Anxiety

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  I said, “Renate should do it instead of me. It would be magical for people to see a living, breathing character from one of your novels.” Anaïs didn’t respond; I could hear muted coughing. I went on, “I could introduce Renate. Tell the audience how you wrote about her crazy adventures in Mexico and Malibu in Collages. Then I could read from Collages, and Renate would walk onto the stage. The real-life character! It would be surreal!” Another muted coughing fit. I added, “I bet Renate would love to do it!” Finally, Anaïs recovered enough to say, “It’s the wrong audience for Renate. Besides she’s moving this weekend, so she can’t. “Please do this for me, Tristine,” Anaïs pleaded. “I don’t have the strength to call anyone else.” Her voice was fading. I could hear the pain in it. A wave of fear unsteadied me as I realized she was going into the hospital again; she’d be hooked up to those ochre feeding-tubes again. I’d have to visit her there again, and that meant she wasn’t getting better. She was getting worse. “I’ll do anything for you,” I said, surrendering. [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] Jamie Herlihy and I clung to each other in the greenroom. Our escort had just told us that Royce Hall was at capacity—they were turning away people, and the fire marshal had shut the doors. “I’ll be fine once I’m out there,” Jamie said nervously. “I won’t,” I said. “They’re going to be bored out of their minds by my paper.” I had the chills I was so scared. “Just improvise. That’s what I’m going to do. I’ll discover what I’m going to say once I’m up there.” “I can’t do that. I wish I could.” “Don’t worry. I’ll warm them up for you!” he called as our escort led him down a long hall with dim floor lights on either side, a gangplank to doom I would soon have to walk. Twenty minutes later, I could hear bursts of laughter and applause from where I waited behind the stage. Anaïs’s audience loved Jamie’s ad-libbing, but they would not love my reading to them. Panic gnats threw themselves in concert against my temples. I didn’t feel steady on my feet. I needed to calm my panic or I would not be able to stand in front of that audience. It would be better to endure their anger and boos than to ruin the evening by failing to perform at all. I had been an actress, I reminded myself. I had been the lead in my high school plays. I didn’t have stage fright then. What was different now? Then I was playing a character, disappearing into another’s personality. Now I had no character to hide within.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  She put away the type into boxes, removed the ink-stained smock, and checked her face in the wall mirror. It was after 10 p.m., and she was exhausted but didn’t want to go home to the empty apartment. Hugo was on business in Cuba; she was free for the night—that is, as free as she had the energy to be. She decided she would make an appearance at the party Hazel Guggenheim was giving. Hazel was one of the wealthy clients for whom Hugo handled investments. She was a painter of minute talent, and because her sister Peggy Guggenheim was an important collector, there were always some interesting artists at Hazel’s large parties. Anaïs splashed her face with freezing water in the utility sink and re-applied her makeup, carefully penciling the arched eyebrows, blackening her eyelids with kohl, drawing the bow on her upper lip in red, and adding rouge to her pallid cheeks. Her hair was still perfectly set from getting a perm at Elizabeth Arden’s Fifth Avenue salon. She raised her arms and stretched from side to side, took some deep breaths for bravery, added some aqua rhinestone earrings dug from her purse to bring out the color of her eyes, exchanged her flat work shoes for high heels, and slipped into her alluring Sabina persona. How many more times could she act the fascinating literary woman of mystery who dropped that her next novel was under consideration at Random House or Dutton or Viking or Ballantine or Farrar, Straus and Company, omitting that each publisher had actually already passed because her precious, surreal style was considered fusty and dated, like herself? Such thoughts left a clammy coating of fear on her skin and a cramp of anxiety under her ribs. So she thrust herself forward yet again to rush to a Manhattan party, drink champagne, flirt, and promote her glamorous, enigmatic image. The taxi dropped her at Hazel’s swanky apartment building, and after giving her name to the doorman, she saw, holding the elevator door for her, a lanky, handsome young man wearing a full-length white leather coat. Another showy, artistic homosexual, she chided herself; what else did she expect going to a party at Hazel’s? As they rode the elevator together, she examined her ink-stained fingers, then noticed the young man watching, and thrust her hands into the pockets of her wool coat. He removed his hands from his pockets, opening them to her, palms up. His fingertips were blacker than hers. “You’re a printer, too!” she exclaimed. “It’s my night job.” “What’s your day job?” “Unemployed actor. What’s yours?” “Unemployed writer.” They laughed, and she noticed his beautiful teeth and classic features. There was the quality of a dreamer, a sensitive face. If only he weren’t homosexual, she thought, unbidden, he could be the one. But that was ridiculous; he was too beautiful and stylish not to be gay.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  By paying regular visits to the crack in the wall, and dropping tiny pieces of stone and straw through the opening whenever she could hear the young man on the other side, she eventually succeeded in getting him to come and investigate. Then she called to him in a low whisper, and the young man, recognizing her voice, replied; whereupon, since there was no likelihood of her being disturbed, she briefly told him what she had in mind. Overjoyed, the young man proceeded to widen the hole on his own side of the wall, which he did in such a way that nobody would notice, and from then on they would very often talk to each other there and touch one another’s hands, though it was impossible to do more on account of the strict watch maintained by the jealous husband. Now, seeing that Christmas was approaching, the lady told her husband that she would like, with his permission, to attend church on Christmas morning and go to confession and Holy Communion like any other Christian. ‘And what sins have you committed,’ said the jealous husband, ‘that you want to go to confession?’ ‘Oh, really!’ she exclaimed. ‘Do you think I’m a saint, just because you keep me locked up? You know very well that I have my sins just as other people do, but I’m not going to reveal them to you, because you’re not a priest.’ Her words made the husband suspicious, and he decided to try and find out what these sins were. So he granted her request, but told her that she could only go to their own chapel and not to any of the other churches. Moreover, she was to go there early in the morning, and be confessed, either by their own chaplain or by the priest whom the chaplain allotted to her, and not by anybody else, after which she was to come straight back to the house. The lady had a shrewd suspicion that it was some sort of trap, but asked no questions and replied that she would do as he wished. On the morning of Christmas Day, the lady got up at dawn, and as soon as she was neatly dressed she went to the church her husband had specified. Meanwhile he too had risen and made his way to the same church, arriving there before she did. And having explained to the chaplain what he was proposing to do, he disguised himself in the robes of a priest, with a large hood that came down over his cheeks, like the ones that are often worn by priests; this he pulled forward a little, so as to conceal his features, then he seated himself in one of the pews. On arriving at the church, the lady asked to speak to the chaplain.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  ‘Well, Stephen?’ And after a pause: ‘What on earth made you send that absurd telegram? Ralph got hold of the thing and began to ask questions. You are such an almighty fool sometimes—you knew perfectly well that I couldn’t come back. Why will you behave as though you were six, have you no common sense? What’s it all about? Your methods are not only infantile—they’re dangerous.’ Then taking Angela firmly by the shoulders, Stephen turned her so that she faced the light. She put her question with youthful crudeness; ‘Do you find Roger Antrim physically attractive—do you find that he attracts you that way more than I do?’ She waited calmly, it seemed, for her answer. And because of that distinctly ominous calm, Angela was scared, so she blustered a little: ‘Of course I don’t! I resent such questions; I won’t allow them even from you, Stephen. God knows where you get your fantastic ideas! Have you been discussing me with that girl Violet? If you have, I think it’s simply outrageous! She’s quite the most evil-minded prig in the county. It was not very gentlemanly of you, my dear, to discuss my affairs with our neighbours, was it?’ ‘I refused to discuss you with Violet Antrim,’ Stephen told her, still speaking quite calmly. But she clung to her point: ‘Was it all a mistake? Is there no one between us except your husband? Angela, look at me—I will have the truth.’ For answer Angela kissed her. Stephen’s strong but unhappy arms went round her, and suddenly stretching out her hand, she switched off the little lamp on the table, so that the room was lit only by firelight. They could not see each other’s faces very clearly any more, because there was only firelight. And Stephen spoke such words as a lover will speak when his heart is burdened to breaking; when his doubts must bow down and be swept away before the unruly flood of his passion. There in that shadowy, firelit room, she spoke such words as lovers have spoken ever since the divine, sweet madness of God flung the thought of love into Creation. But Angela suddenly pushed her away: ‘Don’t, don’t—I can’t bear it—it’s too much, Stephen. It hurts me—I can’t bear this thing—for you. It’s all wrong, I’m not worth it, anyhow it’s all wrong. Stephen, it’s making me—can’t you understand? It’s too much—’ She could not, she dared not explain. ‘If you were a man—’ She stopped abruptly, and burst into uncontrollable weeping. And somehow this weeping was different from any that had gone before, so that Stephen trembled. There was something frightened and desolate about it; it was like the sobbing of a terrified child. The girl forgot her own desolation in her pity and the need that she felt to comfort. More strongly than ever before she felt the need to protect this woman, and to comfort.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  But the resolution waned because of Anna, who would surely join hands with the conspiracy of silence. She would never condone such fearless plain-speaking. If it came to her knowledge she would turn Puddle out bag and baggage, and that would leave Stephen alone. No, she dared not speak plainly because of the girl for whose sake she should now, above all, be outspoken. But supposing the day should arrive when Stephen herself thought fit to confide in her friend, then Puddle would take the bull by the horns: ‘Stephen, I know. You can trust me, Stephen.’ If only that day were not too long in coming— For none knew better than this little grey woman, the agony of mind that must be endured when a sensitive, highly organized nature is first brought face to face with its own affliction. None knew better the terrible nerves of the invert, nerves that are always lying in wait. Super-nerves, whose response is only equalled by the strain that calls that response into being. Puddle was well acquainted with these things—that was why she was deeply concerned about Stephen. But all she could do, at least for the present, was to be very gentle and very patient: ‘Drink this cocoa, Stephen, I made it myself—’ And then with a smile, ‘I put four lumps of sugar!’ Then Stephen was pretty sure to turn contrite: ‘Puddle—I’m a brute—you’re so good to me always.’ ‘Rubbish! I know you like cocoa made sweet, that’s why I put in those four lumps of sugar. Let’s go for a really long walk, shall we, dear? I’ve been wanting a really long walk now for weeks.’ Liar—most kind and self-sacrificing liar! Puddle hated long walks, especially with Stephen who strode as though wearing seven league boots, and whose only idea of a country walk was to take her own line across ditches and hedges—yes, indeed, a most kind and self-sacrificing liar! For Puddle was not quite so young as she had been; at times her feet would trouble her a little, and at times she would get a sharp twinge in her knee, which she shrewdly suspected to be rheumatism. Nevertheless she must keep close to Stephen because of the fear that tightened her heart—the fear of that questioning, wounded expression which now never left the girl’s eyes for a moment. So Puddle got out her most practical shoes—her heaviest shoes which were said to be damp-proof—and limped along bravely by the side of her charge, who as often as not ignored her existence.

