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.

Page 58 of 299 · 20 per page

• From The Sexual Life of Catherine M. (2001)

  In matters of dominance, I prefer straddling a man lying on his back. The position has little bearing on the way partners behave in role-play. When I was very young and wanted to be clever I used to call it the ‘Eiffel Tower position’. A tower straddling the river Seine, the Seine a torrent churning the tower like a tide. The piston movement up and down, the woman’s buttocks making a sharp little noise every time they smack down on the man’s thighs; the first convolutions of a belly dance, the calmest of movements adopted when you want to catch your breath or to prolong the fantasy; the tilting backwards and forwards, the fastest and – for me – most pleasurable movement… all this is almost as familiar to me as fellation. In both cases the woman controls the duration and the rhythm, which obviously gives her a double advantage: the dick reacts directly inside the cunt, and the woman’s body is revealed at a favourable angle, seen from below by the man. And it is gratifying every now and again to hear someone saying: ‘It’s you who’s fucking me… you fuck so well!’ You come and go on the rod like a well-oiled machine. Because of this ease and control if I close my eyes I can picture the rod in me as disproportionately big and strong because it so utterly fills a cavity which itself seems to have expanded to the size of my torso, and which having been well emptied of air is a perfect fit. It is also one of the positions in which a woman can best squeeze the thing by contracting the muscles in her vagina. These are like signals sent from afar, a way of letting the other know – while you are unashamedly making prodigious use of that which belongs to him – that still you are thinking of him. All of these manoeuvres are impossible if a woman sitting astride a man with her cunt fully occupied then opens up her arse to let a second man penetrate her. Two friends who used to skewer me like this claimed that they could feel each other’s dicks through my insides and that it was very exciting. I only ever half believed them. These relatively acrobatic positions, or positions like that one, which limit your movements in your attempts to maintain them, or even immobilise you altogether, these positions are more for show. You can amuse yourselves forming a group as models would have done at some Academy in the past, and the pleasure is fuelled more by the sight of these bodies which fit as neatly as pieces of Meccano, rather than the actual contact between them. Taken in a sandwich like that, I couldn’t see a great deal.

• From The Great Transformation (2006)

  The Pali texts give the impression that it was a speedy process, but Gotama himself explained that it could take as long as seven years to achieve this incremental transformation. Gradually, the aspirant would learn to live without the selfish cravings that poison our lives and relationships, and would become less affected by these unruly yearnings. As he became aware of the ephemeral nature of these invasive thoughts, it became difficult to identify with them, and he became increasingly adept at monitoring the distractions that deprive us of peace. 85 The texts depict Gotama attaining enlightenment in a single night, because they wanted to show the general contours of the process and were not interested in the historical details of the journey. But Gotama’s enlightenment was, almost certainly, no instant “born again” experience. He later warned his disciples that “in this method, training, discipline and practice take effect by slow degrees, with no sudden perception of the ultimate truth.” 86 The traditional story has Gotama sitting down under a bodhi tree in a pleasant grove near the city of Uruvela, beside the Neranjara River. The Pali scriptures tell us that in the course of a single meditation, he gained an insight that changed him forever and was convinced that he had liberated himself from the cycle of rebirth. 87 But there seems little that is new in this insight, usually formulated as the Four Noble Truths. Most renouncers would have agreed with the first three: that existence was dukkha, that desire was the cause of our suffering, and that there was a way out of this predicament. The fourth truth may have constituted the breakthrough: Gotama claimed that he had discovered the path that leads from suffering and pain to its cessation in nibbana. This path, traditionally called the Noble Eightfold Path, was a plan of action, consisting of morality (the cultivation of the “skillful” states), meditation, and the wisdom ( panna ) that enabled the aspirant to understand Gotama’s teaching “directly” through the practice of yoga and integrate it with his daily life. Gotama never claimed that the Noble Truths were unique, but that he was the first person in this historical era to have “realized” them and made them a reality in his own life. He found that he had extinguished the craving, hatred, and ignorance that hold humanity in thrall. He had reached nibbana, and even though he was still subject to physical ailments and other vicissitudes, nothing could touch this inner peace or cause him serious mental pain. His method had worked. “The holy life has been lived out to its conclusion!” he cried triumphantly at the end of his meditation under the bodhi tree. “What had to be done has been accomplished; there is nothing else to do!”

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  His cock felt impossibly large as she thrust down on him. She could tell he was close to finishing by the way he went still against her. She rotated her hips on him and he all but roared as he started to come, jerking against her so hard she bumped her head on the roof of the car. She had been so caught up in making him come that she hadn’t realized just how close she was to her own orgasm. She kept up those little thrusting motions, dragging her aroused clit over the patch of hair above his cock until she was pushed over the edge into her own Perfect Timing 171 climax. She rode him like that until her sensitive clit couldn’t take any more. Collapsing on top of him, her arms hanging down the back of the seat, she gasped and giggled as her pussy clenched around his slowly shrinking erection. “Holy hell,” she whimpered. “Who would have thought doing it in the car would be so hot?” Her breasts muffled his reply. “No kidding.” Suddenly conscious that they were in the faculty parking lot and the car windows were completely fogged, she reluctantly slid back into her seat. There was so much wetness between her thighs and on his lower stomach, she didn’t know who had made a bigger mess. She suspected it was her. “Hand me my panties,” she said. “They’re in the glove box.” He chuckled as he handed her the black lace thong. “You’re just going to make a mess of them.” “Better them than the back of my skirt,” she said ruefully as she shimmied into her panties and smoothed her wrinkled skirt into place. She looked over at Henry sprawled in the car seat with a satisfied smile on his face and his flaccid cock glistening against his pale stomach. He was an even bigger mess than she was and she frowned. “You can’t go inside like that.” He looked down. “No mistaking what I’ve been up to, is there?” “There should be tissues in there, too,” she said. He fumbled through the glove box until he found the packet of travel tissues and cleaned himself up as best he could. Moments later, shirt tucked in and pants fastened, he still looked like the cat that ate the cream. The noticeable wet spot on the front of his pants didn’t help matters at all. “Don’t worry,” he said, following the direction of her gaze. “I have a pair of pants in the office.” “Keep extra clothes at work, do you?” He grinned. “You never know when a beautiful young woman is going to offer herself up in exchange for an A.” “Always prepared.” She smiled at him. “You’re quite the boy scout.” He stroked a hand through her mussed hair. “You’re not bad yourself, love. ’m wiped out.” —

