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 Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I looked about me. It was a Sunday and the Strand was rather quiet - but I didn’t know it; it might have been the race-track at the Derby to me, so deafening and dizzying was the clatter of the traffic, so swift the passage of the horses. I felt safer in the carriage, and only rather queer, to be so close to a gentleman I did not know, being transported I knew not where, in a city that was vaster and smokier and more alarming than I could have thought possible.There was much, of course, to look at. Mr Bliss had suggested we take in the sights a little before we headed for Brixton, so now we rolled into Trafalgar Square - towards Nelson on his pillar, and the fountains, and the lovely, bone-coloured front of the National Gallery, and the view down Whitehall to the Houses of Parliament.‘My brother,’ I said, as I pressed my face to the window to gaze at it all, ‘said I would be run down by a tram in Trafalgar Square, if ever I came to London.’Mr Bliss looked grave. ‘Your brother was very sensible to warn you, Miss Astley - but sadly misinformed. There are no trams in Trafalgar Square - only buses and hansoms, and broughams like our own. Trams are for common people; you should have to go quite as far as Kilburn, I’m afraid, or Camden Town, in order to be struck by a tram.’I smiled uncertainly. I did not know, quite, what to make of Mr Bliss, to whom my future and my happiness had been so recently, and so unexpectedly, entrusted. While he addressed himself to Kitty, and directed our attention every so often to some scene or character in the street beyond, I studied him. He was a little younger, I saw, than I had taken him to be at first. That night in Kitty’s dressing-room I had thought him almost middle-aged; now I guessed him to be one- or two-and-thirty, at the most. He was an impressive, rather than a handsome, man, but for all his flash and his speeches, rather homely: I thought he must have a little wife who loved him, and a baby; and that if he did not - which, in fact, was the case - that he should have. I knew nothing, then, of his history, but learned later that he came from an old, respectable, theatrical family (his real name was no more Bliss, of course, than Kitty’s was Butler); that he had left the legitimate stage when he was still a young man, in order to work the halls as a comic singer; and that he managed, now, a dozen artistes, but still, on occasion, took a turn before the footlights - as ‘Walter Waters, Character Baritone’ - for sheer love of the profession.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  ORIGEN. The holy Virgin knew that He was not the Son of Joseph, and yet calls her husband His father according to the belief of the Jews, who thought that He was conceived in the common way. Now to speak generally we may say, that the Holy Spirit honoured Joseph by the name of father, because he brought up the Child Jesus; but more technically, that it might not seem superfluous in St. Luke, bringing down the genealogy from David to Joseph. But why sought they Him sorrowing? Was it that he might have perished or been lost? It could not be. For what should cause them to dread the loss of Him whom they knew to be the Lord? But as whenever you read the Scriptures you search out their meaning with pains, not that you suppose them to have erred or to contain anything incorrect, but that the truth which they have inherent in them you are anxious to find out; so they sought Jesus, lest perchance leaving them he should have returned to heaven, thither to descend when He would. He then who seeks Jesus must go about it not carelessly and idly, as many seek Him who never find Him, but with labour and sorrow. GLOSS. (ordin.) Or they feared lest Herod who sought Him in His infancy, now that He was advanced to boyhood might find an opportunity of putting Him to death. GREEK EXPOSITOR. (Metaphrastes et Geometer.) But the Lord Himself sets every thing at rest, and correcting as it were her saying concerning him who was His reputed father, manifests His true Father, teaching us not to walk on the ground, but to raise ourselves on high, as it follows, And he says unto them, What is it that you ask of me? BEDE. He blames them not that they seek Him as their son, but compels them to raise the eyes of their mind to what was rather due to Him whose eternal Son He was. Hence it follows, Knew ye not? &c. AMBROSE. There are two generations in Christ, one from His Father, the other from His mother; the Father’s more divine, the mother’s that which has come down for our use and advantage. CYRIL OF ALEXANDRIA. He says this then by way of shewing that He surpasses all human standards, and hinting that the Holy Virgin was made the handmaid of the work in bringing His flesh unto the world, but that He Himself was by nature and in truth God, and the Son of the Father most high. Now from this let the followers of Valentinus, hearing that the temple was of God, be ashamed to say that the Creator, and the God of the law and of the temple, is not also the Father of Christ.

• From Confessions of a Mask (1958)