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  The drive to complete the freezing response remains active no matter how long it has been in place. When we learn how to harness it, the power of this drive becomes our greatest ally in working through the symptoms of trauma. The drive is persistent. Even if we do not do things perfectly, it will always be there to give us another chance. Nancy’s remarkable “cure” was due to the critical timing of her escape from the tiger at the very peak moment of her panic arousal. It was as though Nancy had a single chance either to escape and be cured or to tumble back into a whirlpool of overwhelming helplessness and anxiety. In the years after the session with Nancy, I began to piece together the puzzle of healing trauma. The key I found was being able to work in a gradual, gentle way with the powerful energies bound in the trauma symptoms. Marius: A Next Step The following description of a young man’s odyssey illustrates a refinement of the strategies for healing trauma. Marius is a slight, intelligent, shy, boyish-looking young Eskimo in his mid-twenties who was born and raised in a remote village in Greenland. When I asked him whether I could transcribe his session for a book, assuring him I would disguise his name and identity, his eyes opened wide. “No, pleas e… It would be an honor,” he said, “but would you please use my full name, so that if my family and friends from my village read your book, they will know it is me you are talking about.” So this is Marius Inuusuttoq Kristensen’s story. As a participant in a training class in Copenhagen, Denmark, Marius reports his tendency towards anxiety and panic, particularly when he is with a man he ad-mires and whose approval he wants. This anxiety is “symptomized” in his body as a weakening of the legs and a stabbing ache on the side of his right leg, and is often accompanied by waves of nausea. As he conveys this experience, his head and face feel very warm and he becomes sweaty and flushed. In talking about these feelings, he relates the following story about an event that occurred when he was eight.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  3There was some one who went every step of the way with Stephen during those miserable weeks, and this was the faithful and anxious Puddle, who could have given much wise advice had Stephen only confided in her. But Stephen hid her trouble in her heart for the sake of Angela Crossby. With an ever-increasing presage of disaster, Puddle now stuck to the girl like a leech, getting little enough in return for her trouble—Stephen deeply resented this close supervision: ‘Can’t you leave me alone? No, of course I’m not ill!’ she would say, with a quick spurt of temper. But Puddle, divining her illness of spirit together with its cause, seldom left her alone. She was frightened by something in Stephen’s eyes; an incredulous, questioning, wounded expression, as though she were trying to understand why it was that she must be so grievously wounded. Again and again Puddle cursed her own folly for having shown such open resentment of Angela Crossby; the result was that now Stephen never discussed her, never mentioned her name unless Puddle clumsily dragged it in, and then Stephen would change the subject. And now more than ever Puddle loathed and despised the conspiracy of silence that forbade her to speak frankly. The conspiracy of silence that had sent the girl forth unprotected, right into the arms of this woman. A vain, shallow woman in search of excitement, and caring less than nothing for Stephen. There were times when Puddle felt almost desperate, and one evening she came to a great resolution. She would go to the girl and say: ‘I know. I know all about it, you can trust me, Stephen.’ And then she would counsel and try to give courage: ‘You’re neither unnatural, nor abominable, nor mad; you’re as much a part of what people call nature as anyone else; only you’re unexplained as yet—you’ve not got your niche in creation. But some day that will come, and meanwhile don’t shrink from yourself, but just face yourself calmly and bravely. Have courage; do the best you can with your burden. But above all be honourable. Cling to your honour for the sake of those others who share the same burden. For their sakes show the world that people like you and they can be quite as selfless and fine as the rest of mankind. Let your life go to prove this—it would be a really great life-work, Stephen.’

