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 The Decameron (1353)

  Mithridanes paused for some little time before replying, but eventually decided to take him into his confidence. After much beating about the bush he came to the point; and having sworn him to secrecy he requested his help and advice, revealing exactly who he was, why he was there, and what had prompted him to come. On hearing Mithridanes speak, and learning of his cruel resolve, Nathan was extremely perturbed. But he was not deficient in courage, and scarcely paused for a moment before replying, without batting an eyelid: ‘Your father was a man of excellent worth, Mithridanes, and you are clearly intent upon following his example by this lofty enterprise of yours, wherein you extend a generous hand to all who come to you. Moreover, I warmly commend your envy of Nathan, for if this form of jealousy were more widespread, the world, which is very miserly, would soon become a better place to live in. I shall certainly keep your intentions a secret, but rather than render you any great assistance, I can offer you some useful advice, which is this. Some half a mile from where we stand, you can see a copse where practically every morning Nathan goes for a long walk, entirely alone; it will be a simple matter for you to find him there and deal with him as you please. But if you kill him, and wish to make good your escape, you must leave the copse, not by the way you entered, but along the path you see over there to the left, for although it is a little more difficult, it will lead you home by a shorter and safer route.’ Having imparted this information to Mithridanes, Nathan took his leave, and Mithridanes secretly sent word to his companions, who had likewise found lodging in the palace, about where they were to wait for him on the following day. Meanwhile Nathan had no misgivings about the advice he had offered, and when the next day came, not having changed his mind in the slightest, he set off alone for the copse to meet his doom. Mithridanes had no other weapons but a sword and a bow, and as soon as he had risen he girded them on, mounted his horse, and rode over to the copse, where from some distance away he espied the solitary figure of Nathan sauntering among the trees. He galloped towards him, but being resolved to see his face and hear him speak before attacking him, he seized him by the turban he was wearing and exclaimed: ‘Greybeard, your hour has come!’ By way of answer, all that Nathan said was: ‘In that case I have only myself to blame.’

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

  I cried, “Oh, don’t take Rupert. I’ll come get you and drive you to Henry’s.” “It’s too late to change plans. I told Rupert everything.” “Everything? That you and Hugo are still married?” “No! Don’t even say that out loud. I told Rupert I had heard from old friends that Hugo cannot pay his rent, and that I’m indebted to Hugo for his taking care of my family and me when we had nothing. I explained that I want to help Hugo financially when I get my diary published and Rupert said it was a good plan. Isn’t Rupert wonderful?” “Maybe now you could tell Rupert the truth about—” “No! But along those lines, I need your help with Henry.” “Of course,” I said, though I didn’t think she would need my help. I was convinced that the moment Henry saw her, he would be besotted again. “We have to prevent Henry from telling Rupert that I’m still married to Hugo,” she said urgently. “Does Henry know?” “Henry met Rupert eighteen years ago when we visited him in Big Sur, and our social circles here overlap so he’s probably heard that I’m married to Rupert. Would you believe Henry and Hugo are still friends and talk on the phone?” “But Henry will protect you, won’t he? I’m sure he’s still in love with you.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Oh, I don’t think so. And Henry is completely unpredictable. If he gets riled up he could say anything in front of Rupert.” “Then don’t bring Rupert!” I didn’t want Rupert standing there when the sparks flew between Anaïs and Henry. “I have to bring Rupert. He’s part of my whole life now,” she said with her uncanny ability to remain unperturbed by her contradictions. [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] Rupert drove the Thunderbird with the top down. Anaïs wore a kerchief and kept the window rolled up on the passenger side while I sat on the rump seat, my long hair blowing into my eyes and mouth. Anaïs bent towards me to speak, the wind whipping away her words. “Remember, you need to help keep the discussion on track with Henry,” she told me. “I’ll do my best,” I sputtered through a mouthful of hair. She turned back to the road, leaving me to savor my anticipation of what would happen when Henry Miller opened the door and saw Anaïs in her new Rudi Gernreich dress. She would start to give Henry a buss on each cheek, and despite Rupert standing there, Henry would take her face in his hands and kiss her mouth, and she would respond. When Henry opened the door to his surprisingly conventional white ranch house, I saw a bald troll holding onto a walker, and my heart sank. Anaïs air-kissed his wrinkled, sagging cheeks.

