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 Diary of a Young Girl (The Definitive Edition) (2020)

  Frank FRIDAY, MARCH 3,1944 My dearest Kitty, When I looked into the candle tonight, I felt calm and happy again. It seems Grandma is in that candle, and it’s Grandma who watches over and protects me and makes me feel happy again. But. . . there’s someone else who governs all my moods and that’s. . . Peter. I went to get the potatoes today, and while I was standing on the stairway with my pan full, he asked, “What did you do during the lunch break?” I sat down on the stairs, and we began to talk. The potatoes didn’t make it to the kitchen until five-fifteen (an hour after I’d gone to get them). Peter didn’t say anything more about his parents; we just talked about books and about the past. Oh, he gazes at me with such warmth in his eyes; I don’t think it will take much for me to fall in love with him. He brought the subject up this evening. I went to his room after peeling potatoes and remarked on how hot it was. “You can tell the temperature by looking at Margot and me, because we turn white when it’s cold and red when it’s hot.” I said. “In love?” he asked. “Why should I be in love?” It was a pretty silly answer (or, rather, question). “Why not?” he said, and then it was time for dinner. What did he mean? Today I finally managed to ask him whether my chatter bothered him. All he said was, “Oh, it’s fine with me!” I can’t tell how much of his reply was due to shyness. Kitty, I sound like someone who’s in love and can talk about nothing but her dearest darling. And Peter is a darling. Will I ever be able to tell him that? Only if he thinks the same of me, but I’m the kind of person you have to treat with kid gloves, I know that all too well.

• From The Diary of a Young Girl (The Definitive Edition) (2020)

  Another birthday has gone by, so I’m now fifteen. I received quite a few gifts: Springer’s five-volume art history book, a set of underwear, two belts, a handkerchief, two jars of yogurt, a jar of jam, two honey cookies (small), a botany book from Father and Mother, a gold bracelet from Margot, a sticker album from the van Daans, Biomalt and sweet peas from Dussel, candy from Miep, candy and notebooks from Bep, and the high point: the book Maria Theresa and three slices of full-cream cheese from Mr. Kugler. Peter gave me a lovely bouquet of peonies; the poor boy had put a lot of effort into finding a present, but nothing quite worked out. The invasion is still going splendidly, in spite of the miserable weather -- pouring rains, gale winds and high seas. Yesterday Churchill, Smuts, Eisenhower and Arnold visited the French villages that the British have captured and liberated. Churchill was on a torpedo boat that shelled the coast. Uke many men, he doesn’t seem to know what fear is -- an enviable trait! From our position here in Fort Annex, it’s difficult to gauge the mood of the Dutch. No doubt many people are glad the idle (!) British have finally rolled up their sleeves and gotten down to work. Those who keep claim- ing they don’t want to be occupied by the British don’t realize how unfair they’re being. Their line of reasoning boils down to this: England must fight, struggle and sacri- fice its sons to liberate Holland and the other occupied countries. After that the British shouldn’t remain in Hol- land: they should offer their most abject apologies to all the occupied countries, restore the Dutch East Indies to its rightful owner and then return, weakened and impoverished, to England. What a bunch of idiots. And yet, as I’ve already said, many Dutch people can be counted among their ranks. What would have become of Holland and its neighbors if England had signed a peace treaty with Germany, as it’s had ample opportunity to do? Holland would have become German, and that would have been the end of that! All those Dutch people who still look down on the British, scoff at England and its government of old fogies, call the English cowards, yet hate the Germans, should be given a good shaking, the way you’d plump up a pillow. Maybe that would straighten out their jumbled brains!