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  The symptoms of trauma can be stable (ever-present), unstable (will come and go), or they can hide for decades. Generally, these symptoms do not occur individually, but in constellations. These “syndromes” often grow increasingly complex over time, becoming less and less connected with the original trauma experience. While certain symptoms can suggest a particular type of trauma, no symptom is exclusively indicative of the trauma that caused it. People will manifest traumatic symptoms differently, depending on the nature and severity of the trauma, the situation in which it occurred, and the personal and developmental resources available to the individual at the time of the experience. And Around and Around We Go Relaxing makes me nervous. Unknown As I have mentioned repeatedly, the perception of threat in the presence of undischarged arousal creates a self-perpetuating cycle. One of the most insidious characteristics of trauma symptoms is that they are hooked into the original cycle in such a way that they are also self-perpetuating. This characteristic is the primary reason why trauma is resistant to most forms of treatment. For some people, this self-perpetuating cycle keeps their symptoms stable. Others develop one or a variety of additional behaviors or predispositions (all of which may be considered trauma symptoms) to help the nervous system keep the situation under control. Avoidance behaviors. Trauma symptoms are the organism’s way of defending itself against the arousal generated by an ever-present perception of threat. This defense system, however, is not sophisticated enough to withstand much stress. Stress causes the system to break down, releasing the original arousal energy and its message of danger. Unfortunately, when we live with the aftereffects of trauma, simply avoiding stressful situations is not sufficient to prevent the breakdown of the defense systems. If we tiptoe around arousal, our nervous systems will create their own. When this happens, we cannot rebound from the impacts of everyday frustrations as easily as we could if our nervous systems were free to function fully and normally. Ordinary circumstances can disturb the delicate organization of energy in the traumatized individual’s nervous system. A traumatized person may develop so-called “avoidance behaviors” to help keep the underlying arousal in place. Avoidance behaviors are a form of trauma symptom in which we limit our lifestyles to situations that are not potentially activating. Fearing another near accident, we may develop a reluctance to drive. If the excitement of a ball game triggered a panic attack, ball games may suddenly be less appealing. If flashbacks occur during a sexual encounter, this may lead to a diminished interest in sex. Any event that causes a change in our usual energy levels has potential to trigger uncomfortable emotions and sensations. Gradually, our lives will become more and more constricted as we try to avoid circumstances that might cause the usual balance of energy to shift.

• From Crazy Brave (2012)

  I bumped and spilled my glass of water, which called even more attention to us. She, however, had grace as she carefully left change for a tip, and we walked back to her house. Soon thereafter I was summoned to my soon-to-be mother-in-law’s house. I was nervous. I had been warned by anyone who could take me aside that she was jealous, overprotective, and mean. They were right. What they didn’t say was how attractive she was, how she was still in good form despite the rough years, her dark hair thick and lightly curled. It was her dark eyes that told the other story. They took in the edges of things, the tatters, and left the good behind. My lively new daughter ran up to us as soon as she saw us. My new sister-in-law quietly drew pictures of horses at the table. I moved in with the family in my mother-in-law-to-be’s tiny one-bedroom house that afternoon, because, as she told her son, “You can’t stay there and live off your grandmother.” That much was true. But she also wanted to think she had some control of the gossip. If I was in her house, she would know my whereabouts and could be the authority. She was also pragmatic: I could watch the children. I adjusted. I had no choice. I hated the days when she was moody and critical. I could smell those days coming from far off, like the ozone in a storm front. She might start with “Why aren’t you with your mother?” meaning, why doesn’t your mother take care of you? She reproached me as I washed dishes after eating food bought with her hard-earned money. Or she would say, “Your mother is rich. Why can’t she send us money?” She assumed my mother was rich because she was a lighter-skinned Cherokee who passed for white and lived in Tulsa. I promised myself that as soon as the baby was born we would find our own place. I would swallow hard. I didn’t like being at the mercy of someone else’s kindness. I did everything I could to make myself useful around the house. “My mother isn’t rich,” I answered. During my last visit to the clinic at the Indian hospital I was given the option of being sterilized. It was explained to me that the moment of birth was the best time. I was handed the form but chose not to sign. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Many Indian women who weren’t fluent in English signed, thinking it was a form giving consent for the doctor to deliver their baby. Others were sterilized without even the formality of signing. My fluent knowledge of English saved me. As a child growing up in Oklahoma, I liked to be told the story of my birth. I begged for it while my mother cleaned and ironed. “You almost killed me,” she would say.

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  When we learn to recognize these four components of the traumatic reaction, we are well on our way to recognizing trauma. All other symptoms develop from these four if the defensive energy mobilized to respond to a traumatic event is not discharged or integrated within a few days, weeks, or months following the experience. Hyperarousal During times of conflict or stress, most people experience symptoms such as increased heartbeat and breathing, agitation, difficulty in sleeping, tension, muscular jitteriness, racing thoughts, or perhaps an anxiety attack. Though not always indicative of traumatic symptoms, these signs are usually due to some form of hyperarousal. If hyperarousal, constriction, dissociation, and a sense of helplessness form the core of the traumatic reaction, then hyperarousal is the seed in that core. If you reflect back on the previous exercise, you will realize that it invoked at least a mild version of hyperarousal. Whenever this heightened internal arousal occurs, it is primarily an indication that the body is summoning its energetic resources to mobilize against a potential threat. When the situation is serious enough to threaten the organism’s very survival, the amount of energy mobilized is much higher than that mobilized for any other situation in our lives. Unfortunately, even when we know that we need to discharge the aroused energy, doing so is not always easy. Like many instinctual processes, hyperarousal cannot be voluntarily controlled. The following exercise is a simple way to experientially confirm this. Exercise During the three scenarios you experienced in the last exercise, did you imagine or create the responses in your body or were they produced by your body as an involuntary response to the scenarios you envisioned? In other words, did you make them happen or did they happen on their own? Now attempt to deliberately make your body have such a response without envisioning a threatening scenario. Use a direct approach and see if you can make your body produce responses similar to those you experienced in the three scenario s In your eyes. In your posture. In your muscles. In your level of arousal. Now try all the parts of the experience together at the same time. When you compare your experience in this exercise to your experience in the earlier one, how is it similar? How is it different?

