Joy

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 Pillar of Salt (1953)

  I saw him read my poem, but he did not at first react. His gaze lingered and, suddenly, he crumpled the paper and threw it away. I couldn’t understand why he had done this and signalled to him for an explanation. But we were too far apart and I had to wait until the class was over. “You slob!” he shouted when I joined him. “It was too damn good!” I believed I was destined for triumph, and I was never more certain of this than during my years of adolescence when each day represented a discovery of myself and there seemed to me to be no limits to me or to the richness of life. In the last year before graduation, a man named Marrou, of whom I was very fond and whom I will mention again later, was my French teacher. We were analyzing Racine’s Andromaque and he was a great enthusiast of the work of this poet; one morning, after we had read the extraordinary scene in which Pyrrhus admits his love, Marrou turned to the class and, in a tired and hopeless voice, asked: “Which line in this scene is most typical of Racine?” An embarrassed silence followed; to me, the class did not seem to have quite understood the question. I don’t believe I had either, but somehow I felt what he was trying to say. Without raising my hand, I read aloud in the perplexed silence: “Je ne l’ai point encore embrassé d’aujourd’hui.” Marrou gazed at me with his somewhat heavy look. “That’s right,” he said slowly. My heart cried with joy. I, son of an Italian-Jewish father and a Berber mother, had discovered in Racine’s work the line that is most typical of Racine. Sometimes, at night, in bed, I would weep with joy when, as I read Jean-Jacques Rousseau, for instance, I felt that I could recognize, in his passion and his humble background, his rejection of his own surroundings, my own ambitions and my own future. But I was alone with my book and wept real tears that fell to the pillow, tears of pain and of pride. ~ 4. UNCLE JOSEPH’S DEATH ~ Hoping to catch a breath of air, I had opened the door and all the windows of the study hall. The deserted high school was suffocating, paralyzed by the motionless June heat. Blinding white light gushed in from everywhere like a motionless whirlwind, poured through the torn canvas shades with every thread now stiff and dry. Yellow, red, and green flashed from the pages of my book and tortured my tired eyes. I was waiting for the results of the written examinations and every hour was an agonizing battle against the heat and the heaviness of my head.

• From Henry and June (1986)

  I spend an hour in a café with Henry, who has been reading my journal of 1920, when I was seventeen, and sobbing over it. He was reading about the period when Eduardo did not write to me because he was going through a homosexual experience. Henry said he wanted to write me a letter for each day of disappointment, answer all my expectations, make up to me for every gift denied to me before. I told him it was precisely this he had been doing. Later, he wrote about my love at seventeen: “And so she exclaims: ‘All my heart is singing with my longing for love.’ She is in love with love, but not as a mere adolescent, not as a girl of seventeen, but as the embryonic artist that she is, the one who will fecundate the world with her love, the one who will cause suffering and strife because she loves too much. . . . “ “In the hands of an ordinary individual the journal may be regarded as a mere refuge, as an escape from reality, as the pool of another Narcissus, but Anaïs refuses to let it sink into this mold . . . The man who understood this, who wrote these lines, at one blow accepts the challenge of my love and shatters the idea of narcissism. I lay on the couch rereading Henry’s letter many times, with acute pleasure, as if he were lying over me, possessing me. No longer do I have to fear loving too much. After drinking a bottle of Anjou last night, Henry talked about his difficulty in passing from a gentle treatment of women to courtship. He either conversed with them or threw himself on them and ran amuck. He had his first sexual experience at sixteen in a whorehouse and caught a disease. Then came the older woman whom he dared not fuck. He was surprised when it happened and promised himself not to do it again. But it happened, and he went on fearing it was not right. He wrote down the number of times, with dates, like the record of so many conquests. Tremendous physical exuberance, games, stunts, roughhousing. He told me about his talk with a whore the other night. He was at a café reading Keyserling. The woman approached him, and because she was unattractive, he at first repulsed her. But he let her sit down and talk to him. “I have a hard time attracting men, but when they get to know me they realize I’m better than most whores, because I enjoy going with a man. What I want now is to put my hand in your pants and take it out and suck it.”

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  [Is 32:6 ] 10 Do not move the ancient landmark [at the boundary of the property] And do not go into the fields of the fatherless [to take what is theirs], [Deut 19:14 ; 27:17 ; Prov 22:28 ] 11 For their Redeemer is strong and mighty; He will plead their case against you. 12 Apply your heart to discipline And your ears to words of knowledge. 13 Do not withhold discipline from the child; If you a swat him with a reed-like rod [applied with godly wisdom], he will not die. 14 You shall b swat him with the reed-like rod And rescue his life from Sheol (the nether world, the place of the dead). 15 My son, if your heart is wise, My heart will also be glad; 16 Yes, my heart will rejoice When your lips speak right things. 17 Do not let your heart envy sinners [who live godless lives and have no hope of salvation], But [continue to] live in the [reverent, worshipful] fear of the LORD day by day. 18 Surely there is a future [and a reward], And your hope and expectation will not be cut off. 19 Listen, my son, and be wise, And direct your heart in the way [of the LORD ]. 20 Do not associate with heavy drinkers of wine, Or with gluttonous eaters of meat, [Is 5:22 ; Luke 21:34 ; Rom 13:13 ; Eph 5:18 ] 21 For the heavy drinker and the glutton will come to poverty, And the drowsiness [of overindulgence] will clothe one with rags. 22 Listen to your father, who sired you, And do not despise your mother when she is old. 23 c Buy truth, and do not sell it; Get wisdom and instruction and understanding. 24 The father of the righteous will greatly rejoice, And he who sires a wise child will have joy in him. 25 Let your father and your mother be glad, And let her who gave birth to you rejoice [in your wise and godly choices]. 26 My son, give me your heart And let your eyes delight in my ways, 27 For a prostitute is a deep pit, And an immoral woman is a narrow well. 28 She lurks and lies in wait like a robber [who waits for prey], And she increases the faithless among men. 29 Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Who has strife? Who has complaining? Who has wounds without cause? Whose eyes are red and dim? 30 Those who linger long over wine, Those who go to taste mixed wine. [Prov 20:1 ; Eph 5:18 ] 31 Do not look at wine when it is red, When it sparkles in the glass, When it goes down smoothly. 32 At the last it bites like a serpent And stings like a viper. 33 Your [drunken] eyes will see strange things And your mind will utter perverse things [untrue things, twisted things].