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

  Clara said, “Mon Dieu, everyone in Paris knows about you and your double life! Hugo still has friends there, you know.” Anaïs’s panicked eyes darted to me and back to Clara. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said coolly. I glanced around and, to my horror, saw Rupert stationed on the front porch, standing in the cold by the open door. He must have heard Clara say that Anaïs had a double life and still lived with Hugo! Yet his countenance remained blank. An actor playing possum? I jumped up. “It’s getting late, and we don’t want to exhaust Anaïs when she’s been so generous to meet with us.” There were groans and thirty hands shot up. Anaïs recognized only Don. I felt a charge between them before he asked, “Were you the model for Ida Verlaine in Henry Miller’s Sexus?” “You’d better ask Henry that question.” She laughed gaily, turning away to scan the room for Rupert. “Ah! I see my escort is here! I’m so sorry I cannot stay longer.” The crowd parted before her as she moved through them to the front door, squeezing proffered hands and returning eager gazes with her radiant, reassuring smile. I tried to catch her eye but couldn’t. Bob rushed up with her cape, and she wrapped it around her before sweeping away. She did not take Rupert’s arm as they strode to the T-Bird parked up the street. That night, no one could have guessed they were married, the way she kept her distance. [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] Later, as I was coming out of the bathroom Don and I shared, I saw that he was at a desk in the ballroom studying. Evidently, he’d sent his date home. He gestured that I should come join him. I got my books and papers from my room so it would look as if I were studying, too. Right away Don asked, “Who was the younger guy she called her escort? Is that her rich husband?” I wasn’t sure how to answer. To people in Los Angeles, Anaïs usually introduced Rupert as her husband but since she had identified him as just her escort that night, I said, “A friend, I guess.” “What was all that about her having a double life?” Don gave me his irresistible Don Juan grin, and I noticed how neatly his blond mustache was trimmed over his white teeth. He seemed to be looking at me differently, not as a sister. Perhaps Anaïs’s fairy dust had succeeded in bathing me in its flattering light. “I don’t know anything about a double life. I think Clara just has old gossip. Anaïs used to be married to Hugo,” I said, though I felt uncomfortable lying to Don; it wasn’t something we did in our commune. Don said, “It’s common knowledge she had an affair with Henry Miller. Was she married to Hugo then?”

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Now one night, when Talano happened to be staying with this wife of his at one of their country estates, he dreamt that he saw her wandering through some very beautiful woods, which were situated not far away from the house. As he watched, an enormous and ferocious wolf seemed to emerge from a corner of the woods and hurl itself at Margarita’s throat, dragging her to the ground. She struggled to free herself, screaming for help, and when at length she managed to escape from its clutches, the whole of her throat and face appeared to be torn to ribbons. So when Talano got up next morning, he said to his wife: ‘Woman, your cussedness has been the bane of my life since the day we were married; but all the same I should be sorry if you came to any harm, and therefore, if you’ll take my advice, you won’t venture forth from the house today.’ When she asked him the reason, he told her about his dream, whereupon she tossed her head in the air and said: ‘Evil wishes beget evil dreams. You pretend to be very anxious for my safety, but you only dream these horrid things about me because you’d like to see them happen. You may rest assured that I shall never give you the satisfaction of seeing me suffer any such fate as the one you describe, whether on this day or any other.’ ‘I knew you would say that,’ said Talano. ‘A mangy dog never thanks you for combing its pelt. But you may think whatever you like. I only mentioned it for your own good, and once again I advise you to stay at home today, or at any rate to keep well away from those woods of ours.’ ‘Very well,’ said the woman, ‘I’ll do as you say.’ But then she began to think to herself: ‘Here’s a crafty fellow! Do you see how he tries to frighten me out of going near the woods today? He’s doubtless made an appointment there with some strumpet or other, and doesn’t want me to find him. Ah, he’d do well for himself at a supper for the blind, but knowing him as I do, I should be a great fool to take him at his word. He certainly won’t get away with this. I shall find out what business takes him to those woods, even if I have to wait there the whole day.’ No sooner had she reached the end of these deliberations than her husband left the house, whereupon she too left the house by a separate door and made her way to the woods without a moment’s delay, keeping out of sight as much as possible. On entering the woods, she concealed herself in the thickest part she could find, and kept a sharp lookout on all sides so that she could see if anyone was coming.