• From Cultish (2021)

  Finalists enter a rigorous ten-week instructor training program, where they learn to talk the talk. They pick up all the exclusive terminology—“party hills” (warm-up exercises), “tapbacks” (a signature move involving zesty backward butt thrusting), “Roosters” (5 a.m. classes and the “Type A” riders who take them), “noon on Monday” (a slogan referencing when class bookings open up each week), and how to make everything sound “soulful” with a capital S. Peloton’s exclusive recruitment process is arguably even more intense, since their online model allows them to maintain a tight roster of only twenty or so top-tier instructors. To earn initiation into the elite Peloton fam, aspirants are put through hours of interviews and callbacks with everyone from marketing experts to producers, and then months of training to guarantee they’ve got the magnetism to attract thousands to every show. Sparkie, a born-and-bred LA vegan with lilac hair and sleeves of rainbow tattoos, gained her passionate SoulCycle following with a repertoire of kitschy, old-school mottos inspired by her grandfather (“Anything worth doing is worth doing well!” “It’s not how you start, it’s how you fucking finish!”). She spent several years heading SoulCycle’s training program, helping newbies “find their voice” as instructors. “The key to creating the following is to sound authentic. When you sound like popcorn, people can hear it,” Sparkie told me. She recalled one nineteen-year-old trainee who was worried about what words of wisdom she could possibly offer riders: “And I was like, you’re not going to stand in front of the woman surviving cancer or the dad supporting a whole family and give them life wisdom. If you’re like, ‘I know times are hard! You’re going to get through this!’ they’re going to look at you and be like, ‘What do you know, child?’ Instead, be the joyous, young, fun being that you are. If you’re like, ‘Do you guys want to party and have a good time?’ they’re gonna be like, ‘Yeah! My life sucks right now, and I just want to fucking party.’” This combination of optics—from followers’ melodramatic message T-shirts (“Weightlifting is my religion,” “All I care about is my Peloton, and like 2 people”) to the liturgical rituals to the super-intimate instructor-student relationships—seems like overkill. Most of the fitness buffs I spoke to copped to this. But they also professed that the benefits vastly outweigh the negatives. Once you get hooked on a workout community, not only are you going to continue, you’re also going to evangelize it to all your friends to prove this thing is actually incredible and that you’re not really in a “cult.” Or at least not a cult any worse than the culture that created you . . . iv.In the US, we are taught to fetishize self-improvement. Fitness is a particularly compelling form of self-improvement because it demonstrates classic American values like productivity, individualism, and a commitment to meeting normative beauty standards.