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  [Gen 13:10 ; 14:3 ; 19:25 ] 35 He turns a wilderness into a pool of water And a dry land into springs of water; [Is 41:18 ] 36 And there He has the hungry dwell, So that they may establish an inhabited city, 37 And sow fields and plant vineyards, And produce an abundant harvest. 38 Also He blesses them so that they multiply greatly, And He does not let [the number of] their cattle decrease. 39 When they are diminished and bowed down (humbled) Through oppression, misery, and sorrow, 40 He pours contempt on princes And makes them wander in a pathless wasteland. 41 Yet He sets the needy securely on high, away from affliction, And makes their families like a flock. 42 The upright see it and rejoice; But all unrighteousness shuts its mouth. 43 Who is wise? Let him observe and heed these things; And [thoughtfully] consider the lovingkindness of the LORD . Psalm 108 Praise and Supplication to God for Victory. A Song. A Psalm of David. 1 O GOD, my heart is steadfast [with confident faith]; I will sing, I will sing praises, even with my soul. 2 Awake, harp and lyre; I will awaken the dawn! 3 I will praise and give thanks to You, O LORD , among the people; And I will sing praises to You among the nations. 4 For Your lovingkindness is great and higher than the heavens; Your truth reaches to the skies. [Ps 57:7–11 ] 5 Be exalted [in majesty], O God, above the heavens, And Your glory above all the earth. 6 That Your beloved [ones] may be rescued, Save with Your right hand, and answer me! 7 God has spoken in His a holiness: “I will rejoice, I will portion out Shechem [as I divide Canaan among My people], And measure out the Valley of Succoth. 8 “Gilead is Mine, Manasseh is Mine; Ephraim also is the helmet of My head [My stronghold, My defense]; Judah is My b scepter. [Gen 49:10 ] 9 “Moab is My washbowl; Over Edom I will throw My shoe [to show Edom is Mine]; Over Philistia I will shout [in triumph].” 10 Who will bring me into the fortified city [of Petra]? Who will lead me to Edom? 11 Have You not rejected us, O God? And will You not go out, O God, with our armies? 12 Give us help against the adversary, For deliverance by man is in vain [a worthless hope]. 13 c With God we will do valiantly, For it is He who will trample down our enemies. [Ps 60:5–12 ] Psalm 109 Vengeance Invoked upon Adversaries. To the Chief Musician. A Psalm of David. 1 O God of my praise! Do not keep silent, 2 For the mouth of the wicked and the mouth of the deceitful are opened against me; They have spoken against me with a lying tongue.

• From Vox (1992)

  He sets up a special display case for just your work in the store, and he doesn’t mind when you come in a little late. And over the first few months you start doing this series of bracelets, simple elegant silver bracelets, which Harvey puts in the case. Naturally many of the customers who wander into the store are young men buying jewelry for women they love, and they’re uncertain, they want to be sure they’re right to buy that particular piece, and so Harvey gets in the habit of poking his head through the curtain and asking you, very hesitantly and politely, if you might want to come out and show the prospective buyer what the bracelet looks like on a real woman. And you find this a trifle embarrassing, because, after all, you made the piece, but you take off your welder’s glasses and you run your hands through your hair and there you are walking out into the store toward smiling Harvey and the open display case with the key in it, and this nervous man who’s in a hurry to get something for his wife or mistress is standing there, and you extend your arm, and Harvey puts on the bracelet, and the man’s mouth moves, and his checkbook falls open, and there, so easy, it’s sold. You sell about ten, fifteen bracelets this way, and with this success, you start to get ambitious, and you design and make a necklace, a very simple necklace, but with three stones that Harvey’s procured for you, a tiny chrysolite in the center, and then, on either side, two lovely lustrous pieces of unpolished strumulite, which are, as you know, fossilized drops of dinosaur ejaculate. Nothing could be more tasteful—you surprise yourself with how well it turns out—nothing you did in school equals this necklace. Harvey is in rapture—he holds it draped over his fingers, which are all dry and discolored from silver polish, and he just shakes his head, and you feel very happy, happy at having found your metier, and happy at having found as good a person to work for as Harvey. Well, so, the necklace is hung up in the display case, not in as prominent a position as you think it ought to be, perhaps, and Harvey insists on putting a very high price on it, too high to sell, you think, but Harvey is, for once, adamant.