  I had decided I could love a girl without feeling any desire whatsoever. This was probably the most foolhardy undertaking since the beginning of human history. Without being aware of it myself, I was undertaking to be—please forgive my natural inclination toward hyperbole—a Copernicus in the theory of love. In doing so I had obviously arrived unwittingly at nothing more than a belief in the platonic concept of love.Although probably seeming to contradict what I have said earlier, I believed in this platonic concept honestly, at full face value, purely. In any case was it not purity itself rather than the concept in which I was believing? Was it not purity to which I had sworn allegiance? But more of this later. If at times I seemed not to believe in platonic love, this too could be blamed on my brain, so apt to prefer the concept of carnal love, which was lacking in my heart, and on that fatigue produced by my artificiality, so apt to accompany any satisfaction of my craze to appear to be an adult. In short, blame it on my unrest. The last year of the war came and I reached the age of twenty. Early in the year all the students at my university were sent to work at the N airplane factory, near the city of M. Eighty percent of the students became factory hands, while the frail students, who formed the remaining twenty percent, were given some sort of clerical jobs. I fell into the latter category. And yet at the time of my physical examination the year before, I had received the classification of 2(b). Having thus been declared eligible for military service, I had the constant worry that my summons would come tomorrow, if not today. The airplane factory, located in a desolate area seething with dust, was so huge that it took thirty minutes simply to walk across it from one end to the other, and it hummed with the labor of several thousand workers. I was one of them, bearing the designation of Temporary Employee 953, with Identification No. 4409. This great factory operated upon a mysterious system of production costs: taking no account of the economic dictum that capital investment should produce a return, it was dedicated to a monstrous nothingness. No wonder then that each morning the workers had to recite a mystic oath. I have never seen such a strange factory. In it all the techniques of modern science and management, together with the exact and rational thinking of many superior brains, were dedicated to a single end—Death. Producing the Zero-model combat plane used by the suicide squadrons, this great factory resembled a secret cult that operated thunderously—groaning, shrieking, roaring. I did not see how such a colossal organization could exist without some religious grandiloquence.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  And when you come to me for protection, I shall say: “I cannot protect you, Mary, the world has deprived me of my right to protect; I am utterly helpless, I can only love you.” ’ And now Stephen was trembling. In spite of her strength and her splendid physique, she must stand there and tremble. She felt deathly cold, her teeth chattered with cold, and when she moved her steps were unsteady. She must climb the wide stairs with infinite care, in case she should inadvertently stumble; must lift her feet slowly, and with infinite care, because if she stumbled she might wake Mary. 4 Ten days later Stephen was saying to her mother: ‘I’ve been needing a change for a very long time. It’s rather lucky that a girl I met in the Unit is free and able to go with me. We’ve taken a villa at Orotava, it’s supposed to be furnished and they’re leaving the servants, but heaven only knows what the house will be like, it belongs to a Spaniard; however, there’ll be sunshine.’ ‘I believe Orotava’s delightful,’ said Anna. But Puddle, who was looking at Stephen, said nothing. That night Stephen knocked at Puddle’s door: ‘May I come in?’ ‘Yes, come in do, my dear. Come and sit by the fire—shall I make you some cocoa?’ ‘No, thanks.’ A long pause while Puddle slipped into her dressing-gown of soft, grey Viyella. Then she also drew a chair up to the fire, and after a little: ‘It’s good to see you—your old teacher’s been missing you rather badly.’ ‘Not more than I’ve been missing her, Puddle.’ Was that quite true? Stephen suddenly flushed, and both of them grew very silent. Puddle knew quite well that Stephen was unhappy. They had not lived side by side all these years, for Puddle to fail now in intuition; she felt certain that something grave had happened, and her instinct warned her of what this might be, so that she secretly trembled a little. For no young and inexperienced girl sat beside her, but a woman of nearly thirty-two, who was far beyond the reach of her guidance. This woman would settle her problems for herself and in her own way—had indeed always done so. Puddle must try to be tactful in her questions. She said gently: ‘Tell me about your new friend. You met her in the Unit?’ ‘Yes—we met in the Unit, as I told you this evening—her name’s Mary Llewellyn.’ ‘How old is she, Stephen?’ ‘Not quite twenty-two.’ Puddle said: ‘Very young—not yet twenty-two . . .’ then she glanced at Stephen, and fell silent. But now Stephen went on talking more quickly: ‘I’m glad you asked me about her, Puddle, because I intend to give her a home. She’s got no one except some distant cousins, and as far as I can see they don’t want her.

• From Confessions of a Mask (1958)

  And still, in the end I had been classified 2(b). So now I was summoned—to join a rough rural unit. My mother wept sorrowfully, and even my father seemed no little dejected. As for me, hero though I fancied myself, the sight of the summons aroused no enthusiasm in me; but on the other hand, there was my hope of dying an easy death. All in all, I had the feeling that everything was as it should be. A cold that I had caught at the factory became much worse as I was going on an interisland steamer to join my unit. By the time I reached the home of close family friends in the village of our legal residence—we had not owned a single bit of land there since my grandfather's bankruptcy—I had such a violent fever that I was unable to stand up. Thanks, however, to the careful nursing I received in that house and especially to the efficacy of the vast quantity of febrifuge I took, I was finally able to make my way through the barracks gate, amidst a spirited send-off given me by the family friends. My fever, which had only been checked by the medicines, now returned. During the physical examination that preceded final enlistment I had to stand around waiting stark naked, like a wild beast, and I sneezed constantly. The stripling of an army doctor who examined me mistook the wheezing of my bronchial tubes for a chest rattle, and then my haphazard answers concerning my medical history further confirmed him in his error. Hence I was given a blood test, the results of which, influenced by the high fever of my cold, led to a mistaken diagnosis of incipient tuberculosis. I was ordered home the same day as unfit for service. Once I had put the barracks gate behind me, I broke into a run down the bleak and wintry slope that descended to the village. Just as at the airplane factory, my legs carried me running toward something that in any case was not Death—whatever it was, it was not Death. . . . On the train that night, shrinking from the wind that blew in through a broken window glass, I suffered with fever chills and a headache. Where shall I go now? I asked myself. Thanks to my father's inherent inability to make a final decision about anything, my family still remained unevacuated from our Tokyo house. Shall I go there, to that house where everyone is cowering with suspense?