• From Between Us

  If you’re reading this book in the United States, you probably value happiness. Happy people are healthier, more successful, and better liked. Linguist Anna Wierzbicka, describing middle-class white American social life, points to “important norms of interaction, with great emphasis being placed on being liked and approved of, on being perceived as friendly and cheerful. . . .” Happiness American-style is omnipresent and “right.” The reason may be that it helps to uphold three pillars of contemporary American life: success, being in control, and choice. In one study, my colleagues Yukiko Uchida and Shinobu Kitayama asked white American and Japanese college students to list “features” of happiness. Nearly all features generated by the American college students were positive. Importantly, American college students associated the good features of feeling happiness (e.g., joy, smiling) with personal achievement (e.g., feeling good about myself, getting what I want). This is what Kitayama, Mayumi Karasawa, and I found too: American college students—predominantly white—rated themselves as happy, when they were “proud,” felt “on top of the world” and “superior,” and had “self-esteem.” In yet another study by psychologist Phil Shaver and his colleagues, American college students who described experiences of happiness from the past—either their own or someone else’s—also noted feeling both good and successful. In the U.S., then, an essential aspect of happiness is feeling good about yourself and your own achievements. White American college students describing instances of happiness characterize the emotion as outgoing, energetic, and approach-oriented. They describe happy people as being courteous and friendly, hugging other people, doing nice things for other people, and seeking to communicate and share their good feelings. Moreover, happiness is portrayed as energetic, active, and bouncy—to the point of being “hyper” and jumping up and down. Happy people laugh, smile, talk enthusiastically. The most commonly used psychological measures capture “happiness” as an active and approach-oriented emotion. Happiness is paraphrased as “enthusiastic,” “interested,” “determined,” “excited,” and “inspired.” Energetic, active, and bouncy happiness serves you particularly well when you want to make things go your way. In one experimental study, psychologist Jeanne Tsai found that individuals who were told they would be “influencers” in an interactive task chose to be excited. This was true for “influencers” from very different cultures. Tsai argues that the white American preference for a happiness with energetic overtones stems from a culture in which individuals encounter many opportunities to influence and exert control over their environment. This kind of happiness is ingrained in Americans from an early age. American mothers stimulate their babies by repositioning, playing, and chatting with them, thus planting the seeds for bouncy happiness. American parents are strongly encouraged to ensure a level of entertainment for their children, in this way eliciting activated happiness as well. Children should have fun (high arousal), rather than being bored (low arousal). They are kept busy and excited with innumerable toys, a variety of extracurricular activities, trips to amusement parks, and other forms of entertainment.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  FIFTH DAY Here begins the Fifth Day, wherein, under the rule of Fiam-metta, are discussed the adventures of lovers who survived calamities or misfortunes and attained a state of happiness . The whole of the East was already suffused with white, and the heavens of our western world were shot through by the rays of the rising sun, when Fiammetta was roused from sleep by the melodious songs of the birds in the trees, chanting their joyous greetings to the dawn. She arose and sent for all the other ladies and the three young men, then sauntered down with her companions to the fields, where, walking over the dew of the broad and grassy plain, she conversed agreeably with the others upon this and that, till the sun had climbed well into the sky. But as the heat of the sun’s rays grew more intense, she retraced her steps, and on reaching the house she saw that her companions were refreshed from the gentle exertions of their walk with excellent wines and sweetmeats, after which they whiled away their time till breakfast in the delectable garden. No detail had been overlooked by their resourceful steward in the preparation of the meal, to which in due course, at the bidding of the queen, after singing some canzonets and one or two ballades , they gaily addressed themselves. One by one, they disposed of the various dishes with relish, and when the meal was over, mindful of the practice already established, they danced and sang to the music of instruments. The queen then dismissed them till after the siesta hour, whereat some of them went away to sleep, whilst the others remained in the garden to savour its pleasures. But shortly after nones, 1 at the queen’s command, they all forgathered as usual beside the fountain. And having seated herself in a position of honour, the queen fixed her gaze upon Panfilo, smiled, and bade him tell the first of the day’s stories, all of which were to end happily. Panfilo readily agreed, and began as follows:

• From The Decameron (1353)

  His task completed, Joseph came back to Melissus and said to him: ‘Tomorrow we shall see how Solomon’s advice to go to Goose-bridge has stood up to the test.’ Then, having rested for a while, he washed his hands and supped with Melissus; and in due course they both retired to bed. Meanwhile his unfortunate wife picked herself up with great difficulty from the floor and collapsed on to her bed, where she slept as best she could till the following morning. And having risen very early, she sent to ask Joseph what he would like for breakfast. Joseph had a good laugh with Melissus over this, and issued the necessary instructions. And when, in due course, they came down to breakfast, they found an excellent meal awaiting them, precisely as Joseph had ordered. Hence they were both full of praise for the advice which at first they had ill understood. A few days later, Melissus took his leave of Joseph and returned home, where he told a wise man about what he had heard from Solomon; and the man said: ‘He could not have given you a truer or a better piece of advice. You know perfectly well that you love no one, and that you dispense your hospitality and your favours, not because you love other people, but merely for pomp and pride. Love, therefore, as Solomon told you, and you will be loved.’ 5 So that was how the shrew was punished, and how the young man came to be loved through loving others.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  But if you do not want to marry me, you must leave me at once and return to your own place.’ Alessandro had no idea who she was, but in view of the size of her retinue he judged her to be a rich noblewoman, and could see for himself that she was very beautiful. So without wasting too much time in thought, he replied that if this was what she desired, he was only too ready to oblige. She then sat up in bed, handed him a ring, and made him plight her his troth beneath a small picture of Our Lord, after which they fell into each other’s arms, and for the rest of the night they disported themselves to their great and mutual pleasure. They decided carefully what they should do, and when it was daybreak, Alessandro arose and, retracing his steps, stole away from the room without anyone realizing where he had passed the night. Then, reeling with happiness, he set out once more with the Abbot and her retinue, and several days later they arrived in Rome. They had been staying in the city for only a few days when the Abbot, attended by Alessandro and the two knights, was received in audience by the Pope. Having paid him their respects in the appropriate fashion, the Abbot began: ‘As you, Holy Father, must know better than all others, whoever desires to live a good and honest life is obliged to shun as best he may every possible motive for behaving otherwise. I myself, being one who desires to live a thoroughly honest life, have come all this way in the clothes you see me wearing, ostensibly to seek Your Holiness’s blessing for my marriage. But in reality, I have fled, taking with me a considerable part of the treasures belonging to my father, the King of England, for he was planning to marry me to the King of Scotland, who is a very old man whereas I myself am a young girl, as you can see. What caused me to run away, was not so much the King of Scotland’s age, as the fear that, once married to him, my youthful frailty might tempt me into contravening God’s laws and staining the honour of my royal-blooded father. ‘In this frame of mind, I was on my way hither when God, who alone knows best how to measure our needs, being stirred as I believe by His compassion, set before my eyes the person He decreed should be my husband. The one I refer to is the young man’ – and she pointed to Alessandro – ‘whom you see standing here at my side. It may well be that he is less pure-blooded than a person of royal birth, but both in bearing and in character he is a worthy match for any great lady.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  * * * How the ladies laughed to hear this tale, whose meaning they had grasped more readily than Dioneo had intended, may be left to the imagination of those among my fair readers who are laughing at it still. However, the stories were now at an end, the sun’s heat had begun to abate, and the queen, knowing that her sovereignty had run its course, rose to her feet and removed her crown. This she placed upon the head of Panfilo, who alone remained to be invested with the honour; and smiling she said: ‘My lord, you are left with an arduous task, for since you are the last, you must make up for the failings of myself and my predecessors in the office to which you have now acceded. God grant you grace in this undertaking, as He has granted it to me in crowning you our king.’ Accepting with joy the honour she had bestowed upon him, Panfilo replied: ‘Your own excellence, madam, and that of my other subjects, will ensure that my reign is no less worthy of praise than those that have preceded it.’ Then, following the example of his predecessors, he made all necessary arrangements with the steward; after which he turned to address the waiting ladies: ‘Enamoured ladies,’ he said, ‘our queen of today, Emilia, prudently left you at liberty to speak on whatever subject you chose, so that you might rest your faculties. But now that you are refreshed, I consider that we should revert to our customary rule, and I therefore want you all to think of something to say, tomorrow, on the subject of those who have performed liberal or munificent deeds, whether in the cause of love or otherwise . The telling and the hearing of such things will assuredly fill you with a burning desire, well disposed as you already are in spirit, to comport yourselves valorously. And thus our lives, which cannot be other than brief in these our mortal bodies, will be preserved by the fame of our achievements – a goal which every man who does not simply attend to his belly, like an animal, should not only desire but most zealously pursue and strive to attain.’ The theme proposed by Panfilo was unanimously approved by the joyful company, and by the leave of their new king they all arose from where they were sitting and applied themselves, each according to his taste, to their usual pastimes; and thus they whiled away the time until supper. To this they came in festive mood, and at the end of the meal, which was served with meticulous care and formal propriety, they rose from their places and proceeded to dance as usual. They then sang countless songs, more entertaining for the words than polished in the singing, till finally the king asked Neifile to sing one on her own account.