• From Blue Nights (2011)

  The three of us, Scott, David, and I, met for the first time on this project a month after Christmas. A week before Easter, in a tiny theater on West Forty-second Street, we watched the first readings of the play. A year later it opened, starring Vanessa Redgrave in its single role, at the Booth Theater on West Forty-fifth Street. As ways of maintaining momentum go this one turned out to be better than most: I remember liking the entire process a good deal. I liked the quiet afternoons backstage with the stage managers and electricians, I liked the way the ushers gathered for instructions downstairs just before the half-hour call. I liked the presence of Shubert security outside, I liked the weight of the stage door as I opened it against the wind through Shubert Alley, I liked the secret passages to and from the stage. I liked that Amanda, who ran the stage door at night, kept on her desk a tin of the cookies she baked. I liked that Lauri, who managed the Booth for the Shubert Organization and was doing graduate work in medieval literature, became our ultimate authority on a few lines in the play that involved Gawain. I liked the fried chicken and cornbread and potato salad and greens we brought in from Piece o’ Chicken, a kitchen storefront near Ninth Avenue. I liked the matzo-ball soup we brought in from the Hotel Edison coffee shop. I liked the place to sit we set up backstage, the little improvised table with the checked tablecloth and the electrified candle and the menu that read “Café Didion.” I liked watching the performance from a balcony above the lights. I liked being up there alone with the lights and the play. I liked it all, but most of all I liked the fact that although the play was entirely focused on Quintana there were, five evenings and two afternoons a week, these ninety full minutes, the run time of the play, during which she did not need to be dead. During which the question remained open. During which the denouement had yet to play out. During which the last scene played did not necessarily need to be played in the ICU overlooking the East River. During which the bells would not necessarily sound and the doors would not necessarily be locked at six. During which the last dialogue heard did not necessarily need to concern the vent. Like when someone dies, don’t dwell on it.

• From Blue Nights (2011)

  I liked the place to sit we set up backstage, the little improvised table with the checked tablecloth and the electrified candle and the menu that read “Café Didion.” I liked watching the performance from a balcony above the lights. I liked being up there alone with the lights and the play. I liked it all, but most of all I liked the fact that although the play was entirely focused on Quintana there were, five evenings and two afternoons a week, these ninety full minutes, the run time of the play, during which she did not need to be dead. During which the question remained open. During which the denouement had yet to play out. During which the last scene played did not necessarily need to be played in the ICU overlooking the East River . During which the bells would not necessarily sound and the doors would not necessarily be locked at six. During which the last dialogue heard did not necessarily need to concern the vent. Like when someone dies, don’t dwell on it . 31 O n the evening late in August when the play closed Vanessa took the yellow roses provided for her curtain calls and laid them on the stage, beneath the photograph of John and Quintana on the deck in Malibu that was the closing drop of the set Bob Crowley had designed for the production. The theater cleared. I was gratified to see how slowly it cleared, as if the audience shared my wish not to leave John and Quintana alone. We stood in the wings and drank champagne. Before I left that evening someone pointed out the yellow roses Vanessa had laid on the stage floor and asked if I wanted to take them. I did not want to take the yellow roses. I did not want the yellow roses touched. I wanted the yellow roses right there, where Vanessa had left them, with John and Quintana on the stage of the Booth, lying there on the stage all night, lit only by the ghost light, still there on the stage right down to the inevitable instant of the morning’s eight-a.m. load-out. “Performance 144 + 23 Previews + 1 Actors Fund,” the stage manager’s performance notes read for that night. “Magical evening. Lovely final show. Call from the director pre-show. Roses at the call. Champagne toast. Guests included Griffin Dunne and daughter Hannah and Marian Seldes. Café Didion served up its final Piece o’ Chicken and sides.” By that evening when the play closed it seemed clear that I had in fact maintained momentum, but it also seemed clear that maintaining momentum had been at a certain cost. This cost had always been predictable but I only that night began to put it into words. One phrase that came to mind that night was “pushing yourself.” Another was “beyond endurance.”

• From Chéri and The Last of Chéri (1920)