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  Turn to the next picture and repeat the process. Remember to go slowly enough to be able to notice the sensations that arise in response to the pictures. For each picture or page of your scrapbook, stay with the sensations that are evoked for a few minutes and see if they change. They may stay the same or disappear, but they may also become stronger. Whatever happens, just notice it. If the feelings or sensations become too intense or unpleasant, deliberately shift your attention to a pleasant experience that you have had, or that you can imagine having. Focus all your awareness on the bodily felt sensations of that experience instead. Shifting your attention to the other sensations will help the intensity of the uncomfortable feeling to subside. Remember that unresolved trauma can be a powerful force. If you continue to feel overwhelmed by the exercises or any of the material in the book, please stop for now, try again later, or, enlist the support of a trained professional. If an image of a horrifying scene shows up in your mind’s eye, ever so gently notice what sensations come with it. Sometimes, when sensations are intense, images come first. The sensation is ultimately what will help you move through the traum a - whatever it is. You may end up knowing what it is and you may not. For now, just be reassured that as you move through your reactions, the need to know whether it was real or not will loosen its grip. If there is an objective need to know whether it is true, such as to protect a child who may be at risk, you will be in a better position to handle the situation effectively. Be aware that the energies of trauma can be bound up in beliefs about being raped or abused. By challenging these beliefs, especially if they aren’t true, some of that energy may be released. If this is the case for you, rest and give yourself plenty of time to process this new information. Stay with the sensations you experience as much as possible, and don’t be alarmed if you feel tremulous or weak. Both are evidence that normal discharge is happening. Don’t force yourself to do more than you can handle. If you feel tired, take a nap or go to bed early. Part of the grace of the nervous system is that it is constantly self-regulating. What you can’t process today will be available to be processed some other time when you are stronger, more resourceful, and better able to do it. There are both physiological and psychological elements of the felt sense. I’ve outlined some of their key differences in the following two subsections. The first subsection focuses on how the organism communicates through its physiology; the second focuses on some of the psychological conventions and customs from which the organism operates.

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  Few people question the seriousness of the problems created by trauma, yet we have difficulty comprehending how many people are affected by it. In a recent study of more than one thousand men and women, it was found that forty percent had gone through a traumatic event in the past three years. Most often cited were: being raped or physically assaulted; being in a serious accident; witnessing someone else being killed or injured. As many as thirty percent of the homeless people in this country are thought to be Vietnam veterans suffering from post-traumatic stress. Somewhere between seventy-five and one hundred million Americans have experienced childhood sexual and physical abuse. The conservative AMA estimates that over thirty percent of all married women, as well as thirty percent of pregnant women, have been beaten by their spouses. One woman is beaten by her husband or lover every nine seconds (the beatings of pregnant women are also traumatic to the fetus). War and violence have affected the lives of nearly every man, woman, and child living on this planet. In the last few years, entire communities have been wiped out or devastated by natural disaster s- Hurricane Hugo, Andrew, and Iniki; flooding of the Midwest and California; the Oakland Fire; the Loma Prieta, Los Angeles, Mexico City, Cairo, and Kobe Earthquakes; and many more. All of the people affected by these events are at risk or are already suffering from trauma. Many other people have traumatic symptoms that go unrecognized. For example, ten to fifteen percent of all adults suffer from panic attacks, unexplained anxiety, or phobias. As many as seventy-five percent of the people who go to doctors have complaints that are labeled psychosomatic because no physical explanation can be found for them. My work leads me to believe that many of these people have traumatic histories which at least contribute to their symptoms. Depression and anxiety often have traumatic antecedents, as does mental illness. A study conducted by Bessel van der Kolk [4] , a respected researcher in the field of trauma, has shown that patients at a large mental institution frequently had symptoms indicative of trauma. Many of these symptoms were overlooked at the time because no one recognized their significance. Today, most people are aware of the fact that sexual, physical, and emotional abuse, as well as exposure to violence or danger, can profoundly alter a person’s life. What most people don’t know is that many seemingly benign situations can be traumatic. The consequences of trauma can be widespread and hidden. Over the course of my career I have found an extraordinary range of symptom s— behavioral and psychosomatic problems, lack of vitality, etc .