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

  I noticed how tired Anaïs looked under her makeup and wondered if her cancer had really retreated. Her penciled-on eyebrows lifted in alarm. “Excuse me. I have to take care of something. Bob is trying to put Rupert in the film.” We watched the director’s young assistant position fill lights around Rupert, who was sitting in a chair while Snyder held a meter next to his face. “Anaïs, he’s just using Rupert as a stand-in for your shot.” “No, I know what I’m talking about.” She squeezed my hand with her cold fingers before she rushed inside. I wanted her to stay. I needed her to reassure me that she was curing the cancer. That if I did decide to go to Indiana, she would be fine when I got back. I started toward the house, circling around the pool, stepping carefully because there was no light on that side of the yard. I glanced up and saw Anaïs leading Snyder out through the glass doors onto the flagstone patio. I stopped in my tracks, not wanting to interrupt, unable to tell if they’d noticed me. “Bob, we talked about this.” Anaïs’s voice wavered with anxiety. “Rupert is not to be in the film.” “Be reasonable!” Snyder made no attempt to keep his voice down. “Your audience will want to see your handsome husband. Rupert is very photogenic, you know.” Snyder pressed his stubby fingers together in supplication. “Yes, I know. But we agreed that Rupert would not appear.” Anaïs didn’t want Rupert in the film, of course, because Hugo would inevitably see it. But Rupert had been introduced as her husband to the director, as was customary in the LA arts circle we ran in. She could hardly explain that she had another husband in New York from whom she kept Rupert a secret. Snyder was a “small time” documentary filmmaker and “not very high class,” as Anaïs had described him to me. He could not be trusted. “I need to remind you, Bob,” Anaïs said, “that you agreed this film would be about my professional life, not my personal life.” “Are you trying to tell me how to shoot my movie? We need a balance, a balance. I’m the filmmaker here. I know.” She didn’t take the bait. She lowered her voice. “The audience of my work knows me only as Anaïs Nin, my professional name, which is also my maiden name. It would be too confusing to bring in Rupert Pole as my husband.” “Oh, that’s no problem.” Snyder sounded relieved. “All the young women are keeping their maiden names now. It just shows how ahead of the times you are. All we have to do is have you identify Rupert as your husband in the voiceover.” Right, I thought. Have Anaïs announce on film, for Hugo to hear, “This is my husband Rupert Pole.” I was shocked when Snyder then spoke as if he were some important Hollywood director and she were just his actress:

• From The Decameron (1353)

  In case Federigo should become suspicious of her and take offence, Monna Tessa decided that, come what may, she must get up out of bed and apprise him of the fact that Gianni was there, and so she said to her husband: ‘That’s all very well. You can spout as many words as you like, but as far as I’m concerned I shan’t feel safe or secure until we exorcize it, and now that you are here we can do it.’ ‘Exorcize it?’ said Gianni. ‘How are we to do that?’ ‘I know exactly how to exorcize it,’ said his wife, ‘because the day before yesterday, when I went to the pardoning at Fiesole, I came across a hermitess, who as God is my witness, Gianni dear, is the most saintly woman you ever met, and when she saw how terrified I was of the werewolf, she taught me a fine and godly prayer, telling me that she had tried it many a time before becoming a recluse, and that it had always worked for her. Heaven knows that I would never have sufficient courage to try it out by myself, but now that you are here, I want us to go and exorcize it.’ Gianni thought this an excellent idea, and so they both got up out of bed and tiptoed over to the door, on the other side of which Federigo, his suspicions already aroused, was still waiting. On reaching the door, Gianni’s wife said to him: ‘As soon as I give you the word, have a good spit.’11 ‘Right you are,’ said Gianni. Then the lady began the exorcism, saying: ‘Werewolf, werewolf, black as any crow, you came here with your tail erect, keep it up and go; go into the garden, and look beneath the peach, and there you’ll find roast capons, and a score of eggs with each; raise the flask up to your lips, and take a swig of wine; then get you gone and hurt me not, nor even Gianni mine.’ And so saying she turned to her husband, and said: ‘Spit, Gianni.’ And Gianni spat. Federigo, who was standing outside and heard every syllable, had stopped feeling jealous, and despite all his frustration he had to hold his sides to prevent himself from bursting out laughing. And in a low murmur, as Gianni was doing his spitting, he groaned: ‘The teeth!’ When Monna Tessa had exorcized the werewolf three times in this same fashion, she and her husband returned to bed.