  She sought confirmation in the eye of Lea, who was proudly displaying her spoilt child, supported by her arm as he drank. ‘If you like,’ Lea said. ‘We’ll see. You can go, Rose.’ Rose retired, and during the ensuing moment’s silence nothing could be heard except the vague murmuring of the wind and the cry of a bird bewildered by the brightness of the moon. * Ch&ri, are you asleep? ’ He gave one of his long-drawn sighs like an exhausted retriever. ‘ Oh, no, Nounoune, I'm too happy to sleep.' 'Tell me, child ... You haven’t been unkind over there?’ 'At home? No, Nounoune, far from it. I swear to you.’ He looked up at her, without raising his trusting head. * Of course not, Nounoune. I left because I left. The girl’s very nice. There was no fuss at all.’ 'Ah!’ 'I wouldn’t swear that she didn’t have an inkling all the same. This evening she was wearing what I call her “orphanage look”, you know, pathetic dark eyes under her pretty head of hair. ... You know how pretty her hair is?’ 'Yes.’ She threw out these monosyllables in a whisper as if intent on the words of someone talking in his sleep. ‘I even think,’ Chdri continued, * that she must have seen me going through the garden.’ *Oh?’ 'Yes. She was on the balcony, in her white sequin dress, congealed whiteness. Oh! I don’t like that dress. ... Ever since dinner it had been making me long to cut and run.’ 'No.’ * Yes it had, Nounoune. I can’t say whether she saw me. The moon wasn’t up. It came up while I was waiting.* 'Where were you waiting?’ Chdri waved a vague hand in the direction of the avenue. 'There. I was waiting, don’t you understand. I wanted to see. I’d waited a long time.* 'But what for?’ He hastily jumped away and sat further off. He resumed his expression of primitive distrust. 'I wanted to be sure there was nobody here.’ ‘Oh, yes. ... You thought that ...’ She could not resist a scornful laugh. A lover in her house! A lover while Ch£ri was still living 1 It was grotesque. “How stupid he is!” she thought in her enthusiasm. * You’re laughing? * He stood up in front of her and put his hand on her forehead, forcing back her head,4 You’re laughing! You’re making fun of me. You’re ... Then you have a lover! There is someone!’ He leaned over her as he spoke, pushing her head back against the end of the chaise-longue. She felt the breath of an insulting mouth on her eyelids, and made no effort to be free of the hand that was crushing her hair against her forehead. ‘I dare you to say you have a lover!*

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  And may I heal deeper parts of myself as a result of this writing.” That goes for both what I’ve learned and for the passing on of my dad’s wisdom. In fact, his light lives on in my heart, these pages, and maybe even in you. And here’s the thing, we’re all creative—especially the folks who think they’re not. In fact, we use creativity in everything we do, each and every day. Figuring out how to patch a leaky faucet? Creative. Finding a new doctor? Creative. Fixing your teeth after life kicked you in the choppers? Very creative. See, you’re practically Picasso already. So, if you have a flicker of creative fire burning inside you, stoke it. Don’t worry if you don’t know what you’re doing. None of us know anything when we’re first starting out. In my experience, we learn by doing . Stay curious and you’ll figure it out, I promise. Regardless of what avenue you choose, light is all around you, even on the darkest days. CULTIVATE JOY If life has brought you to your knees and atrophied your joy muscles, you may be thinking, How am I supposed to find joy at a time like this? It hardly seems like perfect conditions to have a blast. Everything I’ve loved and held dear is evaporating before my eyes. Let’s party! I get it. I really do. In the early days of my grief the thought of cultivating joy seemed impossible, infuriating, and worse—insulting. It was all those things and more, which is why I had to fight for it, and you might, too. And yet, joy is essential to healing. It also keeps you from becoming the type of person who writes Facebook screeds with no paragraph returns or texts in ALL CAPS. Here’s why this is important: Joy isn’t just a feel-good emotion. Joy is medicine. It affects our biology at the cellular level and is a key indicator for our overall well-being. Joy boosts our resilience, making us better able to cope with life’s ups, downs, and crashes. It helps reduce anxiety and depression. Joy helps us sleep better. It even lowers blood pressure and improves cardiovascular health. Basically, joy is like a natural health booster and painkiller, with zero side effects. Part of my own heart mending has come from the joy of connecting with other people on the same path of healing I am on. I used to pride myself on being a lone wolf, handling life on my own with self-reliance and determination. But these last few years have taught me that I need to get out of my hermit cave and sweats and back into my relationships with my crew. We’re not meant to do life alone. We’re meant to celebrate together, witness each other, participate in rituals, and share our stories—the good and the bad. The downright hilarious and the hideous. Look, I know that joy will never replace what you or I have lost. It’s not meant to.

• From In an Unspoken Voice (2010)

  When embodied, we linger longer in the lush landscape of the present moment. Even though we live in a world where bad things can and do happen, where unseen dangers nip at our heels, we can still live in the now. When we are able to be fully present, we can thrive with more pleasure, wonder and wisdom then we could have imagined . “Embodiment” is a personal-evolutionary solution to the tyranny of the yapping “monkey mind.” It is one that paradoxically allows instinct and reason to be held together, fused in joyful participation and flow. † Embodiment is about gaining, through the vehicle of awareness, the capacity to feel the ambient physical sensations of unfettered energy and aliveness as they pulse through our bodies . It is here that mind and body, thought and feeling, psyche and spirit, are held together, welded in an undifferentiated unity of experience. Through embodiment we gain a unique way to touch into our darkest primitive instincts and to experience them as they play into the daylight dance of consciousness; and in so doing to know ourselves as though for the first time—in a way that imparts vitality, flow, color, hue and creativity to our lives. The poet laureate T. S. Elliot seems to have grasped the paradox of such evolving consciousness in “Little Gidding,” the fourth quartet of his epic poem Four Quartets: We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time. Embodiment and Creativity It is well known that Albert Einstein thought in images. His theories reflect this processing, as do his own metaphors. For example, pictures of elevators and trains moving past each other are indelibly etched in our understanding of the theory of relativity. It is much less known that he also thought with his body. He reveals, in his biography, how some of his greatest discoveries appeared to come first from his body in the form of tingling, vibrating and other enlivening physical sensations. In a process that appears to have been mysterious, even to him, his bodily sensations informed the images and insights that led him to his great discoveries. Decades later, when Einstein’s brain was dissected and studied for medical research, the only distinguishing feature was the size and structure of his parietal lobes, the region of the brain where information from the body is integrated for orientation in space and time. ‡ There is another revealing story about this great man. When asked by a reporter what he thought would be the next great breakthrough in science, Einstein pondered for a moment and then replied, “To prove that the universe is friendly.” He did not mean, I believe, that there would not ever be pain and suffering in life, but that the universe was, well … playful, wonderful and fascinating. Such was his delight in the inner universe of his body. The Tibetan lama Dr.