• From The Diary of a Young Girl (The Definitive Edition) (2020)

  and I think he was too. At nine-thirty we stood up. Peter put on his tennis shoes so he wouldn’t make much noise on his nightly round of the building, and I was standing next to him. How I suddenly made the right movement, I don’t know, but before we went downstairs, he gave me a. kiss, through my hair, half on my left cheek and half on my ear. I tore downstairs without looking back, and I long so much for today. Sunday morning, just before eleven. Yours, Anne M. Frank MONDAY, APRIL 17, 1944 Dearest Kitty, Do you think Father and Mother would approve of a girl my age sitting on a divan and kissing a seventeen-anda-half-year-old boy? I doubt they would, but I have to trust my own judgment in this matter. It’s so peaceful and safe, lying in his arms and dreaming, it’s so thrilling to feel his cheek against mine, it’s so wonderful to know there’s someone waiting for me. But, and there is a but, will Peter want to leave it at that? I haven’t forgotten his promise, but. . . he is a boy! I know I’m starting at a very young age. Not even fifteen and already so independent -- that’s a little hard for other people to understand. I’m pretty sure Margot would never kiss a boy unless there was some talk of an engagement or marriage. Neither Peter nor I has any such plans. I’m also sure that Mother never touched a man before she met Father. What would my girlfriends or Jacque say if they knew I’d lain in Peter’s arms with my heart against his chest, my head on his shoulder and his head and face against mine! Oh, Anne, how terribly shocking! But seriously, I don’t think it’s at all shocking; we’re cooped up here, cut off from the world, anxious and fearful, especially lately. Why should we stay apart when we love each other? Why shouldn’t we kiss each other in times like these? Why should we wait until we’ve reached a suitable age? Why should we ask anybody’s permission? I’ve decided to look out for my own interests. He’d never want to hurt me or make me unhappy. Why shouldn’t I do what my heart tells me and makes both of us happy?

• From The Diary of a Young Girl (The Definitive Edition) (2020)

  The Russians are in possession of more than half the Crimea. The British aren’t advancing beyond Cassino. We’ll have to count on the Western Wall. There have been a lot of unbelievably heavy air raids. The Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages in The Hague was bombed. All Dutch people will be issued new ration registration cards. Enough for today. Yours, Anne M. Frank SUNDAY, APRIL 16, 1944 My dearest Kitty, Remember yesterday’s date, since it was a red-letter day for me. Isn’t it an important day for every girl when she gets her first kiss? Well then, it’s no less important to me. The time Bram kissed me on my right cheek or Mr. Woudstra on my right hand doesn’t count. How did I suddenly come by this kiss? I’ll tell you. Last night at eight I was sitting with Peter on his divan and it wasn’t long before he put an arm around me. (Since it was Saturday, he wasn’t wearing his overalls.)”Why don t we move over a little,” I said, “so won t keep bumping my head against the cupboard.” He moved so far over he was practically in the corner. I slipped my arm under his and across his back, and he put his arm around my shoulder, so that I was nearly engulfed by him. We’ve sat like this on other occasions, but never so close as we were last night. He held me firmly against him, my left side against his chest; my heart had already begun to beat faster, but there was more to come. He wasn’t satisfied until my head lay on his shoulder, with his on top of mine. I sat up again after about five minutes, but before long he took my head in his hands and put it back next to his. Oh, it was so wonderful. I could hardly talk, my pleasure was too intense; he caressed my cheek and arm, a bit clumsily, and played with my hair. Most of the time our heads were touching. I can’t tell you, Kitty, the feeling that ran through me. I was too happy for words,

• From The Great Transformation (2006)

  First, however, the yogin had to undergo a long period of preparation. He was not allowed to perform a single yogic exercise until he had completed an extensive moral training. The aspirant began by observing the yamas (“prohibitions”). At the top of the list was ahimsa, “harmlessness.” The yogin must not kill or injure other creatures; he could not even swat a mosquito or speak unkindly to others. Second, he was forbidden to steal, which also meant that he could not grab whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it; he must simply accept the food and clothing that he was given without demur, cultivating an indifference to material possessions. Third, he must not lie, but must speak the truth at all times, not distorting it by making an incident more entertaining or more flattering to himself, for example. Finally, he must abstain from sex and from intoxicating substances, which could cloud his mind and enervate the mental and physical energies that he would need in this spiritual expedition. The preparatory program also demanded the mastery of certain bodily and psychic disciplines (niyama). The aspirant must keep himself scrupulously clean; he must study the teaching (dharma) of his guru; and he must cultivate a habitual serenity, behaving kindly and courteously to everybody, no matter how he was feeling inside. This preparatory program showed the spiritual ambition of the yogins. They were not interested in simply having a transient, inspiring experience. Yoga was an initiation into a different way of being human, and that meant a radically moral transformation. The prohibitions and disciplines were a new, Axial Age version of the traditional imitation of the archetypal model. Yogins had to leave their unenlightened selves behind, abandon the ego principle, and behave as though the purusha had already been liberated. When people in the past had ritually imitated a god, they had experienced a “stepping out” of their normal lives and an enhancement of being. The same was true of the yama and niyama. By dint of practice, these ethical disciplines would become second nature, and when this happened, Patanjali explained, the aspirant would experience “indescribable joy.”87 As he left the “ego principle” behind, he had intimations of the final liberation.