• 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 World of Biblical Israel (2013)

  159 o But as this lesson is taught in a brutal fashion, we also hear the anxiety and moral questioning of Jacob, who is, after all, “Israel.” After Simeon and Levi have killed all the men of Shechem, Jacob laments that his sons have made him “odious to the inhabitants of the land” and vulnerable to attack (Gen. 34:30). o Within this short narrative, we watch as Jacob, who is Israel, returns from exile and finds his daughter compromised by the “people of the land.” He then sees his sons respond with violence, ostensibly over the issue of circumcision, and he worries for the survival of his household. The Story of Ruth • The book of Ruth was likely composed during or following the exile. It has a southern Judean, monarchic focus. In fact, the book closes with a genealogy of King David, identifying Ruth as his great-great- grandmother, and we know that during and after the exile, the figure of David received a tremendous amount of attention. o The book of Ruth may represent an attempt to deal with one problematic aspect of David’s biography: He was a descendant of a Moabite woman. o Given this potentially damning family background, the book of Ruth seems to tell a story that at once acknowledges David’s Moabite ancestry and presents it in its most positive light. • The book begins by introducing an ideal family in difficult straits. The family is from Judah, representing the tribe that will produce royalty. But a famine in Judah requires the family to relocate to the land of Moab. Within three short verses, the father, Elimelech, and two sons are dead (Ruth 1:3–5). Elimelech dies first, and the two sons take Moabite wives, Ruth and Orpah. Then, the sons die, leaving the wife, Naomi, with two Moabite daughters-in-law. • At this point, Naomi learns that the famine in Judah has eased; she decides to return to her homeland, but she tells her daughters-in-

• From Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma (1997)

  All trauma sufferers experience the phenomenon of chronic helplessness to some extent. As a result, we have difficulty participating fully, especially in new situations. For those of us who experience and identify with helplessness, any escape or forward movement is virtually impossible. We become the victims of our own thoughts and self-images. When our physiology responds to an event or stimuli with arousal, we do not move into an orienting and defending response like a healthy human. Instead, we move directly from the arousal into immobility and helplessness, bypassing our other emotions as well as the normal sequence of responses. We become victims, waiting to be victimized again and again. Without access to normal orienting responses, when threatened we are unable to successfully escape even when the situation offers that possibility. We may not even see it. Arousal is so strongly linked with immobility that the two can’t be separated. Arousal leads to immobility. Period. Any time we are aroused, we automatically feel immobilized and helpless. And we are. We may be fortified by adrenaline and physically able to run, but the sense of helplessness is so strong that we are unable to find the exit and leave. This scenario commonly occurs in obsessive relationships; we may know we want out, but fear and immobility override our most primitive connections to the environment, and we stay in spite of ourselves. Instead of normal orienting and defending responses (and the enjoyment and aliveness that are derived from them), we experience anxiety, profound helplessness, shame, numbness, depression, and depersonalization. Traumatic Coupling In traumatic coupling, one stimulus is strongly linked to a particular response and together they override normal orienting behaviors. The stimulus engages a specific response. Without exception, we are virtually unable to experience any other outcome. For example, when untraumatized people are given the drug yohimbine, they experience a simple increase in heart rate and blood pressure. In veterans suffering from post-traumatic stress, however, the drug induces a different reaction. Veterans begin re-experiencing the terror and horrors of the battlefield instead of merely experiencing them as physical sensations. This is indicative of traumatic coupling. For veterans, arousal and the emotions that accompany the immobility respons e terror, horror, rage and helplessnes s— are inseparably linked. A common example of traumatic coupling occurs when traumatized individuals panic when sexually aroused. Sexual arousal leads to panic, immobility and helplessness, rather than intense enjoyment. This may lead people to believe that they have been sexually abused when in fact their reaction is due to traumatic coupling. Traumatic Anxiety And no Grand Inquisitor has in readiness such terrible tortures as has anxiet y… which never lets him escape, neither by diversion, not by noise, neither at work or at play, neither by day or by night. Soren Kierkegaard, Danish philosopher

• From The World of Biblical Israel (2013)