• From A Way of Being (1980)

  And I felt, “So, inside me is a cavern—it’s empty and clean of all the trash and waiting to be filled with experience and feeling—it’s waiting for ME.” And as I acknowledged the cavern, it started to fill. The insights, the experiences and feelings are continuous. Everywhere I turn I take another giant step forward. I want to tell you about two of them—the first, and another that I think was the best. The first step was the most dramatic—because it was first, maybe. Close on the time I found you in books I went to a convention. It was an event I hadn’t looked forward to with any great enthusiasm; having an official part to play I had to attend. But you came before the trip, and the complete reversal my outlook was undergoing became immediately and almost shockingly evident. I went alone—a condition that has been synonymous with lonely in my intellectual lexicon. But suddenly, with my new-found me-ness, there was no apprehension. I did anticipate a good experience, and it was. I was not lonely; not only were there old friends who were as anxious for my company as I for theirs, but there were interesting new contacts. I conducted two successful workshops, and had in general such a strong positive reaction to the whole experience that I woke in the middle of the night in my hotel room thinking, “How fine this is . . . how happy I am . . . how much at peace . . . how much a PERSON.” That was the first giant step—truly gargantuan. There have been many more. One of the finest, I think, came last week with a pretty severe period of depression, when I discovered that the eternal squirrel-cage effect was totally missing. I felt very down. I allowed myself to feel that way. That’s all there was to it. In a few days the depression passed, without any frantic, despairing attempts on my part to make it pass and without any trauma or fears about it returning. I am increasingly at peace with myself and my world, and more sure every day that this is no fluke. It’s real: I am in a very dynamic process of becoming. I’m not on top of the world yet (maybe, as Joe suggests, I’m somewhere around five on the process scale), but now I know I will be. The cavern is filling with experiencing, and feeling—and I’m in there—ME—A PERSON. I want to say thank you. But I don’t know with you, any more than with Joe, what I’m thanking you for. I would like to write to you again. Sincerely, Jennifer K. Do you know these lines—from Gerard Manley Hopkins’ “Carrion Comfort”: I can; can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.

• From Cultish (2021)