— related not only to the traumatic events mentioned above, but also to quite ordinary events.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  But all their assistance was unavailing, because the good man, who was already advanced in years and had lived a disordered existence, was reported by his doctors to be going each day from bad to worse, like one who was suffering from a fatal illness. The two brothers were filled with alarm, and one day, alongside the room in which Ser Ciappelletto was lying, they began talking together. ‘What are we to do about the fellow?’ said one to the other. ‘We’ve landed ourselves in a fine mess on his account, because to turn him away from our house in his present condition would arouse a lot of adverse comment and show us to be seriously lacking in common sense. What would people say if they suddenly saw us evicting a dying man after giving him hospitality in the first place, and taking so much trouble to have him nursed and waited upon, when he couldn’t possibly have done anything to offend us? On the other hand, he has led such a wicked life that he will never be willing to make his confession or receive the sacraments of the Church; and if he dies unconfessed, no church will want to accept his body and he’ll be flung into the moat like a dog. 3 But even if he makes his confession, his sins are so many and so appalling that the same thing will happen, because there will be neither friar nor priest who is either willing or able to give him absolution; in which case, since he will not have been absolved, he will be flung into the moat just the same. And when the townspeople see what has happened, they’ll create a commotion, not only because of our profession which they consider iniquitous and never cease to condemn, but also because they long to get their hands on our money, and they will go about shouting: “Away with these Lombard dogs 4 that the Church refuses to accept”; and they’ll come running to our lodgings and perhaps, not content with stealing our goods, they’ll take away our lives into the bargain. So we shall be in a pretty fix either way, if this fellow dies.’ Ser Ciappelletto, who as we have said was lying near the place where they were talking, heard everything they were saying about him, for he was sharp of hearing, as invalids invariably are. So he called them in to him, and said: ‘I don’t want you to worry in the slightest on my account, nor to fear that I will cause you to suffer any harm. I heard what you were saying about me

• From Crazy Brave (2012)

  I bumped and spilled my glass of water, which called even more attention to us. She, however, had grace as she carefully left change for a tip, and we walked back to her house. Soon thereafter I was summoned to my soon-to-be mother-in-law’s house. I was nervous. I had been warned by anyone who could take me aside that she was jealous, overprotective, and mean. They were right. What they didn’t say was how attractive she was, how she was still in good form despite the rough years, her dark hair thick and lightly curled. It was her dark eyes that told the other story. They took in the edges of things, the tatters, and left the good behind. My lively new daughter ran up to us as soon as she saw us. My new sister-in-law quietly drew pictures of horses at the table. I moved in with the family in my mother-in-law-to-be’s tiny one-bedroom house that afternoon, because, as she told her son, “You can’t stay there and live off your grandmother.” That much was true. But she also wanted to think she had some control of the gossip. If I was in her house, she would know my whereabouts and could be the authority. She was also pragmatic: I could watch the children. I adjusted. I had no choice. I hated the days when she was moody and critical. I could smell those days coming from far off, like the ozone in a storm front. She might start with “Why aren’t you with your mother?” meaning, why doesn’t your mother take care of you? She reproached me as I washed dishes after eating food bought with her hard-earned money. Or she would say, “Your mother is rich. Why can’t she send us money?” She assumed my mother was rich because she was a lighter-skinned Cherokee who passed for white and lived in Tulsa. I promised myself that as soon as the baby was born we would find our own place. I would swallow hard. I didn’t like being at the mercy of someone else’s kindness. I did everything I could to make myself useful around the house. “My mother isn’t rich,” I answered. During my last visit to the clinic at the Indian hospital I was given the option of being sterilized. It was explained to me that the moment of birth was the best time. I was handed the form but chose not to sign. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Many Indian women who weren’t fluent in English signed, thinking it was a form giving consent for the doctor to deliver their baby. Others were sterilized without even the formality of signing. My fluent knowledge of English saved me. As a child growing up in Oklahoma, I liked to be told the story of my birth. I begged for it while my mother cleaned and ironed. “You almost killed me,” she would say.