• From The Great Transformation (2006)

  Instinctively, he had composed himself in the yogic position, and entered a tranced state, even though he had never had a yoga lesson in his life. As he looked back on this childhood event, Gotama realized that the joy he had felt that day had been entirely free of craving and greed. “Could this,” he asked himself, “possibly be the way to enlightenment?” If an untrained child could achieve yogic ecstasy and have intimations of nibbana, perhaps the liberation of moksha was built into the structure of our humanity. Instead of starving his body into submission, and making yoga an assault on his psyche, maybe he should cultivate these innate tendencies that led to cetovimutti, the “release of the mind” that was nibbana. He should foster helpful ( kusala ) states of mind, such as the disinterested impulse of compassion that had surfaced so naturally, and at the same time avoid any mental or physical states that would impede this liberation. 77 Like the Jains, Gotama realized that the traditional five “prohibitions” of the “unhelpful” ( akusala ) states of violence, stealing, lying, intoxication, and sex must be balanced by their positive counterparts. Instead of merely avoiding aggression, he must behave gently and kindly to everything and everybody, and cultivate thoughts of loving-kindness. It was important not to lie, but also crucial to ensure that whatever he said was “reasoned, accurate, clear, and beneficial.” 78 Besides refraining from stealing, he must rejoice in possessing only the bare minimum. From now on, he was going to work with his human nature and not fight against it. For the first time in months, he took solid food and started to nurse himself back to health. He also began to develop a special type of yoga. First came the practice of “mindfulness” ( sati ), in which, as a prelude to meditation, he scrutinized his behavior at every moment of the day, noting the ebb and flow of feelings and sensations, together with the fluctuations of his consciousness, and making himself aware of the constant stream of desires, irritations, and ideas that coursed through his mind in the space of a single hour. This introspection was not designed to induce a neurotic, self-regarding guilt. Gotama was simply becoming acquainted with the workings of his mind and body in order to exploit their capacities and use them to best advantage, in the same way as an equestrian seeks an intimate knowledge of the horse he is training. Like many other renouncers, Gotama was convinced that life was dukkha, and that desire was responsible for our suffering.

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

  Play. The impulse to play in special ways is certainly instinctive. A boy can no more help running after another boy who runs provokingly near him, than a kitten can help running after a rolling ball. A child trying to get into its own hand some object which it sees another child pick up, and the latter trying to get away with the prize, are just as much slaves of an automatic prompting as are two chickens or fishes, of which one has taken a big morsel into its mouth and decamps with it, while the other darts after in pursuit. All simple active games are attempts to gain the excitement yielded by certain primitive instincts, through feigning that the occasions for their exercise are there. They involve imitation, hunting, fighting, rivalry, acquisitiveness, and construction, combined in various ways; their special rules are habits, discovered by accident, selected by intelligence, and propagated by tradition; but unless they were founded in automatic impulses, games would lose most of their zest. The sexes differ somewhat in their play-impulses. As Schneider says: "The little boy imitates soldiers, models clay into an oven, builds houses, makes a wagon out of chairs, rides on horseback upon a stick, drives nails with the hammer, harnesses his brethren and comrades together and plays the stage-driver, or lets himself be captured as a wild horse by some one else; The girl, on the contrary, plays with her doll, washes and dresses it, strokes it, clasps and kisses it, puts it to bed and tucks it in, sings it a cradle-song, or speaks with it as if it were a living being. ... This fact that a sexual difference exists in the play-impulse, that a boy gets more pleasure from a horse and rider and a soldier than from a doll, while with the girl the opposite is the case, is proof that an hereditary connection exists between the perception of certain things (horse, doll, etc.), and the feeling of pleasure, as well as between this latter and the impulse to play.[402]