• From Cults Inside Out: How People Get In and Can Get Out (2014)

  These questions solicited answers from the young man that provided further evidence of the pervasiveness of Amway’s influence in his life. He admitted that his time was increasingly taken up with Amway and that the people he now socialized with were largely other Amway distributors. We also discussed his attendance at Amway conferences, seminars, and meetings and looked at how the company and its supporters controlled these activities and environments. Didn’t all these factors contribute to the creation of a kind of encapsulated Amway world or subculture, in which only positive affirmations about the company were encouraged, recognized, and allowed? How could anyone within such a subculture meaningfully consider alternate ideas? Was it really possible for alternate ideas to penetrate this environment? Could any criticism of Amway and its business practices be seriously considered and thought through within this environment? These questions ended our first day. At the beginning of the second day, we discussed in more detail how Amway, through its subculture and domination of time and associations, could be seen as what psychiatrist Robert Jay Lifton calls “Milieu Control.”1160 I asked whether it was possible that his new Amway life had effectively come to control much of his communication and had effectively shut out, dismissed, or eliminated anything negative that might contradict or criticize Amway’s basic assumptions or its business plan. At this point the young man became uneasy and asked whether this meant that Amway was somehow engaged in what could be called “brainwashing.” Building on the thought-reform model, I cited another criterion Lifton described called “Sacred Science.” That is, the group or organization encourages “an aura of sacredness around its basic dogma,” and “this sacredness is evident in the prohibition (whether or not explicit) against the questioning of basic assumptions, and in the reverence which is demanded for the originators of the Word, the present bearers of the Word, and the Word itself.”1161 I asked the young man whether seriously questioning the Amway business plan was possible. Would criticism of the plan be tolerated? He answered that any distributor who criticized the business plan was likely to be pressured to cease such criticism. If the distributor persisted in criticism, he or she would probably be labeled as negative and made to feel so uncomfortable that he or she would leave Amway. I asked whether the plan was possibly wrong in some aspect. Could Amway’s business plan be improved based on constructive criticism—for example, addressing the issue of market saturation? The young man responded that he couldn’t recall an instance when any mistakes or imperfection was acknowledged in regard to the Amway business plan. He added that if a distributor didn’t get positive results through the plan, the failure was somehow due to that distributor’s personal failure to execute the plan properly. There was never any criticism of the plan itself. I asked him whether a perfect business plan actually existed. Didn’t businesses frequently benefit by encouraging constructive criticism from within?

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  And so it was that, as she went up and down the length of the room, she searched in vain for her prince. There were indeed a few times when she believed she might have found him, but in her fear of choosing the wrong man she always held back from speaking. Yet she clung to those men who reminded her of the one she loved and, yes, even allowed a few of them to take her, right there in the room, thinking that she had at last found her prince, only to discover moments later that he could not have been him after all. Her whole body shook with frustration and anxiety over the enormity of the task that lay before her. She was in a constant state of arousal as she wandered about the room, doing unimaginable things with complete strangers. And as the night wore on, she could not determine one touch from the next, but only hoped for a miraculous sign that would enlighten her and free her from the degrading search she had been forced to endure. And all the while she knew that her prince was there, silently listening to her moans and cries as she traversed the room, and perceiving her inability to quit the arms of each impostor before giving a little bit of herself to him. Tears poured down her cheeks as she pressed on, discouraged, but unable to give up until she found him. She wondered if she had encountered the servant from the dining room yet, and if so, how far she had allowed him to go with her. Was he one of the men who had taken her right there on the floor, easing the aching hunger she felt, if only for the moment? Blindly she stumbled on, praying for a miracle. And there, in front of her, stood yet another man. She approached him with the tears still on her cheeks. Abruptly the man clutched her in a fierce embrace and crushed her lips under his. She could not remember having ever been kissed so violently and struggled to get away from the savage grasp that was bruising her skin. He did not relent, however, and she almost cried out for help, but at that same moment she remembered that she could not speak. If she spoke out she would not only lose her prince forever, but possibly be obliged to remain with this brute as well! A real terror seized her, as she realized that the violent stranger might force himself on her, without her even being able to utter a single word.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Moreover, when the mind is inclined to a thing, it is no longer impartial between two alternatives. And that to which the mind is more inclined it chooses, unless by a rational discussion, not unattended with trouble, it is withdrawn from taking that side: hence sudden emergencies afford the best sign of the inward bent of the mind. But it is impossible for the mind of man to be so continually watchful as rationally to discuss whatever it ought to do or not to do. Consequently the mind will at times choose that to which it is inclined by the present inclination: so, if the inclination be to sin, it will not stand long clear of sin, thereby putting an obstacle in the way of grace, unless it be brought back to the state of righteousness. Further we must consider the assaults of passion, the allurements of sense, the endless occasions of evil-doing, the ready incitements of sin, sure to prevail, unless the will be withheld from them by a firm adherence to the last end, which is the work of grace. Hence appears the folly of the Pelagian view, that a man in sin can go on avoiding further sins without grace. On the contrary the Lord bids us pray: Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. But though persons in sin cannot of their own power help putting obstacles in the way of grace, unless they be forestalled by some aid of grace, still this lack of power is imputable to them for a fault, because it is left behind in them by a fault going before; as a drunken man is not excused from murder, committed in drunkenness, when he gets drunk by fault of his own. Besides, though this person in sin has it not in his unaided power altogether to avoid sin, still he has power here and now to avoid this or that sin: hence whatever he commits, he voluntarily commits, and the fault is imputed to him not undeservedly. CHAPTER CLXII