• From The World of Biblical Israel (2013)

  22 Lecture 3: ancestor Narratives in Genesis o The Israelite god repeatedly reveals himself to Abraham and to his descendants, Isaac and Jacob, and forms a covenant relationship with them. o God asks Abraham to “walk before me and be righteous.” In return, Abraham receives God’s promise that he will be the father of a “multitude of nations,” and he is granted an eternal landholding in Canaan. As a mark of the covenant, Abraham is asked to circumcise himself and his male descendants. • The rest of the book of Genesis narrates the history of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph—four generations. We often refer to the first three men as the “patriarchs.” o Each one experiences divine visitations, during which the terms of the Abrahamic covenant are reiterated. o At the same time, each of these men faces serious challenges that seem to make the promises of land, progeny, blessings, and great nations useless. Abraham, for example, must wait 25 years from the time that he is first told he will father a great nation to the birth of the son that God has promised him. The patriarchs also face threats to their lives, often coming from God himself. • Several of the recurring themes of the patriarchal narratives speak to the exilic reality of those preserving these stories. o These themes include the Israelite god’s presence and power, which transcend national boundaries; the covenantal relationship between Abraham’s descendants and the Israelite god; the eternal nature of the covenantal relationship; and the gift of the Promised Land as an everlasting bequest. o The stories also acknowledge tensions experienced by the exiles: wives who cannot conceive, children whose lives are threatened, a land prone to famine and war, and a god who does not always protect.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Without prior agreement but simply by chance, these seven ladies found themselves sitting, more or less in a circle, in one part of the church, reciting their paternosters. Eventually, they left off and heaved a great many sighs, after which they began to talk among themselves on various different aspects of the times through which they were passing. But after a little while, they all fell silent except for Pampinea, who said: ‘Dear ladies, you will often have heard it affirmed, as I have, that no man does injury to another in exercising his lawful rights. Every person born into this world has a natural right to sustain, preserve, and defend his own life to the best of his ability – a right so freely acknowledged that men have sometimes killed others in self-defence, and no blame whatever has attached to their actions. Now, if this is permitted by the laws, upon whose prompt application all mortal creatures depend for their well-being, how can it possibly be wrong, seeing that it harms no one, for us or anyone else to do all in our power to preserve our lives? If I pause to consider what we have been doing this morning, and what we have done on several mornings in the past, if I reflect on the nature and subject of our conversation, I realize, just as you also must realize, that each of us is apprehensive on her own account. This does not surprise me in the least, but what does greatly surprise me (seeing that each of us has the natural feelings of a woman) is that we do nothing to requite ourselves against the thing of which we are all so justly afraid. ‘Here we linger for no other purpose, or so it seems to me, than to count the number of corpses being taken to burial, or to hear whether the friars of the church, very few of whom are left, chant their offices at the appropriate hours, or to exhibit the quality and quantity of our sorrows, by means of the clothes we are wearing, to all those whom we meet in this place. And if we go outside, we shall see the dead and the sick being carried hither and thither, or we shall see people, once condemned to exile by the courts for their misdeeds, careering wildly about the streets in open defiance of the law, well knowing that those appointed to enforce it are either dead or dying; or else we shall find ourselves at the mercy of the scum of our city who, having scented our blood, call themselves sextons and go prancing and bustling all over the place, singing bawdy songs that add insult to our injuries. Moreover, all we ever hear is “So-and-so’s dead” and “So-and-so’s dying”; and if there were anyone left to mourn, the whole place would be filled with sounds of weeping and wailing.

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  If you notice that you are using words that are usually thought of as emotions, take each one and ask yourself: How do I know that I feel emotion? Because emotions are based on connections with the past, the picture or memorabilia may bring memories of other events. Just notice the sensations that come with these memories in the same way. Keep reminding yourself to sense and to describe what you sense as sensations, not as emotions or thoughts. Turn to the next picture and repeat the process. Remember to go slowly enough to be able to notice the sensations that arise in response to the pictures. For each picture or page of your scrapbook, stay with the sensations that are evoked for a few minutes and see if they change. They may stay the same or disappear, but they may also become stronger. Whatever happens, just notice it. If the feelings or sensations become too intense or unpleasant, deliberately shift your attention to a pleasant experience that you have had, or that you can imagine having. Focus all your awareness on the bodily felt sensations of that experience instead. Shifting your attention to the other sensations will help the intensity of the uncomfortable feeling to subside. Remember that unresolved trauma can be a powerful force. If you continue to feel overwhelmed by the exercises or any of the material in the book, please stop for now, try again later, or, enlist the support of a trained professional. If an image of a horrifying scene shows up in your mind’s eye, ever so gently notice what sensations come with it. Sometimes, when sensations are intense, images come first. The sensation is ultimately what will help you move through the traum a- whatever it is. You may end up knowing what it is and you may not. For now, just be reassured that as you move through your reactions, the need to know whether it was real or not will loosen its grip. If there is an objective need to know whether it is true, such as to protect a child who may be at risk, you will be in a better position to handle the situation effectively.