• From The Diary of a Young Girl (The Definitive Edition) (2020)

  look outside at God and nature, I was happy, just plain happy. Peter, as long as people feel that kind of happiness within themselves, the joy of nature, health and much more besides, they’ll always be able to recapture that happiness. Riches, prestige, everything can be lost. But the happiness in your own heart can only be dimmed; it will always be there, as long as you live, to make you happy again. Whenever you’re feeling lonely or sad, try going to the loft on a beautiful day and looking outside. Not at the houses and the rooftops, but at the sky. As long as you can look fearlessly at the sky, you’ll know that you’re pure within and will find happiness once more. SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 1944 My dearest Kitty, From early in the morning to late at night, all I do is think about Peter. I fall asleep with his image before my eyes, dream about him and wake up with him still looking at me. I have the strong feeling that Peter and I aren’t really as different as we may seem on the surface, and I’ll explain why: neither Peter nor I have a mother. His is too superficial, likes to flirt and doesn’t concern herself much with what goes on in his head. Mine takes an active interest in my life, but has no tact, sensitivity or motherly understanding. Both Peter and I are struggling with our innermost feelings. We’re still unsure of ourselves and are too vulnerable, emotionally, to be dealt with so roughly. Whenever that happens, I want to run outside or hide my feelings. Instead, I bang the pots and pans, splash the water and am generally noisy, so that everyone wishes I were miles away. Peter’s reaction is to shut himself up, say little, sit quietly and daydream, all the while carefully hiding his true self. But how and when will we finally reach each other? I don’t know how much longer I can continue to keep this yearning under control.

• From The Diary of a Young Girl (The Definitive Edition) (2020)

  So onward and upward, with renewed spirits. It’ll all work out, because I’m determined to write! Yours, Anne M. Frank THURSDAY, APRIL 6, 1944 Dearest Kitty, You asked me what my hobbies and interests are and I’d like to answer, but I’d better warn you, I have lots of them, so don’t be surprised. First of all: writing, but I don’t really think of that as a hobby. Number two: genealogical charts. I’m looking in every newspaper, book and document I can find for the family trees of the French, German, Spanish, English, Austrian, Russian, Norwegian and Dutch royal famthes. I’ve made great progress with many of them, because for ! a long time I’ve been taking notes while reading biogra- I, phies or history books. I even copy out many of the passages on history. So my third hobby is history, and Father’s already bought me numerous books. I can hardly wait for the day when I’ll be able to go to the public library and ferret out Iii the information I need. Number four is Greek and Roman mythology. I have various books on this subject too. I can name the nine Muses and the seven loves of Zeus. I have the wives of Hercules, etc., etc., down pat. My other hobbies are movie stars and family photographs. I’m crazy about reading and books. I adore the history of the arts, especially when it concerns writers, poets and painters; musicians may come later. I loathe algebra, geometry and arithmetic. I enjoy all my other school subjects, but history’s my favorite! Yours, Anne M. Frank TUESDAY, APRIL 11, 1944 My dearest Kitty,

• From The Decameron (1353)