• From Cults Inside Out: How People Get In and Can Get Out (2014)

  We discussed the three most basic stages of coercive persuasion, according to MIT professor Edgar Schein. These include “unfreezing,” “changing,” and then “refreezing” a person after the desired mind-set has been achieved. 1132 How had the daughter’s boyfriend unfrozen her? Psychologist Margaret Singer calls the unfreezing phase of coercive persuasion “the destabilizing of a person’s sense of self.” 1133 How had the boyfriend destabilized the daughter? We discussed the laser-like intensity of their relationship—the seemingly endless talks they had and how much time the boyfriend had demanded. This aspect had been evident first at the vacation resort, later through their ongoing Internet calls, and ultimately through his demands that she drop out of school and move in with him. I asked the daughter whether the boyfriend had used their prolonged talks as a means to change her life goals and alter her family values. She agreed that this constant conversation and communication were the impetus and catalyst for the changes that had taken place in her personal and academic life. Through these discourses the boyfriend had managed to alter the daughter’s direction in life, including her goals and individual values. We then discussed in more detail how the boyfriend had persuaded her to drop out of school and move in with him in less than sixty days. Wasn’t that a sudden change? Had she previously considered making such dramatic changes in her life before meeting the boyfriend? The girl’s parents said they became concerned not only because these changes were happening so fast but also because their daughter had given up her personal goals, friends, and family. It appeared that she had sacrificed everything in her life to satisfy the needs of the boyfriend. I then pointed out how such rapid and singularly motivated change fit within the framework of coercive persuasion, as Singer suggested. Had the boyfriend manipulated the daughter to reinterpret her life? As Singer summarized, had she ultimately accepted “a new version of reality”? 1134 How had the boyfriend impacted the historical relationships in her life? Did this explain why she had so suddenly changed her goals and family values? How had the daughter changed from a loving family member, concerned about friends, to someone who barely communicated with anyone other than the boyfriend? The daughter acknowledged that the rapid and radical changes in recent months had occurred as a direct result of the boyfriend’s persuasive power and growing influence. At this juncture in the intervention, we began to examine the basic characteristics of thought reform, as psychiatrist Robert Jay Lifton outlined. 1135 The single most basic and important element of thought reform, as Lifton defined, is “Milieu Control”—that is, control of the environment. We now began to discuss how isolated the daughter had recently become. The parents commented about the apparent control of communication between them and their daughter in recent weeks. They said it had seemed like the boyfriend was now filtering everything. Was this pattern of control similar to Lifton’s Milieu Control?

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  The girl turned to the servant who answered the bell, an older woman who regarded her kindly. “I should be grateful if you could offer any advice,” she implored. “Remove your clothes,” said the old woman calmly. “What!” exclaimed the girl. “Remove your clothes,” repeated the woman. “That is how you know him and you will choose the man you know.” “But, what if…” she paused, uncertain. “It is the only way,” replied the shrewd old woman. “You will not get another chance after this.” Seeing the wisdom in the old woman’s words, she quickly removed her clothing. Then she opened the door and walked into the blackness beyond. The door closed immediately behind her. Although the room was silent, she could feel the presence of the men who crowded the large room. Slowly she moved forward. It occurred to her suddenly that she hadn’t even touched the face of her prince, for he had thwarted her every attempt to seek his identity. She had only that one glimpse of him by candlelight. She knew him only as a lover. Would that be enough to help her now? All of a sudden, she felt someone beside her. She reached out her hand in the dark and discovered a man standing there. The thought of the smirking servant crossed her mind, and she recoiled instantly. But the man reached out a steady hand and held her. With her heart racing, she let him draw her near. His hands slid down the length of her body, touching her intimately. She tried to concentrate on his hands and recall exactly how her prince’s hands had felt when they were touching her. Were these his hands that caressed her now? The man reached a hand between her legs, prying her open and thrusting a finger inside her warm body. But something was wrong. The fingers that were digging into her flesh were cold, not warm like her lover’s. With a small cry of horror, she tore herself from the impostor’s hands. The next man she encountered had much warmer hands. Like the former, he touched her body intimately, without reserve. Did all men grasp and clutch at a woman in exactly the same manner? But there seemed to be something familiar in this one’s touch. She turned up her face towards his in the darkness. His lips immediately came down on hers in a soft kiss. Pressing her body close to his, she slowly wound her arms around his neck, thinking this man could be her prince. Her body began responding to his warm kisses and caresses, and yet, a slow dawning crept up within her that this man could not be her prince after all, for his kisses were much too wet!