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  But he was sadly disappointed in his hope to escape sin and temptation behind the walls of the cloister. He found no peace and rest in all his pious exercises. The more he seemed to advance externally, the more he felt the burden of sin within. He had to contend with temptations of anger, envy, hatred and pride. He saw sin everywhere, even in the smallest trifles. The Scriptures impressed upon him the terrors of divine justice. He could not trust in God as a reconciled Father, as a God of love and mercy but trembled before him, as a God of wrath, as a consuming fire. He could not get over the words: "I, the Lord thy God, am a jealous God." His confessor once told him: "Thou art a fool, God is not angry with thee, but thou art angry with God." He remembered this afterward as "a great and glorious word," but at that time it made no impression on him. He could not point to any particular transgression; it was sin as an all-pervading power and vitiating principle, sin as a corruption of nature, sin as a state of alienation from God and hostility to God, that weighed on his mind like an incubus and brought him at times to the brink of despair. He passed through that conflict between the law of God and the law of sin which is described by Paul (Rom. vii.), and which; ends with the cry: "O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me out of the body of this death?" He had not yet learned to add: "I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord. There is now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus made me free from the law of sin and of death." § 22. Luther and Staupitz. The mystic writings of Staupitz have been republished in part by Knaake in Johannis Staupitii Opera. Potsdam, 1867, vol. I. His "Nachfolge Christi" was first published in 1515; his book "Von der Liebe Gottes" (especially esteemed by Luther) in 1518, and passed through several editions; republ. by Liesching, Stuttgart, 1862. His last work "Von, dem heiligen rechten christlichen Glauben," appeared after his death, 1525, and is directed against Luther’s doctrine of justification by faith without works. His twenty-four letters have been published by Kolde: Die Deutsche Augustiner Congregation und Johann von Staupitz. Gotha, 1879, p. 435 sqq.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The topic for the Sixth Day is ‘those who, on being provoked by some verbal pleasantry, have returned like for like, or who, by a prompt retort or shrewd manoeuvre, have avoided danger, discomfort or ridicule’. The tricks played by women upon their husbands form the subject-matter of the Seventh Day, whilst the Eighth Day is given over to tales about ‘tricks that people in general, men and women alike, are forever playing upon one another’. This last topic is one which could cover a large number of the remaining stories in the Decameron , and tales of verbal pleasantries are by no means confined to the Sixth Day, so that, viewed in its entirety, the Decameron is abundantly stocked with illustrations of human ingenuity. There is nothing unusual in this. Other collections of short stories, like the anonymous Novellino that preceded the Decameron and Franco Sacchetti’s Trecentonovelle that followed it, could be described in similar terms, and indeed it would be a dull series of narratives that did not accord an important role to the workings of people’s intelligence. What is interesting about Boccaccio’s treatment of the theme is his elevation of intelligence to a position in the scale of human values which places it on a par with the highest of the traditional virtues. This celebration of intelligence for its own sake is largely responsible for the ambiguous moral tone of the Decameron , a feature which forms a notorious stumbling-block for those critics and commentators who seek to extract from the work a coherent and consistent system of ethics. 56 The tone of moral ambiguity is established in the very first of the hundred tales, which concerns the arch-villain Ser Cepperello, who by making a false confession to a holy friar on his death-bed is reputed to be a saint, and is thereafter revered as Saint Ciappelletto. Cepperello is hired by a rich Italian merchant to recover certain loans in Burgundy, a province notorious for the lawlessness of its inhabitants, but shortly after his arrival there he falls mortally ill in the house of two Florentine money-lenders, with whom he has taken up lodging. His hosts are faced with an awkward dilemma. Knowing of his thoroughly evil past, they are certain that no priest will give him absolution, and that his body will be refused burial in consecrated ground, in which case, being already unpopular because of their profession, they will incur the open hostility of the locals, possibly forfeiting their property and their lives. If on the other hand they turn a dying man out of the house, their prospects will be no less bleak, for Cepperello, prior to his illness, had done nothing to offend the Burgundians, on the contrary issuing his first demands ‘in a gentle and amiable fashion that ran contrary to his nature’. Their conversation is overheard by their guest, who, as Boccaccio puts it in a characteristically acute psychological aside, ‘was sharp of hearing, as invalids invariably are’.

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  In the years after the session with Nancy, I began to piece together the puzzle of healing trauma. The key I found was being able to work in a gradual, gentle way with the powerful energies bound in the trauma symptoms. Marius: A Next Step The following description of a young man’s odyssey illustrates a refinement of the strategies for healing trauma. Marius is a slight, intelligent, shy, boyish- looking young Eskimo in his mid-twenties who was born and raised in a remote village in Greenland. When I asked him whether I could transcribe his session for a book, assuring him I would disguise his name and identity, his eyes opened wide. “No, pleas e ... It would be an honor,” he said, “but would you please use my full name, so that if my family and friends from my village read your book, they will know it is me you are talking about.” So this is Marius Inuusuttoq Kristensen’s story. As a participant in a training class in Copenhagen, Denmark, Marius reports his tendency towards anxiety and panic, particularly when he is with a man he ad-mires and whose approval he wants. This anxiety is “symptomized” in his body as a weakening of the legs and a stabbing ache on the side of his right leg, and is often accompanied by waves of nausea. As he conveys this experience, his head and face feel very warm and he becomes sweaty and flushed. In talking about these feelings, he relates the following story about an event that occurred when he was eight. While returning from a walk alone in the mountains, he was attacked by a pack of three wild dogs and bitten badly on his right leg. He remembers feeling the bite, waking up in the arms of a neighbor, and has an image of his father coming to the door and being annoyed with him. He feels bitter, angry, and hurt by his father’s rejection. He remembers, particularly, that his new pants were ripped and covered with blood. Describing this, he is visibly upset. I ask him to tell me more about the pants. They were a surprise from his mother that morning; she had made them of polar bear fur especially for him. His experience switches dramatically and transparently to pleasure and pride. Feeling excited, Marius holds his arms in front of himself as though feeling the soft fur and basking in the warmth of his new pants: “These are the same kind of pants that the men of the village, the hunters, wear.”