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

  Others, however, ascribe these three dowries to the three powers of the soul, namely vision to the rational, delight to the concupiscible, and fruition to the irascible, seeing that this fruition is acquired by a victory. But this is not said properly, because the irascible and concupiscible powers are not in the intellective but in the sensitive part, whereas the dowries of the soul are assigned to the mind. Reply to Objection 1: Memory and understanding have but one act: either because understanding is itself an act of memory, or—if understanding denote a power—because memory does not proceed to act save through the medium of the understanding, since it belongs to the memory to retain knowledge. Consequently there is only one habit, namely knowledge, corresponding to memory and understanding: wherefore only one dowry, namely vision, corresponds to both. Reply to Objection 2: Fruition corresponds to hope, in so far as it includes comprehension which will take the place of hope: since we hope for that which we have not yet; wherefore hope chafes somewhat on account of the distance of the beloved: for which reason it will not remain in heaven [Cf. [5142]SS, Q[18], A[2]] but will be succeeded by comprehension. Reply to Objection 3: Fruition as including comprehension is distinct from vision and love, but otherwise than love from vision. For love and vision denote different habits, the one belonging to the intellect, the other to the affective faculty. But comprehension, or fruition as denoting comprehension, does not signify a habit distinct from those two, but the removal of the obstacles which made it impossible for the mind to be united to God by actual vision. This is brought about by the habit of glory freeing the soul from all defects; for instance by making it capable of knowledge without phantasms, of complete control over the body, and so forth, thus removing the obstacles which result in our being pilgrims from the Lord. Reply OBJ 4 is clear from what has been said. Reply to Objection 5: Properly speaking, the dowries are the immediate principles of the operation in which perfect beatitude consists and whereby the soul is united to Christ. The things mentioned by Anselm do not answer to this description; but they are such as in any way accompany or follow beatitude, not only in relation to the Bridegroom, to Whom “wisdom” alone of the things mentioned by him refers, but also in relation to others. They may be either one’s equals, to whom “friendship” refers as regards the union of affections, and “concord” as regards consent in actions, or one’s inferiors, to whom “power” refers, so far as inferior things are ordered by superior, and “honor” as regards that which inferiors offer to their superiors. Or again (they may accompany or follow beatitude) in relation to oneself: to this “security” refers as regards the removal of evil, and “joy” as regards the attainment of good.

• From Henry and June (1986)

  down and shows me his lanced desire again. He himself is surprised: “I love you; I wasn’t even thinking of fucking. But your touch alone . . .” I sit on his knees. And then we sink into that drunkenness of sucking. For a long, long time, just tongues, eyes closed. Then the penis and the yielding walls of flesh, clutching, opening, beating. We roll on the floor until I cannot bear any more, and I lie still, saying no. But when he helps me off with my dress and embraces me from behind, I leap up to him, all aflame again. What sleep afterwards, lost, dreamless. “When it comes to sensuality,” Henry says, “you are almost more sensual than June. Because she may be a splendid animal when you hold her in your arms, but afterwards, nothing. She is cold, hard, even. Your sex permeates your mind, runs into your head afterwards. Everything you think is warm. You are constantly warm. The only thing is that you have the body of a girl. But what power you have to keep the illusion. You know how men feel after they have had a woman. They want to kick her off the bed. With you it remains as heightened afterwards as before. I can never get enough of you. I want to marry you and return to New York with you.” We talk about June. I laugh at his efforts to break with her, in his own mind. We are two against her, two in harmony, in love, in profound fusion, yet she is stronger. I know better than he knows. He has admitted so much against her and in favor of me. But I smile with a wisdom rooted in doubt. I want no more than what I have been given these past days, hours so fecund that a lifetime of remembrance could not exhaust them, wear them thin. “This is no ordinary garden,” Henry says at Louveciennes. “It is mysterious, significant. There is mentioned in a Chinese book a celestial garden, a kingdom, suspended between heaven and earth: this is it.” Over all this hangs the joyous probability that his book Tropic of Cancer will be published. When I am alone, I hear him talk. Like Lawrence’s snake, his thinking comes from the bowels of the earth. Someone has compared him to an artist who was known as the “cunt painter.”