• From Don't Feed the Monkey Mind: How to Stop the Cycle of Anxiety, Fear, and Worry (2017)

  Begin by thinking of a situation that makes you anxious. It could be a physical sensation like in the case of Maria, or it may be a situation that happens at work, or it may be related to your home life and family. Once you have a situation in mind, ask yourself these three questions: 1. What am I afraid of? 2. What’s the worst thing that could happen if this comes true? 3. What would this mean about me, my life, or my future? Using the answers to these questions, determine your perception of threat. Next, describe how these thoughts make you feel. What negative emotions and sensations can you identify? What parts of your body are affected? Make note of them in your chart. Once you’ve got a good handle on what you’re thinking and feeling, ask yourself, What do I do to keep the worst from happening? This behavior is your safety strategy. When you’ve written it in, the cycle is complete— almost. When you perform your safety strategy, which monkey mind-set or combination of mind-sets is activated? Write that in the center bubble. To keep it simple you can use whichever of the three assumptions fits best with the situation: “I must be 100% certain,” “I must not make mistakes,” or “I am responsible for everyone’s happiness and safety.” Neither Maria, Eric, nor Samantha were living the lives they wanted to live. Thinking with the monkey mind-set is like being an archer who thinks she must hit the bull’s-eye. The rest of the target counts as a miss. Only when her arrow lands dead center, within the circle of safety, will she allow herself any satisfaction, and even then only until her next “miss.” It’s an all-or-- nothing mentality, and we usually wind up with nothing. The Downward Cycle Safety strategies and their monkey mind-sets are aimed at eliminating risk. Yet without some risk, new experiences and learning are impossible. Our thoughts, our behavior, and our level of anxiety become rigid and predictable. Over time, the heart’s desires are forgotten. Eric dreaded going to work at the company he himself had founded. Marie gave up the thing she loved the most —travel—because she didn’t dare stray from her hospital. Samantha would never be able to retire because her responsibility to her son was draining both her bank account and her health. Within the cycle of anxiety, the joy of being alive is lost. Our world gets smaller and smaller.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  “Indeed I have,” he replied, glancing nonchalantly through a crystal panel to see how the servants were faring, and mentally calculating how much longer before it was time for the show to begin. He pretended not to be aware of the fact that he was fully aroused. The empress, too, struggled to ignore his condition and maintain an outward appearance that was both dignified and aloof. But the accelerated rise and fall of her breasts gave evidence of an increased need for oxygen that only becomes necessary when accommodating a racing heart. The emperor noticed this and held back a smile. He had been hoping to achieve that response by the second part of Act One. This was going better than he had anticipated. And it was time, indeed, to begin the presentation. Very slowly, the emperor reached out his hand to touch the empress’s breast. Shocked, the empress instinctively glanced out through the glass panels. At that moment, the lighting over her head seemed to get brighter, while the lights outside the theater box appeared to get dimmer. Even so, she could still see the servants clearly. They were looking expectantly at her and the emperor. She turned back to her husband questioningly, but he merely stared back at her, slowly moving his hand over her breasts, then down her belly and around the curve of her hips. A little shiver vibrated over her. One way or the other, the event had begun. The emperor waited silently for the empress to comprehend the situation, thoroughly intrigued by the mixture of confusion and reluctant arousal that were evident in her expression. “I thought there was to be a play, or…some…entertainment.” Even as she said the words a slow dawning seemed to be creeping over her. “There is,” the emperor replied. He moved behind her then and, taking her shoulders in his hands, carefully turned her so that she was facing the crystal panels directly in front of the audience of eager faces. The empress stood frozen in place, looking at the faces of the men and women who were impatiently awaiting the entertainment that she was about to provide. In their expressions she saw a variety of reactions, ranging from intrigue, shock, amazement, excitement, amusement and even arousal. There were lascivious smiles on the faces of some of the younger male servants as they stared at her openly. She looked back in horror, even as a surge of excitement gushed through her loins. The empress remained motionless, torn between a strong desire to stay and an anxiousness to leave. In that moment she was made aware of her darkest wish, and she feared it as vigorously as she wanted it. She responded to this dilemma much as a deer does, when its gaze is caught by a bright light in the dark night, and it becomes paralyzed with uncertainty.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  And so it was that, as she went up and down the length of the room, she searched in vain for her prince. There were indeed a few times when she believed she might have found him, but in her fear of choosing the wrong man she always held back from speaking. Yet she clung to those men who reminded her of the one she loved and, yes, even allowed a few of them to take her, right there in the room, thinking that she had at last found her prince, only to discover moments later that he could not have been him after all. Her whole body shook with frustration and anxiety over the enormity of the task that lay before her. She was in a constant state of arousal as she wandered about the room, doing unimaginable things with complete strangers. And as the night wore on, she could not determine one touch from the next, but only hoped for a miraculous sign that would enlighten her and free her from the degrading search she had been forced to endure. And all the while she knew that her prince was there, silently listening to her moans and cries as she traversed the room, and perceiving her inability to quit the arms of each impostor before giving a little bit of herself to him. Tears poured down her cheeks as she pressed on, discouraged, but unable to give up until she found him. She wondered if she had encountered the servant from the dining room yet, and if so, how far she had allowed him to go with her. Was he one of the men who had taken her right there on the floor, easing the aching hunger she felt, if only for the moment? Blindly she stumbled on, praying for a miracle. And there, in front of her, stood yet another man. She approached him with the tears still on her cheeks. Abruptly the man clutched her in a fierce embrace and crushed her lips under his. She could not remember having ever been kissed so violently and struggled to get away from the savage grasp that was bruising her skin. He did not relent, however, and she almost cried out for help, but at that same moment she remembered that she could not speak. If she spoke out she would not only lose her prince forever, but possibly be obliged to remain with this brute as well! A real terror seized her, as she realized that the violent stranger might force himself on her, without her even being able to utter a single word.