  In the course of the following day, the princess dismissed her ladies-in-waiting on the pretext of wanting to sleep, and having locked herself in her chamber, she opened the door and descended into the cavern, where she found Guiscardo waiting. After giving each other a rapturous greeting, they made their way into her chamber, where they spent a goodly portion of the day in transports of bliss. Before parting, they agreed on the wisest way of pursuing their lovemaking in future so that it should remain a secret, and then Guiscardo returned to the cavern, whilst the princess, having bolted the door behind him, came forth to rejoin her ladies-in-waiting. During the night, Guiscardo climbed back up the rope, made his way out through the aperture by which he had entered, and returned home. And now that he was conversant with the route, he began to make regular use of it. But their pleasure, being so immense and so continuous, attracted the envy of Fortune, who brought about a calamity, turning the joy of the two lovers into tears and sorrow. From time to time, Prince Tancredi was in the habit of going alone to visit his daughter, with whom he would stay and converse for a while in her chamber and then go away. And one day, after breakfast, he came down to see her, entering her room without anyone hearing or noticing, only to discover that the princess (whose name was Ghismonda) had gone into her garden with all her ladies-in-waiting. Not wishing to disturb her whilst she was enjoying her walk in the garden, he sat down to wait for her on a low stool at a corner of her bed. The windows of the room were closed, and the bed-curtains had been drawn aside, and Tancredi rested his head against the side of the bed, drew the curtain round his body as though to conceal himself there on purpose, and fell asleep. Whilst he was asleep, Ghismonda, who unfortunately had made an appointment with Guiscardo for that very day, left her attendants in the garden and stole quietly into the room, locking herself in without perceiving that anyone was there. Having opened the door for Guiscardo, who was waiting for her, they then went to bed in the usual way; but whilst they were playing and cavorting together, Tancredi chanced to wake up, and heard and saw what Guiscardo and his daughter were doing. The sight filled him with dismay, and at first he wanted to cry out to them, but then he decided to hold his peace and, if possible, remain hidden, so that he could carry out, with greater prudence and less detriment to his honour, the plan of action that had already taken shape in his mind.

• From The Diary of a Young Girl (The Definitive Edition) (2020)

  was sitting on my favorite spot on the floor. The two of us looked out at the blue sky, the bare chestnut tree glistening with dew, the seagulls and other birds glinting with silver as they swooped through the air, and we were so moved and entranced that we couldn’t speak. He stood with his head against a thick beam, while I sat. We breathed in the air, looked outside and both felt that the spell shouldn’t be broken with words. We remained like this for a long while, and by the time he had to go to the loft to chop wood, I knew he was a good, decent boy. He climbed the ladder to the loft, and I followed; during the fifteen minutes he was chopping wood, we didn’t say a word either. I watched him from where I was standing, and could see he was obviously doing his best to chop the right way and show off his strength. But I also looked out the open window, letting my eyes roam over a large part of Amsterdam, over the rooftops and on to the horizon, a strip of blue so pale it was almost invisible. “As long as this exists,” I thought, “this sunshine and this cloudless sky, and as long as I can enjoy it, how can I be sad?” The best remedy for those who are frightened, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere they can be alone, alone with the sky, nature and God. For then and only then can you feel that everything is as it should be and that God wants people to be happy amid nature’s beauty and simplicity. As long as this exists, and that should be forever, I know that there will be solace for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances. I firmly believe that nature can bring comfort to all who suffer. Oh, who knows, perhaps it won’t be long before I can share this overwhelming feeling of happiness with someone who feels the same as I do. Yours, Anne P.S. Thoughts: To Peter. We’ve been missing out on so much here, so very much, and for such a long time. I miss it just as much as you do. I’m not talking about external things, since we’re well provided for in that sense; I mean the internal things. Like you, I long for freedom and fresh air, but I think we’ve been amply compensated for their loss. On the inside, I mean. This morning, when I was sitting in front of the window and taking a long, deep

• From The Great Transformation (2006)

  We have no idea how long it took Gotama to recover his health and attain the supreme enlightenment after he had devised this regimen. 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!”88

• From The Great Transformation (2006)