• From I'm Not a Mourning Person (2023)

  CULTIVATE JOYIf life has brought you to your knees and atrophied your joy muscles, you may be thinking, How am I supposed to find joy at a time like this? It hardly seems like perfect conditions to have a blast. Everything I’ve loved and held dear is evaporating before my eyes. Let’s party! I get it. I really do. In the early days of my grief the thought of cultivating joy seemed impossible, infuriating, and worse—insulting. It was all those things and more, which is why I had to fight for it, and you might, too. And yet, joy is essential to healing. It also keeps you from becoming the type of person who writes Facebook screeds with no paragraph returns or texts in ALL CAPS. Here’s why this is important: Joy isn’t just a feel-good emotion. Joy is medicine. It affects our biology at the cellular level and is a key indicator for our overall well-being. Joy boosts our resilience, making us better able to cope with life’s ups, downs, and crashes. It helps reduce anxiety and depression. Joy helps us sleep better. It even lowers blood pressure and improves cardiovascular health. Basically, joy is like a natural health booster and painkiller, with zero side effects. Part of my own heart mending has come from the joy of connecting with other people on the same path of healing I am on. I used to pride myself on being a lone wolf, handling life on my own with self-reliance and determination. But these last few years have taught me that I need to get out of my hermit cave and sweats and back into my relationships with my crew. We’re not meant to do life alone. We’re meant to celebrate together, witness each other, participate in rituals, and share our stories—the good and the bad. The downright hilarious and the hideous. Look, I know that joy will never replace what you or I have lost. It’s not meant to. But depriving ourselves of it is the opposite of what we need when we’re struggling. In fact, the more we’re struggling, the more we need to prioritize joy. Much of our recovery takes place through the process of changing our thoughts and adjusting our behavior. We can’t control what happened, but we can control how we respond. We can choose to proactively find and fight for joy, even in the midst of hardship. George Bonanno, professor of clinical psychology at Columbia University, describes grief as an emotion that oscillates: “Over time the cycle widens, and gradually we return to a state of equilibrium. One of the ways we achieve this adaptive oscillation in and out of sadness is by switching to more positive states of mind.” He goes on to say that most of us are more capable of making the switch than we think. “We don’t expect to find joy and even laughter within our pain, but when we do, it makes sense, and we feel better, even if temporarily.”

• From Henry and June (1986)

  I now also understand the carnation in Carmen’s mouth. I was smelling mock orange. The white blossoms touched my lips. They were like the skin of a woman. My lips pressed them, opened and closed gently around them. Soft petaled kisses. I bit into the white blossoms. Morsel of perfumed flesh, silkiness of skin. Carmen’s full mouth biting her carnation; and I, Carmen. It is too bad Henry has been good to me, too bad he is a good man. He is becoming aware of a subtle change in me. Yes, he says, I may look immature at first sight, but when I am undressed and in bed, how womanly I am. The other day Joaquin came downstairs unexpectedly, into the salon, to ask me a trivial question, and Henry and I had been kissing. It showed on Henry’s face, and he was embarrassed. I did not feel troubled or ashamed. I was resentful of the intrusion, and I said to Henry, “Well, it serves him right for coming here when he shouldn’t.” If Henry realizes that I am becoming shameless, strong, sure of my actions, refusing to be impressed by others, if he realizes the true course of my life now, will he change towards me? No. He has his needs, and he needs the woman in me who was soft, timid, good, incapable of hurting, of running wild. Instead of that, every day I grow nearer to June. I begin to want her, to know her better, to love her more. Now I realize that every interesting move in their life together was made by June. Without her he is a quiet watcher, not a participant. Henry and I combine beautifully for companionship but not for living. I expected those first days (or nights) in Clichy to be sensational. I was surprised when we fell into deep, quiet talks and did so little. I expected Dostoevskian scenes and found a gentle German who could not bear to let the dishes go unwashed. I found a husband, not a difficult and temperamental lover. Henry was, at first, even uneasy as to how to entertain me. June would have known. Yet I was happy and deeply satisfied then because I loved him. It is only these past days that I have felt my old restlessness. I suggested to Henry that we go out, but I was disappointed when he refused to take me to exotic places. He was content with a movie and sitting in a cafe. Then he refused to introduce me to his rakish friends (to protect and keep me). When he did not take the lead, I began to suggest going here or there.

• From Christianity and the Social Crisis (1907)

  Here enters socialism. It proposes to abolish the division of industrial society into two classes and to close the fatal chasm which has separated the employing class from the working class since the introduction of power machinery. It proposes to restore the independence of the workingman by making him once more the owner of his tools and to give him the full proceeds of his production instead of a wage deter- mined by his poverty. It has no idea of reverting to the simple methods of the old handicrafts, but heartily accepts the power machinery, the great factory, the division of labor, the organ- ization of the men in great regiments of workers, as estab- lished facts in modem life, and as the most efficient method of producing wealth. But it proposes to give to the whole body of workers the ownership of these vast instruments of production and to distribute among them all the entire pro- ceeds of their common labor. There would then be no capi- talistic class opposed to the working class ; there would be a single class which would unite the qualities of both. Every workman would be both owner and worker, just as a farmer is who tills his own farm, or a housewife who works in her own 4o8 CHRISTIANITY AND THE SOCIAL CRISIS kitchen. This would be a permanent solution of the labor question. It would end the present insecurity, the constant antagonism, the social inferiority, the physical exploitation, the intellectual poverty to which the working class is now exposed even when its condition is most favorable. If such a solution is even approximately feasible, it should be hailed with joy by every patriot and Christian, for it would put a stop to our industrial war, drain off the miasmatic swamp of undeserved poverty, save our political democracy, and lift the great working class to an altogether different footing of comfort, intelligence, security and moral strength. And it would embody the principle of solidarity and fraternity in the fundamental institutions of our industrial life. All the elements of cooperation and interaction which are now at work in our great establishments would be conserved, and in addition the hearty interest of all workers in their common factory or store would be immensely intensified by the diffused sense of ownership. Such a social order would develop the altruistic and social instincts just as the com- petitive order brings out the selfish instincts.

