme. Tout d'un coup, il la sentait très triste et confuse, la plaine semblait visiblement fraîche. Il ressentait aussi la difficulté pour elle de lui raconter tout ceci, mais peut être le fait d'en parler lui permettrait de se vider, et quitter tous ces mauvais souvenirs désagréables. Chaque personne victime de la vie, gardait enfouie en soi cette infinie tristesse parfois difficile à avouer.

La vie n'a pas été simple pour vous, très chère. Vous avez vécu des heures sombres, je me demande comment peut-on encore tenir debout après ceci. Je suppose que vous me répondrez, que vous n'aviez pas le choix de tenir bon. Les îles Islay, Mull et Iona doivent vous manquer, tout comme votre famille.

Sa main approche son dos pour pouvoir y déposer une caresse.
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in progress...

[Jolieen]

Every page a heartbeat

Her eyes kept looking at him and time became endless again as if it would stop.
The world turned smaller and only the here and now counted, a feeling of being home. A very soft smile appeared on her face for a second as she was realising these feelings. He had the power to calm her down while she was still feeling the haunt by remembering her past.

Indeed it was a troublesome past, with many things others would probably not see in their whole life but any pain one experiences makes one stronger in the end. She felt his hand upon hers, comforting her in a way which made it possible for her to continue her story.

"There was always my faith with me, even when I lost my memory as I guess that the Almighty did want to protects me from all those horrors of having seen how my own parents and many others of my own family got slaugthered by those heretics. It took a small miricle and probably it was needed for me to grew up on my path of virtue before I remembered all this again."

Without even noticing she leaned against his shoulder while there was still more to tell as if all needed to be said at least once to somebody who was not her uncle.

"I got stranded in Glasgow - the heretics left me behind after they realised that there wouldn't be any price for me, as they slaughtered all who would have paid for me as their hostage.
Father Applus was the first I met, he showed me the beautiful city of Glasgow, he is the Archbishop of Glasgow. The last place he showed me was the church and that was the place were I felt home, save and protected.
I got baptised soon after and started my path by becomming deaconess.
Progressing on that path, turning into an active member of the parish and the city I lived in just like it is written within the book of virtues. I met Conradh, after I just got ordinated, who is way older than me but just like me - he was very dedicated to be an active member - to serve and to maybe make up for sins he feels on his mind. He became my disciple as the english seminary is not offering you a lot to understand the faith really.

One night my Dodo "Dux" -he was a giftmas present - escaped my house and I chased after him to catch him, stupid enough I trusted the thin ice on River Clyde and fell into the River. By a miricle it was Conradh who saved me, and him who fighted for my life to keep me warm in the ice cold night - he tried changing my clothes with all respect that one can have.
He found on my right sholder something that I was not even aware of - it is a branding scar -given to me as I am the first born daughter of the clan-head of the Clan MacKinnon."

Finally she stopped it felt good, to have said all this maybe not even to tell it to him, but to make herself aware of it.
Letting parts of the trouble go and except them as they were, as a part of her path that is defining who she is today.
Her eyes seeked to look deep into his. "While I can imagine that I am not the only who had seen a lot....tell me about yourself"
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Cardinal-Deacon of the British Isles -Bishop In Partibus of Lamia - Prefect to the Villa of St.Loyat - Expert to the pontificial collages of Heraldry - Assessor to the Developing Churches

[Gregorius]

Il était très difficile de trouver les mots quand une personne racontait ce genre de récit dépeignant le malheur et la douleur, dire simple " je compatis à ta souffrance" ou " désolé " ne suffisait pas consoler la profonde affliction, ni à essuyer les larmes. Instinctivement quand elle s'appuya sur son épaule, les deux bras du prélat choisirent d'entourer le tour de taille de Caillen et la serra contre lui dans une éteinte douce. D'habitude, il ne lui arrivait jamais de faire ce geste à l'égard de quiconque, mais sans qu'il ne sache l'expliquer, le vieillard avait beaucoup d'affection pour la jeune écossaise. Et d'ailleurs, dans un geste affectueux, il laissa un baiser sur sa longue chevelure blonde entremêlée de la couleur du feu.