  159 o But as this lesson is taught in a brutal fashion, we also hear the anxiety and moral questioning of Jacob, who is, after all, “Israel.” After Simeon and Levi have killed all the men of Shechem, Jacob laments that his sons have made him “odious to the inhabitants of the land” and vulnerable to attack (Gen. 34:30). o Within this short narrative, we watch as Jacob, who is Israel, returns from exile and finds his daughter compromised by the “people of the land.” He then sees his sons respond with violence, ostensibly over the issue of circumcision, and he worries for the survival of his household. The Story of Ruth • The book of Ruth was likely composed during or following the exile. It has a southern Judean, monarchic focus. In fact, the book closes with a genealogy of King David, identifying Ruth as his great-great- grandmother, and we know that during and after the exile, the figure of David received a tremendous amount of attention. o The book of Ruth may represent an attempt to deal with one problematic aspect of David’s biography: He was a descendant of a Moabite woman. o Given this potentially damning family background, the book of Ruth seems to tell a story that at once acknowledges David’s Moabite ancestry and presents it in its most positive light. • The book begins by introducing an ideal family in difficult straits. The family is from Judah, representing the tribe that will produce royalty. But a famine in Judah requires the family to relocate to the land of Moab. Within three short verses, the father, Elimelech, and two sons are dead (Ruth 1:3–5). Elimelech dies first, and the two sons take Moabite wives, Ruth and Orpah. Then, the sons die, leaving the wife, Naomi, with two Moabite daughters-in-law. • At this point, Naomi learns that the famine in Judah has eased; she decides to return to her homeland, but she tells her daughters-in-

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

  "I have no acquaintance with Luther, nor have I ever read his books, except perhaps ten or twelve pages, and that only by snatches. From what I then saw, I judged him to be well qualified for expounding the Scriptures in the manner of the Fathers,—a work greatly needed in an age like this, which is so excessively given to mere subtleties, to the neglect of really important questions. Accordingly, I have favored his good, but not his bad, qualities, or rather I have favored Christ’s glory in him. I was among the first to foresee the danger there was of this matter ending in violence, and no one ever hated violence more than I do. Indeed, I even went so far as to threaten John Froben the printer, to prevent him publishing his books. I wrote frequently and industriously to my friends, begging that they would admonish this man to observe Christian meekness in his writings, and do nothing to disturb the peace of the church. And when he himself wrote to me two years ago, I lovingly admonished him what I wished him to avoid; and I would he had followed my advice. This letter, I am informed, has been shown to your Holiness, I suppose in order to prejudice me, whereas it ought rather to conciliate your Holiness’s favor towards me." On Dec. 5, 1520, five days before the burning of the Pope’s bull, Erasmus, being asked for his opinion about Luther by the Elector Frederick of Saxony, whom he happened to meet at Cologne, hesitated a while, and looked blank; but being pressed by the Elector, who stood square before him and stared him in the face, he gave the well-known answer, – "Luther has committed two sins,—he has touched the Pope on the crown, and the monks on the belly."536 The Elector smiled, and remembered the expression shortly before his death. Returned to his lodgings, Erasmus wrote down some axioms rather favorable to Luther and disapproving of the "Pope’s unmerciful bull," and sent them to Spalatin, but concealed the manuscript from fear that Aleander might see it; but it had been already published. From a letter to a friend in Basel (Louis Berus), dated Louvain, May 14, 1521:–