  The chronicler omitted the Deuteronomist polemic against the north, and looked forward to the reestablishment of the united kingdom of David. He gave great prominence to Hezekiah’s reforms, and imagined him inviting all the tribes, from Dan to Beersheba, to celebrate Passover in Jerusalem. 67 There was no peroration condemning the northern kingdom after the disaster of 722, and no account of the Assyrians importing foreigners into the region. The chronicler did not want to ostracize the northern tribes or those who had not gone into exile. His aim was to unite the people of Yahweh around their sanctuary. The first version of Chronicles probably concluded with the consecration of the second temple’s foundations in 520. It was true, the chronicler admitted, that some of the old priests wept aloud, remembering the glories of the old temple. But others raised their voices in delight, “and nobody could distinguish the shouts of joy from the sound of the people’s weeping; for the people shouted so loudly that the noise could be heard far away.” 68 Pain and joy were inextricably combined at this complex moment. Yes, there was sorrow for the tragedies of the past, but there was also happiness and anticipation. A new beginning had been made, and the people of Israel, reunited in Jerusalem, seemed, like the servant, to be calling out to the whole world. S hortly after the Jews had completed their temple, Athens embarked on another important political change. The tyranny of the Peisistrids had run its usual course, and Athenians were now eager for a greater share in government. In 510, however, Sparta invaded Athens, hoping to replace the Peisistrid tyrant with a pro-Spartan puppet, but the Athenians rebelled, and with the help of Cleisthenes, son of the tyrant of Sicyon, they expelled the Spartans, abolished the tyranny, and installed Cleisthenes as city magistrate. During his year in office (508–507), Cleisthenes introduced some startling reforms. 69 He completely reorganized the ancient tribal system, in a way that weakened the authority of the aristocratic leaders. He also redesigned and enlarged Solon’s Council of Four Hundred: it now had five hundred members, who were chosen from each of the new tribes. Members were elected annually from the middle classes, and could hold office only twice in their lifetime, which meant that most farmers, artisans, and merchants would serve on the council at some point, and thus became citizens in an entirely new and meaningful way. Athens was still ruled by nine magistrates, elected from the upper classes, who were responsible for the festivals, the army, and the administration of justice; they were answerable to the aristocratic Council of Elders, which met on the rocky hillock of the Areopagus, near the agora. Even though the nobility still governed the city, the Council of Five Hundred and the People’s Assembly could challenge any abuse of power.

• 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 Sexual Life of Catherine M. (2001)

  There was an exception: at an improvised orgy where half the participants had brought along the other half who were novices. I found myself alone for a long time on the thick black carpet of the bathroom with a blonde who had curves everywhere: cheeks, neck, breasts and buttocks of course, even down to the ankles. I was struck by her majestic name, she was called Léone. Léone had taken a little persuading before going with the flow. Now she was completely naked, like a golden Buddha in his temple. I was a little lower than her because she was sitting on the step that ran all the way round the raised bath. How had we ended up in that confined space when it was a huge, comfortable apartment? Perhaps because she had been indecisive and because I, once again, had felt compelled to take on the role of attentive initiator? My whole face burrowed noisily in her fleshy vulva. I had never sucked on such a swollen extremity and it really did fill my mouth, as Marseillais say, like an giant apricot. I latched onto her labia like a leech, then I dropped the fruit and stretched my tongue so far I almost tore its root, the better to dive into the extraordinary softness of her opening, a softness which makes the smoothness of breasts and shoulders pale into insignificance. She was not the wriggling sort, she let out short, little moans, as soft as everything else about her. They resonated with sincerity and they gave me a tremendous feeling of exultation. As I put myself to good use suckling the little raised knot of flesh, it was so good letting myself go as I listened to her raptures! When we had all got dressed again with the fun and confusion found in sports club changing rooms, Paul, who spoke with less tact than the others, turned to her and asked: ‘So? That was good, wasn’t it? Don’t we think she was right to let herself be talked into it?’ she lowered her eyes and put a lot of emphasis on the first word as she replied that one person had certainly made an impression on her. I thought: ‘Please, God, let it be me!’

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

  I curve my back still further and lift my head to offer more resistance to Jacques’ hips as they smack more sharply against my arse. On the slopes of the little hill we’re overlooking, the vines have been replaced by scrub. When my cunt has been sensitised to its very depths, I just have to close my eyelids and, through my eyelashes, I can see the village of Latour-de-France over to the right. I still have the faculty to think to myself: ‘There’s Latour-de-France’ and to appreciate not for the first time its picturesque position on an outcrop of rock in the middle of the valley. The landscape spreads wider before me. I recognise the moment when my pleasure won’t go any further (when I’ve climaxed, however intense it may have been) and I let Jacques come; he paces his thrusts more slowly until the final three or four of orgasm, while my mind abandons itself to another fulfilling pleasure: floating freely, it hovers over and follows the contours of each hill, clearly distinguishing each from the next, and sinking into the inky magic of the mountains in the background. I so love this constantly changing landscape, revealed as a series of planes falling heavily in front of each other, and right there and then I am happy to be flooded and overflowing with cum welling up in the depths of my belly.

• 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.