  The same year we got CrossFit, which catered to a very different demographic than barre, but whose “boxes” had an equally boutique-y, anti-gym vibe. (At its peak in early 2020, CrossFit flaunted over ten thousand boxes, generating $4 billion annually. That was before many locations disaffiliated with the brand name due to Greg Glassman outing himself as a shameless racist . More on that in a bit.) With 2001 came Pure Barre, which scaled to over five hundred North American studios. The following year brought CorePower Yoga, which grew into two hundred-plus locations. SoulCycle, with its nightclub-esque lighting, loud music, and zippy instructors, arrived in 2006, just a few months before LA fitness instructor Tracy Anderson helped Gwyneth Paltrow lose her baby weight, boosting Hollywood personal trainers to a celebrity station of their own. Over the following fifteen years or so, boutique fitness studios multiplied and spun off of each other, making them a fixture in American society. According to the International Health, Racquet & Sportsclub Association, the US health and fitness industry was worth over $32 billion in 2018 . Soon, there was a workout class for any interest. Whether you were into cycling, circuit training, running, yoga, dancing, pole dancing, boxing, jiujitsu, Pilates on a land-bound mechanical surfboard,* or literally anything else, you could find a devoted fitness community. In addition to SoulCycle, CrossFit, and countless barre, Pilates, and yoga shops, we got Barry’s Bootcamp (high-intensity interval training—aka HIIT—with a sassy twist), Orangetheory (like Barry’s but more competitive), November Project (free outdoor boot camps held at six a.m.), The Class by Taryn Toomey (like boot camp meets yoga . . . with screaming), modelFIT (what all the models do), Platefit (like modelFIT but on a giant vibrating apparatus), intenSati (you’re familiar), Rise Nation (the SoulCycle of stair climbing), LIT Method (the SoulCycle of rowing), LEKFIT (the SoulCycle of trampolining), Peloton (like SoulCycle via Zoom), and dozens upon dozens more. Unlike the YMCAs and Jazzercise classes of the past, these intimate studios positioned themselves as sacred spaces—as movements —offering a potent ideological, deeply personal experience. Within these hallowed, inspirational-quote-bedecked halls, you’ll not only perfect your squat and decrease your resting heart rate, you’ll also find a personal mentor, meet your best friends, get over your ex, summon the confidence to ask for a raise, manifest your soul mate, get sober, get through chemo, and prove to yourself once and for all that you’re powerful beyond measure and blessed with all you need. “SoulCycle talks about how people ‘come for the body but stay for the breakthrough,’” said Casper ter Kuile, a researcher at Harvard Divinity School and author of The Power of Ritual . “It’s a good workout, but that’s only the beginning.” In these classes, fitness devotees find a sense of release, insight on what’s important to them, and a sanctuary away from the pressures of their everyday existence.

• From A Way of Being (1980)

  journal account, written by one of the staff after more than ten hours with the ciclo: Even now in this last session my feelings take the familiar up and down roller- coaster ride. My mind returns to the time we have spent in community meetings, and the ebb and flow: chaos, humor, intellectual debate, preaching, emotional explosions, delicate reaching out, tears, boredom, fear, a bubbling cauldron of human experience. But now, there is deep inside a feeling of calm connectedness and assurance. We are breathing together and there is an order here. Not the order of rules and rigidity, but an order more like the dynamic organization in a living system. The community has discovered not only its own organization but also its own strength and tenderness, and I no longer feel afraid. People are listening to each other, responding and taking time to be silent together. Reflecting, I realize how glad I am that I had not acted on my earlier fear- induced impulse to control the process. I had been so unsure at one time that I had really wanted to stop what was happening and to impose some structure of my own. I had wanted to turn the whole thing into a few well-organized talks! I had felt guilty when charges of staff irresponsibility had come blistering out of the mass, but always, just as I was about to give up, someone would say something that would bring me back in touch with the wisdom of the group and its own process. And now it is time to separate. Isabel is speaking: “I haven’t said anything until now, but I just have to express my joy. I cannot go to the longer workshop you are holding, but now I don’t mind. You see I got more than I dreamed of already. I came here feeling so lost, like I was all alone in my pain and my struggle. It’s all just too big for me, the poverty of my people, the political realities of the world in which I live, the pain in my marriage, my family, my job. I couldn’t do it alone . . . and now I realize that I am not facing it alone. Everyone here in some way or another is part of my support, from Carl Rogers in the books he has written, to those of you who disagree with much that I say but are still struggling with the same issues. I feel strong, I feel nourished, and now I can go on. Maybe this won’t last, but in a way that doesn’t really matter. What matters to me is that I feel it today.” She continues, but now I am aware of my own tears, I am breathing deeply and I look around for my friends. Maybe we are not crazy after all, to trust that a group of eight hundred can initiate its own constructive process. I smile as I think of the incredible flow of these twelve hours together. It has been a confirming experience.

• From A Way of Being (1980)

  SHORT-TERM EFFECTS OF THE CICLOS There have been a number of promising results from the three ciclos. John led an interest group at Rio for those who wanted to continue to share personal experiences with one another. Five months later, the group continues to meet, spending all day together each Sunday. Membership varies, but a core of twelve to fifteen persons say it grows more and more useful to them. The women’s group led by Maureen in Rio was the first such group for most of the women. Maureen was informed that a dozen or so of those women now meet regularly in a consciousness-raising group. The Brazilian organizing group in Recife talked out their bitter feelings toward one another, with some facilitation from our staff. This was the first time in their lives that they had ever dealt with one another, or with any professional colleagues, in this frank and open way. This group—representing various local organizations—has continued as a support group for its members. They are organizing their professional and personal lives in new ways, attributing the beginning of change to the ciclo experience. The wife of a wealthy professional, who had been struggling to live the life of the dutiful (and helpless) Brazilian woman, has finally taken the courage to challenge the rigid constraints of her role expectations and go after her personhood. She has since applied for several workshops in the United States, and has decided to go against her husband’s ultimatum—“It’s either your career or our marriage”—and follow her own powerful need to find her own independent self. And the marriage appears to be mending. A successful psychoanalyst decided to get training as a humanistic psychologist because he felt his “power as a person” was as important as his professional orientation and, after the ciclos, he felt he had faith in himself. Literally dozens of people reported that at night after they left the meetings, they found themselves relating to people they loved in new and more straightforward ways. A Brazilian psychologist wrote to Carl four months after the ciclos with these reports: A woman therapist in Rio thought the first day ridiculous and on the second one, discovered something extremely important might be happening. She is changing her way of working. One of my clients can’t accept your ideas on education, and said it to you in public, which for her was a profound experience because she has always feared speaking even to a small group. The ciclo showed her you (or any other “authority”) were not threatening, and this is giving her a whole new way of being. A psychiatrist reports that the Rio ciclo was decisive in changing many people’s professional or personal directions, and helped others to take bolder steps or greater risks. On the other hand, many, it seems, were just disappointed and angry at the chaos and unproductivity, calling it anarchy. They gained little or nothing, they believe.