• From The Surprising Lives of Christian Saints Course Guidebook (2023)

  2. Philip Neri: Playful Pragmatist 12 Philip’s advice often had to do with attaining what today we would call psychological balance: a sense of happiness and even joy in the world combined with a hefty dose of good sense. He was ever skeptical of sudden conversions and quick adoption of intensely pious attitudes, seeing them as less sustainable than consistent, small spiritual exercises. It’s unclear exactly when his gatherings became formalized into the early Oratory, as his followers’ organization was later known. But we do know something of their lifestyle. At first, his followers might work a shift at the hospital ward, then gather in Philip’s room for a short sermon or discussion on the Bible and meditation. Their leader was a master of improvisation and often led them to hear a sermon at the nearby Dominican church or on a short pilgrimage out of the city to the gardens and hillsides of some villa. Discussions were wide-ranging and in good spirit, intent on broadening the mind. As Philip’s followers grew, they moved from his small room into a room above the nave of San Girolamo. His earliest followers were men from the lower classes, but as his reputation grew, he began to attract prelates from the curia, musicians from the papal chapel, and wealthy businessmen. In 1564, a group of Florentines approached Philip to become the director of the Florentine parish in Rome, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini. He agreed but continued to live at San Girolamo. However, the new space attracted some of his followers, and they began to hold meetings of the “little oratory” there, attracting a more clerical crowd and shaping the lifestyle of what would become the formal Congregation of the Oratory. Philip’s kindness, patience, and forgiving nature drew people in crisis to him so often that he hung the key to his door on a hook outside, and anyone who wished could let themselves in for confession, day or night.

• From The Surprising Lives of Christian Saints Course Guidebook (2023)

  18. Joan of Arc: Peasant-General 138 The next day, in defiance of their plans, Joan attacked the most important of the English fortifications, known as Les Tourelles, which controlled access to the main gate of the city. With this critical victory, they liberated all of Orléans. Within days, the news was all over Europe. Joan had fulfilled the first of her divine missions; it remained only to see Charles crowned in Reims, more than 150 miles away. The main army departed Gien on June 29, and letters f lew thick and fast as Joan commanded cities in their path to open their gates, provide supplies, and acknowledge their king properly. The city of Troyes offered some challenge but surrendered on July 10. After Troyes, cities began to readily open their gates to the king’s forces, and they made rapid progress. Charles entered Reims on July 16, 1429, and was crowned the next day. His coronation was the peak of Joan’s career, as she stood at his side during the long day of ceremony. After the nobles had done homage to him, she knelt before the new king and wept. Joan’s Capture and Trials Having fulfilled her two divine missions, Joan now embarked on a more aggressive goal: to expel the English entirely from French soil. But Charles organized a truce with Burgundy. Joan was unhappy. She was also furious when Charles deferred besieging Paris until September, then called it off after only a few days. He disbanded the army at the end of the month. It was a long and frustrating winter for Joan, detailed to attack a regional bandit but prevented from engaging with the English. The following spring, she was given only a small number of men to harass the Anglo- Burgundian forces north of Paris. She managed several small victories, but Joan proved herself fearless and repeatedly put herself into the thick of the action, though she personally refused to shed blood. It was taken as a further sign of her holy status.

• From What We Lost in the Swamp: Poems (2023)

  the impossibly sharp right turn to the front walk, to the safety of the lawn, where of course we’d tip & fall again & again & again. It was this fun, unruly ritual—our summer ceremony—that unknowingly prepared us for the uncertain future, for the inevitable crashes & burns of life. Because even today, when I spin out, when I lose control & tumble down into the grass, I can feel that same laughter swelling in my chest, like a silly made-up children’s game has somehow given me the strength to wipe the green off my jeans & go again. [image file=image_rsrc2CT.jpg] ACKNOWLEDGMENTSThank you to the editors at Arlington Literary Journal for publishing “When I Realized I Was a Green Tree Frog in Another Life” and to the editors at ALOCASIA for publishing “Portrait of a Plant on Fire” and “Sally (When There’s Nothing Left to Sell).” Thank you to the entire Central Avenue team for making this book the best it could be. Michelle, Beau, Jessica, Molly, I am forever indebted. I am incredibly grateful to my friends and family who have supported my poetry journey over the last few years. Mom, Dad, Conor, Blair, Reid, you have been the greatest, most loving family a queer kid could ask for. Caitlin, oh my goodness Caitlin, my partner-in-poetry, I am so lucky to have you in my life. Thank you for always giving me your honest feedback. You know my poems better than I do sometimes. Finally, to my husband, Brian. Thank you for your unwavering love, for believing in me even when I don’t, and for allowing me the space to be my weirdest, most authentic self. I love you. [image file=image_rsrc2CU.jpg] Grant Chemidlin is a queer poet and, currently, an MFA candidate at Antioch University Los Angeles. He is the author of the chapbook New in Town (Bottlecap Press, 2022) and the illustrated collection He Felt Unwell (So He Wrote This). He’s been a finalist for the Gival Press Oscar Wilde Award, the Philip Levine Prize for Poetry, and Atlanta Review’s International Poetry Contest. Recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Quarterly West, Iron Horse Literary Review, Tupelo Quarterly, and Saranac Review, among others. @grantcpoetry [image file=image_rsrc2CV.jpg] Central Avenue is a home for fiction and poetry about us at our worst — and best. We are proud to have had many of our titles on bestseller lists, go viral, win respected awards, endorsed by literary heroes and celebrities, and enjoyed by readers all over the world. Want to learn more about how this independent press works, our books and our authors? Click here to learn more! [image file=image_rsrc2CW.jpg] In his third poetry collection, Itch, Zane Frederick scratches memory. He pokes the bear of his past. Ventures further out into its woods to see what still lurks and what needs to be settled. Itch captures the complexity of revisiting memory and the whirlwind of emotions that emerge from loose ends that have yet to be tied up.