Tu as subi la perte de toute ta famille, mais sache que je serai là pour toi. À côté de moi, tu ne risques plus rien, Caillen.

Le vieux Iaudas caressait de son index la douce joue juvénile en observant longuement. Il restait toujours très admiratif de cette beauté des traits de la jeunesse. Dans ses bras, la belle poupée de porcelaine paraissait tellement inoffensive et douce; elle était sa petite créature précieuse à se préoccuper pour lui éviter une nouvelle fois de souffrir à cause des vicissitudes de ce monde. Son regard pénètre la profondeur des prunelles bleues de la Bella, et sans le quitter, il dit :

Je n'ai pas d'histoire aussi douloureuse que la tienne, nous sommes nombreux dans ma famiglia. J'ai connu beaucoup de femmes, peut-être trop, qui m'ont donné de nombreux enfants. Le Seigneur a voulu que je sois un homme seul au crépuscule de ma vie. Cette solitude rentrait certainement dans ses desseins pour le servir aujourd'hui auprès du successeur de saint Titus, j'imagine. Je ne pense pas que l'on peut tellement qualifier ma vie de douloureuse, hormis sans nul doute, ma main et ma jambe perdus en Terre-Sainte.

Elle pouvait considérer par ces mots que le passage au sujet des membres de son corps sectionnés s'avéraient être la partie la plus douloureuse de son propre destin. Quant au chapitre concernant les femmes, depuis un moment déjà, il vivait de manière solitaire sans l'aide de personne, ni la moindre compagnie féminine. D'une certaine façon, ce contact était devenu un grand désert. Il ne s'apitoyait pas sur son sort, dans sa vie d'avant, le vieil homme avait trop aimé les femmes. Devenu une sorte de vétéran, seule la vie spirituelle retenait son attention la plus stricte. Il croyait fortement au salut de l'âme, et espérait mériter une place dans la Jérusalem Céleste même si sa vie n'arrivait pas toujours à s'éloigner du péché...Le vieux prélat retint vers lui le regard de la belle créature en poursuivant.

Notre histoire reste en dépit de tout, similaire, sur le fait que le Seigneur a croisé notre chemin au moment où nous avions le plus besoin de Lui. Quand nous étions au bord de la peine et du désespoir. N'est-ce pas, mon doux ange ?
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in progress...

[Jolieen]

~undisclosed desire~

Some things happened intuitive, natural without questions. He looked at her and there were no words needed. Feeling his arms around her waist, this feeling of comfort, security it made her smile very softly.
They were both used to be a rolemodel, to follow the path of virtue without taking care of themselves really as it was natural to offer oneself completely.
Noone was giving them comfort except of the silent discussions with the most high and his words. And probably he was right with saying it was without a reason that their pathes crossed.

"Look around us in this Library filled with books. Our lifes are like pages of a book, in the end they are all a story and each experience is a new chapter of its own. All is connected as we both are well aware. You are much more experienced than I am it seems as if we add something that is missing to one another, mon sauveur"

She leaned closer her breath touched his cheek, while her blue eyes rested in his. A warm feeling that was nothing she was used to at all. Caillen kept looking at him, but it was not his appearance she was looking at, she was looking deeper into his soul. Troubled souls, yes that was something they had both in common. A weakness to allow these sentiments? - Maybe but there were obviously times where questions shall not be asked.

The back of her hand traced from his cheek down to his neckline, loosing slowly the track of time and the track of what was the world around them.
Forgetting about sorrows, about frustrations, and refocusing on the here and now, nothing more and nothing less. Maybe that was all that "something" they both could ask for, a pause from all that rested on their sholders a glimpse of something that was easing them.
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Cardinal-Deacon of the British Isles -Bishop In Partibus of Lamia - Prefect to the Villa of St.Loyat - Expert to the pontificial collages of Heraldry - Assessor to the Developing Churches