• 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 The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  Stephen’s thoughts stopped abruptly. Some one had come in and was stumping down the room in squeaky trench boots. It was Blakeney holding the time-sheet in her hand—funny old monosyllabic Blakeney, with her curly white hair cropped as close as an Uhlan’s, and her face that suggested a sensitive monkey. ‘Service, Gordon; wake the kid! Howard—Thurloe—ready?’ They got up and hustled into their trench coats, found their gas masks and finally put on their helmets. Then Stephen shook Mary Llewellyn very gently: ‘It’s time.’ Mary opened her clear, grey eyes: ‘Who? What?’ she stammered. ‘It’s time. Get up, Mary.’ The girl staggered to her feet, still stupid with fatigue. Through the cracks in the shutters the dawn showed faintly. 2The grey of a bitter, starved-looking morning. The town like a mortally wounded creature, torn by shells, gashed open by bombs. Dead streets—streets of death—death in streets and their houses; yet people still able to sleep and still sleeping. ‘Stephen.’ ‘Yes, Mary?’ ‘How far is the Poste?’ ‘I think about thirty kilometres; why?’ ‘Oh, nothing—I only wondered.’ The long stretch of an open country road. On either side of the road wire netting hung with pieces of crudely painted rag—a camouflage this to represent leaves. A road bordered by rag leaves on tall wire hedges. Every few yards or so a deep shell-hole. ‘Are they following, Mary? Is Howard all right?’ The girl glanced back: ‘Yes, it’s all right, she’s coming.’ They drove on in silence for a couple of miles. The morning was terribly cold; Mary shivered. ‘What’s that?’ It was rather a foolish question for she knew what it was, knew only too well! ‘They’re at it again,’ Stephen muttered. A shell burst in a paddock, uprooting some trees. ‘All right, Mary?’ ‘Yes—look out! We’re coming to a crater!’ They skimmed it by less than an inch and dashed on, Mary suddenly moving nearer to Stephen. ‘Don’t joggle my arm, for the Lord’s sake, child!’ ‘Did I? I’m sorry.’ ‘Yes—don’t do it again,’ and once more they drove forward in silence. Farther down the road they were blocked by a farm cart: ‘Militaires! Militaires! Militaires!’ Stephen shouted. Rather languidly the farmer got down and went to the heads of his thin, stumbling horses. ‘Il faut vivre,’ he explained, as he pointed to the cart, which appeared to be full of potatoes.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  2On New Year’s Eve Mrs. Antrim gave a dance in order, or so she said, to please Violet, who was still rather young to attend the hunt balls, but who dearly loved gaiety, especially dancing. Violet was plump, pert and adolescent, and had lately insisted on putting her hair up. She liked men, who in consequence always liked her, for like begets like when it comes to the sexes, and Violet was full of what people call: ‘allure,’ or in simpler language, of sexual attraction. Roger was home for Christmas from Sandiest, so that he would be there to assist his mother. He was now nearly twenty, a good-looking youth with a tiny moustache which he tentatively fingered. He assumed the grand air of the man of the world who has actually weathered about nineteen summers. He was hoping to join his regiment quite soon, which greatly augmented his self-importance. Could Mrs. Antrim have ignored Stephen Gordon’s existence, she would almost certainly have done so. She disliked the girl; she had always disliked her; what she called Stephen’s ‘queerness’ aroused her suspicion—she was never quite clear as to what she suspected, but felt sure that it must be something outlandish: ‘A young woman of her age to ride like a man, I call it preposterous!’ declared Mrs. Antrim. It can safely be said that Stephen at eighteen had in no way outgrown her dread of the Antrims; there was only one member of that family who liked her, she knew, and that was the small, hen-pecked Colonel. He liked her because, a fine horseman himself, he admired her skill and her courage out hunting. ‘It’s a pity she’s so tall, of course—’ he would grumble, ‘but she does know a horse and how to stick on one. Now my children might have been brought up at Margate, they’re just about fitted to ride the beach donkeys!’ But Colonel Antrim would not count at the dance; indeed in his own house he very seldom counted. Stephen would have to endure Mrs. Antrim and Violet—and then Roger was home from Sandiest. Their antagonism had never quite died, perhaps because it was too fundamental. Now they covered it up with a cloak of good manners, but these two were still enemies at heart, and they knew it. No, Stephen did not want to go to that dance, though she went in order to please her mother. Nervous, awkward and apprehensive, Stephen arrived at the Antrims that night, little thinking that Fate, the most expert of tricksters, was waiting to catch her just round the corner. Yet so it was, for during that evening Stephen met Martin and Martin met Stephen, and their meeting was great with portent for them both, though neither of them could know it.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  2Anna worried continually over her daughter; for one thing Stephen was a social disaster, yet at seventeen many a girl was presented, but the bare idea of this had terrified Stephen, and so it had had to be abandoned. At garden parties she was always a failure, seemingly ill at ease and ungracious. She shook hands much too hard, digging rings into fingers, this from sheer automatic nervous reaction. She spoke not at all, or else gabbled too freely, so that Anna grew vague in her own conversation; all eyes and ears she would be as she listened—it was certainly terribly hard on Anna. But if hard on Anna, it was harder on Stephen who dreaded these festive gatherings intensely; indeed her dread of them lacked all proportion, becoming a kind of unreasoning obsession. Every vestige of self-confidence seemed to desert her, so that Puddle, supposing she happened to be present would find herself grimly comparing this Stephen with the graceful, light-footed, proficient young athlete, with the clever and somewhat opinionated student who was fast outstripping her own powers as a teacher. Yes, Puddle would sit there grimly comparing, and would feel not a little uneasy as she did so. Then something of her pupil’s distress would reach her, so that perforce she would have to share it and as like as not she would want to shake Stephen. ‘Good Lord,’ she would think, ‘why can’t she hit back? It’s absurd, it’s outrageous to be so disgruntled by a handful of petty, half-educated yokels—a girl with her brain too, it’s simply outrageous! She’ll have to tackle life more forcibly than this, if she’s not going to let herself go under!’ But Stephen, completely oblivious of Puddle, would be deep in the throes of her old suspicion, the suspicion that had haunted her ever since childhood—she would fancy that people were laughing at her. So sensitive was she, that a half-heard sentence, a word, a glance, made her inwardly crumble. It might well be that people were not even thinking about her, much less discussing her appearance—no good, she would always imagine that the word, the glance, had some purely personal meaning. She would twitch at her hat with inadequate fingers, or walk clumsily, slouching a little as she did so, until Anna would whisper: ‘Hold your back up, you’re stooping.’ Or Puddle exclaim crossly: ‘What on earth’s the matter, Stephen!’ All of which only added to Stephen’s tribulation by making her still more self-conscious.