• From The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica Volume 10 (2011)

  The certified cheque arrived from the Ottawa branch of the Bank of England three weeks later in the amount of £5,000 sterling. British money. The real stuff. I called my bank right away and the exchange rate meant I held well over $10,000, American. I stared at the Monlezun for a long moment, a smile creeping across my face with the memory of the long-legged wench. Ten grand and I didn’t even have to go to Rio. . And that was how I, Lucien Caye, private investigator, solved my first international caper. Well, almost solved. And, to think, it all started with a gleek. Slut Charlotte Stein I couldn’t put a name to him at first. ’m not used to using a name like that for boys. But he is none the less: slut. He isn’t a slut in the same way that some guys are — players and bounders and cads. The word “slut” doesn’t quite seem to apply to them. But it applies to him, when we’re in the stationery cupboard together. We’re in there, and he smiles his little sly slut’s smile at me. At the time I didn’t know what that smile meant, but I did soon after. I did when he turned around and bent over as though to reach for ~ something on a low shelf, and his bum very obviously pressed into the front of my skirt. Not even the front of my skirt. Into my groin. Definitely against my groin. He even had to kind of crouch to do it, because he’s very tall. But he managed it none the less, and I felt those firm buttocks push into the place where my pussy is. He did it like a woman urging her bottom back for a man’s cock. He did it like an animal seeking a mounting. I had no idea how he expected me to mount him, but after the initial shock that’s what I thought of anyway. I’ve never wished so fiercely that I had a cock. A big fat cock that I could have plunged into his tight little arsehole — made him beg for it, made him whimper and whine and twist on me. It occurred to me later on that he was gay and some kind of fascination with me had gripped him. Perhaps he felt that I was a rather mannish woman, perfect for trying out straightness. But that misconception didn’t last long. It stopped when I caught him looking down my top. It stopped even more when I deliberately leaned forwards and let him see further, and he couldn’t even contain his little sigh of satisfaction. 320 Charlotte Stein He didn’t even look embarrassed when I flicked my gaze to his face, and finally, finally, his eyes drew up and away from my tits to meet mine. I think he tried to contain that sly slut’s smile of his, but other than that he did nothing.

• From A Grief Observed (1961)

  The notes have been about myself, and about H., and about God. In that order. The order and the proportions exactly what they ought not to have been. And I see that I have nowhere fallen into that mode of thinking about either which we call praising them. Yet that would have been best for me. Praise is the mode of love which always has some element of joy in it. Praise in due order; of Him as the giver, of her as the gift. Don’t we in praise somehow enjoy what we praise, however far we are from it? I must do more of this. I have lost the fruition I once had of H. And I am far, far away in the valley of my unlikeness, from the fruition which, if His mercies are infinite, I may some time have of God. But by praising I can still, in some degree, enjoy her, and already, in some degree, enjoy Him. Better than nothing. But perhaps I lack the gift. I see I’ve described H. as being like a sword. That’s true as far as it goes. But utterly inadequate by itself, and misleading. I ought to have balanced it. I ought to have said, ‘But also like a garden. Like a nest of gardens, wall within wall, hedge within hedge, more secret, more full of fragrant and fertile life, the further you entered.’ And then, of her, and of every created thing I praise, I should say, ‘In some way, in its unique way, like Him who made it.’ Thus up from the garden to the Gardener, from the sword to the Smith. To the life-giving Life and the Beauty that makes beautiful. ‘She is in God’s hands.’ That gains a new energy when I think of her as a sword. Perhaps the earthly life I shared with her was only part of the tempering. Now perhaps He grasps the hilt; weighs the new weapon; makes lightnings with it in the air. ‘A right Jerusalem blade.’ One moment last night can be described in similes; otherwise it won’t go into language at all. Imagine a man in total darkness. He thinks he is in a cellar or dungeon. Then there comes a sound. He thinks it might be a sound from far off—waves or wind-blown trees or cattle half a mile away. And if so, it proves he’s not in a cellar, but free, in the open air. Or it may be a much smaller sound close at hand—a chuckle of laughter. And if so, there is a friend just beside him in the dark. Either way, a good, good sound. I’m not mad enough to take such an experience as evidence for anything. It is simply the leaping into imaginative activity of an idea which I would always have theoretically admitted—the idea that I, or any mortal at any time, may be utterly mistaken as to the situation he is really in.