• From Under the Banner of Heaven (2003)

  The Mormons had long possessed a strong and spectacular sense of otherness and unity: They saw themselves not only as God’s modern chosen people, but also as a people whose faith and identity had been forged by a long and bloody history, and by outright banishment. They were a people apart—a people with its own myths and purposes, and with a history of astonishing violence. MIKAL GILMORE, SHOT IN THE HEART For more than fifteen years—ever since Rulon Jeffs became leader of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints—the inhabitants of Colorado City were sustained by their conviction that he was the “one mighty and strong,” the Lord’s anointed emissary on earth, a prophet whom God had granted eternal life. But Uncle Rulon had been gravely ill for a long time, and on September 8, 2002, his heart stopped beating and a physician pronounced him dead. That was four days ago; now, as the reality of their leader’s death has begun to sink in, the town’s residents are desperately trying to reconcile their faith in his immortality with the inescapable fact that he is deceased. Today, on a warm and cloudless Thursday afternoon, more than five thousand people—mostly devout fundamentalists, but a few Gentiles and mainline Mormons as well—have assembled in Colorado City from as far away as Canada and Mexico to pay their respects and bury Uncle Rulon. The men and boys somberly filing out of the funeral service that has just concluded in the LeRoy Johnson Meeting House are dressed in their Sunday best. The women and girls wear ankle-length dresses in pastel shades of pink, lavender, and blue that could be straight out of the nineteenth century; their hair, pulled back into long, chaste braids, first rises from their foreheads in fabulous crests, painstakingly arranged, that bring to mind breaking surf. Above the grieving throngs, the cliffs of Canaan Mountain glow in the angled sunlight, profiled against a blue autumn sky. Uncle Rulon, who was three months shy of his ninety-third birthday when he passed on, left behind an estimated seventy-five bereft wives and at least sixty-five children. There is much uncertainty about how the next of kin and the rest of his followers will cope in his absence. An air of vague anxiety hangs over the community. The same kind of apprehension gripped Colorado City in 1986, when the prophet who preceded Uncle Rulon—LeRoy Johnson, the much adored Uncle Roy—perished at the age of ninety-eight. Uncle Roy was also supposed to live forever. After his death, Uncle Rulon assumed leadership of the sect, but his right to claim Uncle Roy’s mantle was furiously contested by those loyal to a prominent bishop named Marion Hammon. Hammon’s followers, amounting to nearly a third of the community, left the fold en masse, moved onto a swath of desert just across the highway, and founded their own fundamentalist church—which became known as the Second Ward (the original church was called the First Ward).

• From Cults Inside Out: How People Get In and Can Get Out (2014)