• From Henry and June (1986)

  I go to Allendy in a state of tremendous elation. I tell him first about the article I am doing for him, which I found discouragingly difficult. He tells me of a simpler way of doing it. Then I tell him of a dream I had in which I had asked him to come to Joaquin’s piano concert because I needed him there. In the dream he was standing up in the aisle and towering over other people. My reading of his books has raised him very much in my estimation. I asked him if he would really come to the concert. I know he is tremendously busy, yet he accepted. I told him about my “watery” dreams and the dream of a King’s ball. He said the wetness symbolized fecundation, and the love of the King was the conquest of my father through other men. For the moment, he thought, I was on a peak and scarcely needed him. I told him I could not believe psychoanalysis worked so swiftly. I praised its effects extravagantly. His manner towards me affected me joyously, too. I observed again the beauty of his Celtic eyes. Then he made a masterful analysis of my marriage, from bits gleaned here and there. “But,” says Allendy, “now comes the test of absolute maturity: passion. You have molded Hugo like a mother, and he is your child. He cannot arouse your passion. He knows you so intimately that perhaps his passion, too, will turn to another. You have gone through phases together, but now you will drift apart. You yourself have experienced passion with someone else. Tenderness, understanding, and passion are not usually linked together. But then, tenderness and understanding are so rare.” “But they are immature,” I said. “Passion is so powerful.” Allendy smiled, sadly, I thought. Then I said, “This analysis, it seems to me, might apply to Eduardo’s feelings, too.” “No. Eduardo really loves you, and you love him, I believe.” Allendy was wrong. When I left him, still buoyant and courageous, I talked with Eduardo. “Listen, darling,” I said. “I think we really love each other, fraternally. We can’t do without each other, because there is so much understanding between us. If we had married, it would have been a marriage like that of Hugo and me. You would have worked, developed, been happy. We are so delicate and careful with each other. We also want passion. But I can never look at you as I look at other men. You cannot have a passion for me as you would for a woman whose soul you don’t know. Believe me, I’m right. Don’t be hurt. I feel close to you. You need me. We need each other. We’ll find passion elsewhere.” Eduardo realizes I am partly right. We sit very close in the café. We walk together very close. We are half sad, half joyous. It is warm. He smells my perfume. I look at his beautiful face.

• From Chéri and The Last of Chéri (1920)

  No answer came from the huge brass-bedecked wroughtiron bedstead that glimmered in the shadows like a coat of mail. * Why won’t you let me have your necklace? It looks every bit as well on me as on you — even better!* At the snap of the clasp, ripples spread over the lace-frilled sheets, and from their midst rose two magnificent thin-wristed arms, lifting on high two lovely lazy hands. ‘Leave it alone, Cheri! You’ve been playing long enough with that necklace.’ ‘It amuses me Are you frightened I’ll steal it?* He was capering about in front of the sun-drenched rosy-pink curtains - a graceful demon, black against a glowing furnace; but when he pranced back towards the bed, he turned white again from top to toe, in his white silk pyjamas and white Moorish slippers. ‘I’m not frightened,* the soft, deep voice answered from the bed. * But you’ll wear out $he thread. Those pearls are heavy.* ‘ They certainly are,’ Cheri said with due respect. ‘Whoever gave you this lot never meant to make light of you!’ He was standing in front of a pier-glass framed in the space between two windows, gazing at the reflection of a very youthful, very good-looking young man, neither too short nor too tall, hair with the blue sheen of a blackbird’s plumage. He unbuttoned his pyjamas, displaying a hard, darkish chest, curved like a shield; and the whites of his dark eyes, his teeth, and the pearls of the necklace gleamed in the over-all rosy glow of the room. ‘ Take off that necklace! * The female voice was insistent. ‘ Do you hear what I say? * The young man, motionless in front of his image, laughed softly to himself: ‘Yes, yes, I heard you. I know so well you’re terrified I’ll make off with it! ’ ‘No, I’m not. But if I did offer it to you, you’re quite capable of taking it.’ He ran. to the bed and bounded into it.‘ You bet I am! I rise above the conventions. Personally, I think it’s idiotic for a man to allow a woman to give him a single pearl for a tie-pin, or two for a pair of studs, and then to consider himself beyond the pale if she gives him fifty * ‘Forty-nine.’ ‘Forty-nine — as if X hadn’t counted 11 dare you to say they don’t look well on me! Or that I’m ugly!* Lea sat up in bed. ‘No, I won’t say that. For one thing, because you’d never believe me. But can’t you learn to laugh without crinkling up your nose like that? I suppose you won’t be happy till you’ve wrinkles all up the side of your nose!’