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  But Mary could see that she was far from all right; the warm weather was proving of little avail, even care and good food and sunshine and rest seemed unable to ease that incessant coughing. ‘You ought to see a specialist at once,’ she told Barbara rather sharply one morning. But Barbara shook her head yet again: ‘Don’t, Mary—don’t, please . . . you’ll be frightening Jamie.’ 2After their return to Paris in the autumn, Jamie sometimes joined the nocturnal parties; going rather grimly from bar to bar, and drinking too much of the crème-de-menthe that reminded her of the bull’s eyes at Beedles. She had never cared for these parties before, but now she was clumsily trying to escape, for a few hours at least, from the pain of existence. Barbara usually stayed at home or spent the evening with Stephen and Mary. But Stephen and Mary would not always be there, for now they also went out fairly often; and where was there to go to except the bars? Nowhere else could two women dance together without causing comment and ridicule, without being looked upon as freaks, argued Mary. So rather than let the girl go without her, Stephen would lay aside her work—she had recently started to write her fourth novel. Sometimes, it is true, their friends came to them, a less sordid and far less exhausting business; but even at their own house the drink was too free: ‘We can’t be the only couple to refuse to give people a brandy and soda,’ said Mary, ‘Valérie’s parties are awfully dull; that’s because she’s allowed herself to grow cranky!’ And thus, very gradually just at first, Mary’s finer perceptions began to coarsen. 3The months passed, and now more than a year had slipped by, yet Stephen’s novel remained unfinished; for Mary’s face stood between her and her work—surely the mouth and the eyes had hardened? Still unwilling to let Mary go without her, she dragged wearily round to the bars and cafés, observing with growing anxiety that Mary now drank as did all the others—not too much perhaps, but quite enough to give her a cheerful outlook on existence. The next morning she was often deeply depressed, in the grip of a rather tearful reaction: ‘It’s too beastly—why do we do it?’ she would ask. And Stephen would answer: ‘God knows I don’t want to, but I won’t let you go to such places without me. Can’t we give it all up? It’s appallingly sordid!’

• From The Decameron (1353)

  It seems you want to break my heart, but I shall break yours, so help me God, or have you hounded off the face of the earth.’ Whereupon she ran her hands through her hair, leaving it all rumpled and dishevelled, after which she tore open the front of her dress, at the same time calling out in a loud voice: ‘Help! Help! The Count of Antwerp is trying to ravish me!’ When he saw what was happening, the Count was far more concerned about the envious proclivities of the courtiers than reassured by his own clear conscience in the matter; and for this reason he feared that the lady’s wicked lies would carry greater conviction than his own protestations of innocence. He therefore hurried out of the room, got quickly away from the palace, and fled to his own house, whence, without pausing for further reflection, he took horse with his children and set off at breakneck speed in the direction of Calais. The lady’s caterwauling brought several people running, and when they saw her and heard what she was shouting about, they were convinced she was telling the truth, more especially because they now assumed that the Count had long been exploiting his charm and his elegant ways for no other purpose. There followed a wild rush to the Count’s residence, with the intention of placing him under arrest. But on finding that he was not at home, they ransacked the whole of the premises and then razed them to the ground. When the story, embroidered with various obscenities, reached the King and his son in the field, they were greatly distressed, and condemned the Count and his descendants to perpetual exile, promising huge rewards for his capture, dead or alive. Meanwhile the Count, full of misgivings for having turned his innocence into apparent guilt by his hurried departure, arrived at Calais with his children,