  Singer stated that the purpose of such tactics is to coerce the subject to “drastically reinterpret his or her life’s history and radically alter his or her worldview and accept a new version of reality and causality.”1072 Singer describes that the net result of this process can be “dependence on the organization” and that a person may then largely become “a deployable agent of the organization.”1073 I asked the doctor whether he had met Landmark enthusiasts who repeated their training and did ongoing volunteer work for the company. Might that behavior be seen as somewhat dependent? Was Landmark using those people? He admitted that someone could perhaps perceive the situation that way but that he didn’t. We also discussed how the Forum might be compared in some ways to group therapy. Unlike group therapy led by a licensed mental health professional, however, a landmark leader has no specific licensing requirements and corresponding accountability to a licensing board or body. Moreover, a Forum leader, unlike a licensed counseling professional, has no requirement to disclose the exact nature and structure of his or her counseling approach before beginning. We also talked about some of the liabilities researchers had cited about certain types of potentially problematic encounter groups. For example: “They sometimes ignore stated goals, misrepresent their actual techniques, and obfuscate their real agenda.”1074 I pointed out again that he hadn’t been told in advance that Forum training was designed as a vehicle to impart or download Werner Erhard’s philosophy. Had he understood in detail that this was, in fact, the intent of the training? Had he made a fully informed choice to accept the ultimate goal of the LGAT? We then discussed another important liability that can be readily recognized in many LGATs such as Landmark. That is, they “lack adequate participant-selection criteria.”1075 We talked about how almost anyone might attend the Forum and potentially be impacted by its training, which again can be stressful, cathartic, and at times quite confrontational. We talked about how some people may be able to cope with such pressure, but for other participants, it might be too difficult, and they could begin to unravel and eventually experience a kind of breakdown. In fact, I pointed out that Landmark has admitted that this is an apparent issue and ongoing liability concern for the company. A Landmark spokesperson claimed that this concern has been effectively addressed by implementing a “screening process.”1076 I told the doctor this was necessary because Landmark Education, formerly known as EST, had a history of breakdowns tied to its training.1077 I shared an article two medical doctors had coauthored about psychiatric disturbances associated with EST.1078 At this juncture we talked about other cited liabilities associated with encounter groups, which might potentially lead to harm done to participants.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  Having that much decided, I stood wide-eyed before the mirror. The woman that stared back at me looked strangely vulnerable. She was beautiful, with that poignant, forlorn beauty that belongs to those women who humbly present themselves on lace and silken platters, dressing up as best they can, in the hopes that this will bring them love, fame, money or happiness. And I thought to myself, Why, any woman can do this. It’s as easy as buying a costume! My bright-red lips smiled back at me. Suddenly I remembered one last thing. I fished through the makeup until I located a brown liner pencil. Then, very carefully, I drew a cute little mole right above my lip. There. Perfect! I allowed myself one more nervous giggle. As usual, my husband came home right on time. I hid myself in the shadows of our dining room until I should decide the moment was right. My heart pounded ridiculously in my breast. Was it my very own, familiar husband I was hiding from? He came through the front door, as always, calling my name. But on this occasion I didn’t answer him. I wanted every single detail of this evening to be different, memorable. He called out my name a second time. I heard him ascend the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. There was a shuffling sound upstairs as he called for me again, and then yet again. My heart was hammering painfully. I was almost afraid. It was a similar feeling to the one I had when playing hide and seek as a child. I heard his footsteps on the stairs, this time descending. There was concern now present in his voice as he walked into the kitchen and again called out my name. Finally I stood up and slipped quietly into the living room. I stood inconspicuously alongside one wall in the large room. In a few minutes he came into the living room and paused, scratching his head. I stood perfectly quiet and still as I watched him. After a moment he felt my presence. He turned his head precisely to where I stood frozen against the wall. Shock overtook his countenance. At first he did not even appear to recognize me. I did not laugh, or even smile, for that matter. A new emotion was coming over me, stifling my earlier urges to giggle. I could hardly breathe while my husband stood gaping at me. But at last his confusion disassembled, and in both our eyes there was recognition. He knew me. And I knew him. He realized what I wanted him to do, and I, of course, had my script memorized. He didn’t say a word as he slowly walked toward me. His eyes traveled over me, missing nothing. A smile began to form upon his lips, but then just as quickly disappeared. As we stared into each other’s eyes he was suddenly very serious.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  The second disadvantage is that those who would arrive at the discovery of the aforesaid truth would scarcely succeed in doing so after a long time. First, because this truth is so profound, that it is only after long practice that the human intellect is enabled to grasp it by means of reason. Secondly, because many things are required beforehand, as stated above. Thirdly, because at the time of youth, the mind, when tossed about by the various movements of the passions, is not fit for the knowledge of so sublime a truth, whereas calm gives prudence and knowledge, as stated in 7 Phys. Hence mankind would remain in the deepest darkness of ignorance, if the path of reason were the only available way to the knowledge of God: because the knowledge of God which especially makes men perfect and good, would be acquired only by the few, and by these only after a long time. The third disadvantage is that much falsehood is mingled with the investigations of human reason, on account of the weakness of our intellect in forming its judgments, and by reason of the admixture of phantasms. Consequently many would remain in doubt about those things even which are most truly demonstrated, through ignoring the force of the demonstration: especially when they perceive that different things are taught by the various men who are called wise. Moreover among the many demonstrated truths, there is sometimes a mixture of falsehood that is not demonstrated, but assumed for some probable or sophistical reason which at times is mistaken for a demonstration. Therefore it was necessary that definite certainty and pure truth about divine things should be offered to man by the way of faith. Accordingly the divine clemency has made this salutary commandment, that even some things which reason is able to investigate must be held by faith: so that all may share in the knowledge of God easily, and without doubt or error. Hence it is written (Eph. 4:17, 18): That henceforward you walk not as also the Gentiles walk in the vanity of their mind, having their understanding darkened: and (Isa. 54:13): All thy children shall be taught of the Lord. CHAPTER V THAT THOSE THINGS WHICH CANNOT BE INVESTIGATED BY REASON ARE FITTINGLY PROPOSED TO MAN AS AN OBJECT OF FAITHIT may appear to some that those things which cannot be investigated by reason ought not to be proposed to man as an object of faith: because divine wisdom provides for each thing according to the mode of its nature. We must therefore prove that it is necessary also for those things which surpass reason to be proposed by God to man as an object of faith.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  These arguments would seem to be confirmed by the authority of Scripture. For it is said (Prov. 30:8, 9): Give me neither beggary nor riches: give me only the necessaries of life. Lest perhaps being filled I should be tempted to deny, and say: Who is the Lord? or being compelled by poverty, I should steal, and forswear the name of my God. CHAPTER CXXXII OF THE WAYS OF LIFE FOLLOWED BY THOSE WHO EMBRACE VOLUNTARY POVERTYTHIS question would seem to be yet more relevant if one consider the ways in which those must needs live, who embrace voluntary poverty. One way of living is for the goods of each one to be sold, and for all to live together on the proceeds. This seems to have been done in Jerusalem under the apostles: for it is said (Acts 4:34, 35): As many as were owners of lands. or houses, sold them, and brought the price of the things they sold, and laid it down before the feet of the apostles. And distribution was made to everyone, according as he had need. Now, in this way it would seem that sufficient provision was not made for man’s livelihood. First, because it is not probable that many with great possessions would embrace this kind of life. And the proceeds from the sale of the possessions of a few wealthy men, after being divided among many, would not last very long. Also, because it is possible and easy for the price received to be lost, through fraud on the part of the dispensers, or through theft or robbery. Consequently those who embrace this kind of poverty will be left without a livelihood. Besides. Many things happen which compel a man to change his abode. Hence it will be difficult to provide for those who may possibly be scattered about in various places, if the proceeds of the sale be assigned to them all in common. There is another mode of life observed in many monasteries, where the possessions are held in common, and provision made for each one according to his needs. But neither does this way of life seem to be expedient. For earthly possessions are attended by anxieties: both in the acquisition of revenue, and in protecting them against fraud and violence: and these anxieties are so much the greater and involve so many more persons, according as greater possessions are needed to suffice for the upkeep of the greater number. In this way, therefore, the motive of voluntary poverty is frustrated: at any rate as regards many who must needs be solicitous in looking after the property.