• From Cultish (2021)

  He places red tape over their mouths, scrawled with the word “Life,” and they suspend their little palms in the air, pleading. While that was all wildly engrossing to my fourteen-year-old self, by far my favorite part of the movie was when the kids spoke in tongues. Scholars tend to use the term “glossolalia” to describe this practice, in which a person utters unintelligible sounds that seem to approximate words from some perceived foreign language during states of religious intensity. Glossolalia is commonly found in certain Christian sects like Pentecostalism, in addition to fringier, more controversial religious groups like The Way International. Among believers, glossolalia is typically thought to be a heavenly gift. Their belief is that the “words” pouring from the speaker’s mouth are from an angelic or ancient holy language, which is then “translated” by someone else, as interpretation is a separate gift. “What’s interesting is the reaction of the person speaking glossolalia to the translation, because sometimes you can tell they don’t like what the translator is saying, but they go ahead anyway,” commented Paul de Lacy, a Rutgers University linguist and one of the world’s only modern glossolalia scholars. What researchers like de Lacy have found is that the words a glossolalia speaker produces aren’t actually all that foreign. They’re not words you’d find in a dictionary, but they do tend to follow the same phonetic and phonological rules as the orator’s native tongue. So you wouldn’t be likely to hear an English- speaking glossolalist start a word with the consonant cluster /dl/, since this sound doesn’t exist in English (though it can be found in other languages, like Hebrew). You’d also never hear, say, a Bulgarian glossolalia speaker use a rhotic American /r/. And a glossolalist from Yorkshire wouldn’t suddenly drop every last feature of their North English lilt while speaking in tongues. Glossolalia is a faith-based practice, so one can’t say in any scientific way what it really is. But it is clear what glossolalia does. “The primary function of glossolalia is group solidarity,” explains de Lacy. “The person’s demonstrating they are part of the group.” Other science shows that speaking in tongues just plain feels good—it’s the linguistic equivalent of shaking your body around as a way to let loose. A 2011 report from the American Journal of Human Biology found that glossolalia was associated with reduced cortisol and elevated alpha- amylase enzyme activity, two typical signs of stress reduction. It has also been found to lower inhibitions and increase self-confidence, which is a side effect of religious chanting, too.

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

  afterwards, John went to Samaria to confirm the new converts, he called down upon them the fire of divine life and light, the gift of the Holy Spirit.573 The same mistaken zeal for his Master was at the bottom of his intolerance towards those who performed a good work in the name of Christ, but outside of the apostolic circle.574 The desire of the two brothers, in which their mother shared, for the highest positions in the Messianic kingdom, likewise reveals both their strength and their weakness, a noble ambition to be near Christ, though it be near the fire and the sword, yet an ambition that was not free from selfishness and pride, which deserved the rebuke of our Lord, who held up before them the prospect of the baptism of blood.575 All this is quite consistent with the writings of John. He appears there by no means as a soft and sentimental, but as a positive and decided character. He had no doubt a sweet and lovely disposition, but at the same time a delicate sensibility, ardent feelings, and strong convictions. These traits are by no means incompatible. He knew no compromise, no division of loyalty. A holy fire burned within him, though he was moved in the deep rather than on the surface. In the Apocalypse, the thunder rolls loud and mighty against the enemies of Christ and his kingdom, while on the other hand there are in the same book episodes of rest and anthems, of peace and joy, and a description of the heavenly Jerusalem, which could have proceeded only from the beloved disciple. In the Gospel and the Epistles of John, we feel the same power, only subdued and restrained. He reports the severest as well as the sweetest discourses of the Saviour, according as he speaks to the enemies of the truth, or in the circle of the disciples. No other evangelist gives us such a profound inside-view of the antagonism between Christ and the Jewish hierarchy, and of the growing intensity of that hatred which culminated in the bloody counsel; no apostle draws a sharper line of demarcation between light and darkness, truth and falsehood, Christ and Antichrist, than John. His Gospel and Epistles move in these irreconcilable antagonisms. He knows no compromise between God and Baal. With what holy horror does he speak of the traitor, and the rising rage of the Pharisees against their Messiah! How severely does he, in the words of the Lord, attack the unbelieving Jews with their murderous designs, as children of the devil! And, in his Epistles, he terms every one who dishonors his Christian profession a liar; every one who hates his brother a murderer; every one who wilfully sins a child of the devil; and he earnestly warns against teachers who deny the mystery of the incarnation, as Antichrists, and he forbids even to salute them.576 The measure of his love of Christ was the measure of his hatred of antichrist.

• From Disrupted: My Misadventure in the Start-Up Bubble (2014)

  He has all those crazy tattoos on his arms, and refers to himself as “a creative.” I find it hard to believe that he wouldn’t leap at the chance to work in Hollywood. The plan is I will leave in May and return in September, just in time for the Inbound conference, which is great timing, because I can give a talk about storytelling and my experience working on a TV show, or something. Maybe I can get one of the stars from the show to give a talk as well. Or we could do a panel. Sasha and the kids come to Los Angeles with me. We rent a little guesthouse in Topanga Canyon, way up in the woods, far from civilization. The kids go to surf camp at Zuma Beach in Malibu. Sasha rides horses at a ranch in Topanga. In the morning we hike in Topanga State Park, where mule deer graze in the tall dry grass. At night Sasha and I sit on the deck vaping cannabis oil—I’ve obtained a prescription—and listen to coyotes howl. HubSpot seems very far away. I’m working on the Sony lot in Culver City. It’s a classic Hollywood Golden Age lot, built in the 1920s, with huge soundstages and big gates and people zipping around on bikes and golf carts, the place where Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer made The Wizard of Oz . On my first day at work, I stop across the street and snap photos of the archway over the Madison Avenue gate. I walk to the gate, give my name to the security guard, and she actually lets me walk in. Our offices are in the Rita Hayworth building. I want to pinch myself. One big difference between this and HubSpot is that I’m back in the world of grown-ups. I’m no longer working with people half my age, with a boss who believes gray hair and experience are overrated. Here my boss is Mike Judge, age fifty-one, who created Beavis and Butt-head , King of the Hill , and Office Space . My other boss, Alec Berg, is in his mid-forties and was a top writer on Seinfeld and Curb Your Enthusiasm . The others have worked on 30 Rock and The Office , among other shows. Here, you are allowed to tell dirty jokes and to be a cynical, sarcastic prick. In fact, it’s encouraged. There are ten of us, and it is an intense room. The writers are smart and funny, but they’re also a lot friendlier than people at HubSpot. For more than a year I’ve had to bottle up my disgusting sense of humor. I’ve even started to feel ashamed of it. Here, everyone is disgusting. We sit around trading the worst poop-related stories we’ve ever heard, and pitching jokes about enormous cocks. We get paid to do this. It’s bliss.