• From Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (Erotic Fiction) (2006)

  The queen plucked one of the roses as she passed out through the doorway of the cottage and placed it in her bag, so that she might always remember the pleasure she found there. But as they traveled through the woods she became dispirited, and by the time they reached her castle she was overcome with anxiety. The prince reluctantly left her with a kiss and a promise to return later that day. At her servant’s departure, the queen lost no time in seeking her bedchamber mirror. Upon reaching it she gasped in horror. Nothing had changed since the last time she faced the horrid thing! She wasn’t beautiful at all, but the same awful, expiring old woman she was the day before. Had the mirror lied and Snow White given up her life for naught? The queen composed herself and addressed the mirror just so: “Mirror, mirror, do not stall, Or I shall tear you from that wall. Tell me now, before I start, What meant you, by Snow White’s heart?” She had less than a moment to wait before the mirror replied: “Your lover is the fraud, I fear. Snow White is safe, though far from here. You must find her in the wood. Through poison you may reach this good!” Your lover is the fraud, I fear. So her servant had tricked her! The queen’s eyes burned with unshed tears as she felt a cold rage creeping over her heart. The memory of the previous night in the cottage had been erased by the malevolent mirror and so, without another thought about it, the queen spent the remainder of the day creating a poison for Snow White. She carefully attached the poison to a beautifully carved, silver comb that, upon touching the head of Snow White, would immediately place her in a deep coma. The prince noticed the change in the queen when he returned later that day. Her beautiful eyes flashed with anger as she relayed to him what the mirror had told her. He once again promised to help the queen by delivering the poisonous comb to Snow White, on the condition that she spend another night with him in his cottage. But the good prince still had no intention of harming Snow White, and upon finding her in the woods, he asked for some of her hair, that he might attach it to the comb to temporarily appease his beloved queen. This Snow White readily agreed to, and the prince once again returned faulty evidence to his queen.

• From Confessions of a Mask (1958)

  And listen—I'll be there for sure. I won't forgive you if you don't come." . . . After I had hung up, his laughing voice still echoed in my ears. I was aware that I had been able to counter his laughter with nothing better than an invisible, twisted smile. And yet I felt a ray of hope or, better said, a superstitious belief. It was a dangerous superstitution. Only vanity makes people take risks. In my case it was the commonplace vanity of not wanting to be known as a virgin at the age of twenty-two.Now that I think of it, it was on my birthday that I thus steeled myself for the test. . . . We stared at each other as though each was trying to probe the other's mind. Today my friend too realized that either a serious face or a broad grin would look equally absurd, and he exhaled cigarette smoke rapidly from his expressionless lips. After a few words of greeting he began talking impersonally about the poor quality of the confections served at this shop. I was scarcely listening to him and broke into his remarks: “I wonder if you've made up your mind also. I wonder if a fellow who takes someone to such a place for the first time becomes a lifelong friend or a lifelong enemy." "Don't scare me. You know what a coward I am. I wouldn't know how to play the part of a lifelong enemy." "It's good that you know even that much about yourself." I deliberately talked down to him, making a show of bravado. "Well, then," he said, looking as grave as a committee chairman, "we ought to go somewhere and have something to drink. It's a little too much for a beginner if he's sober." "No, I don't want to drink." I felt my cheeks grow cold. "I'm going without taking a single drink. I have nerve enough without it."In quick succession there came a ride on a gloomy streetcar and a gloomy elevated, an unfamiliar station, an unfamiliar street, a corner where shabby tenements stood in rows, and purple and red lights under which the women's faces looked swollen. The customers walked along the clammy, thawing street, passing each other in silence, their footfalls as hushed as though they were barefoot. I felt not the slightest desire. It was nothing but my feeling of uneasiness that goaded me on, exactly as though I were a child pleading for a midafternoon snack. "Any place will do," I said. "Any place will do, I tell you." I felt as though I wanted to turn and flee from the artificially husky voices of the women saying: "Stop a minute, honey; wait just a minute, honey. . . ." "The girls in this house are dangerous. . . . You like that one?