• From Disrupted: My Misadventure in the Start-Up Bubble (2014)

  I find it hard to believe that he wouldn’t leap at the chance to work in Hollywood. The plan is I will leave in May and return in September, just in time for the Inbound conference, which is great timing, because I can give a talk about storytelling and my experience working on a TV show, or something. Maybe I can get one of the stars from the show to give a talk as well. Or we could do a panel. Sasha and the kids come to Los Angeles with me. We rent a little guesthouse in Topanga Canyon, way up in the woods, far from civilization. The kids go to surf camp at Zuma Beach in Malibu. Sasha rides horses at a ranch in Topanga. In the morning we hike in Topanga State Park, where mule deer graze in the tall dry grass. At night Sasha and I sit on the deck vaping cannabis oil—I’ve obtained a prescription—and listen to coyotes howl. HubSpot seems very far away. I’m working on the Sony lot in Culver City. It’s a classic Hollywood Golden Age lot, built in the 1920s, with huge soundstages and big gates and people zipping around on bikes and golf carts, the place where Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer made The Wizard of Oz. On my first day at work, I stop across the street and snap photos of the archway over the Madison Avenue gate. I walk to the gate, give my name to the security guard, and she actually lets me walk in. Our offices are in the Rita Hayworth building. I want to pinch myself. One big difference between this and HubSpot is that I’m back in the world of grown-ups. I’m no longer working with people half my age, with a boss who believes gray hair and experience are overrated. Here my boss is Mike Judge, age fifty-one, who created Beavis and Butt-head, King of the Hill, and Office Space. My other boss, Alec Berg, is in his mid-forties and was a top writer on Seinfeld and Curb Your Enthusiasm. The others have worked on 30 Rock and The Office, among other shows. Here, you are allowed to tell dirty jokes and to be a cynical, sarcastic prick. In fact, it’s encouraged. There are ten of us, and it is an intense room. The writers are smart and funny, but they’re also a lot friendlier than people at HubSpot. For more than a year I’ve had to bottle up my disgusting sense of humor. I’ve even started to feel ashamed of it. Here, everyone is disgusting. We sit around trading the worst poop-related stories we’ve ever heard, and pitching jokes about enormous cocks. We get paid to do this. It’s bliss.

• From The Principles of Psychology (Volume 1 of 2) (1890)

  A flavor may fairly shake us by the ghosts of 'banquet halls deserted,' which it suddenly calls up; or a smell may make us feel almost sick with the waft it brings over our memory of 'gardens that are ruins, and pleasure-houses that are dust.' "In the Pyrenees," says M. Guyau, "after a summer-day's tramp carried to the extreme of fatigue, I met a shepherd and asked him for some milk. He went to fetch from his hut, under which a brook ran, a jar of milk plunged in the water and kept at a coldness which was almost icy. In drinking this fresh milk into which all the mountain had put its perfume, and of which each savory swallow seemed to give new life, I certainly experienced a series of feelings which the word agreeable is insufficient to designate. It was like a pastoral symphony, apprehended by the taste instead of by the ear" (quoted by F. Paulhan from 'Les Problèmes de l'Æsthétique Contemporaine, p. 63).—Compare the dithyrambic about whiskey of Col. R. Ingersoll, to which the presidential campaign of 1888 gave such notoriety: "I send you some of the most wonderful whiskey that ever drove the skeleton from a feast or painted landscapes in the brain of man. It is the mingled souls of wheat and corn. In it you will find the sunshine and shadow that chase each other over the billowy fields, the breath of June, the carol of the lark, the dews of the night, the wealth of summer, and autumn's rich content—all golden with imprisoned light. Drink it, and you will hear the voice of men and maidens singing the 'Harvest Home,' mingled with the laughter of children. Drink it, and you wilt feel within your blood the star-lit dawns, the dreamy, tawny dusks of many perfect days. For forty years this liquid joy has been within the happy staves of oak, longing to touch the lips of man."—It is in this way that I should reply to Mr. Gurney's criticism on my theory. My "view," this writer says (Mind, IX. 425), "goes far to confound the two things which in my opinion it is the prime necessity of musical psychology to distinguish—the effect chiefly sensuous of mere streams or masses of finely colored sound, and the distinctive musical emotion to which the form of a sequence of sound, its melodic and harmonic individuality, even realized in complete silence, is the vital and essential object. It is with the former of these two very different things that the physical reactions, the stirring of the hair—the tingling and the shiver—are by far most markedly connected. . . . If I may speak of myself, there is plenty of music from which I have received as much emotion in silent representation as when presented by the finest orchestra; but it is with the latter condition that I almost exclusively associate the cutaneous tingling and hair-stirring.