Longing

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 Letter to the Hebrews (The New Daily Study Bible) (2002)

  When we listen to people planning and arguing and thinking aloud, we get the impression of a vast number of things in this world which are known to be desirable but which are dismissed as impossible. People spend the greater part of their lives putting limitations on the power of God. Faith is the ability to take hold of that grace which is sufficient for all things in such a way that the things which are humanly impossible become divinely possible. With God, all things are possible; and, therefore, the word impossible has no place in the vocabulary of the individual Christian or of the Christian Church. STRANGERS AND NOMADSHebrews 11:13–16 All these died without obtaining possession of the promises. They only saw them from far away and greeted them from afar, and they admitted that they were strangers and sojourners upon the earth. Now, people who speak like that make it quite clear that they are searching for a fatherland. If they were thinking of the land from which they had come out, they would have had time to return. In point of fact, they were reaching out after something better, I mean, the heavenly country. It was because of that that God was not ashamed to be called their God, for he had prepared a city for them. NONE of the patriarchs entered into the full possession of the promises that God had made to Abraham. To the end of their days they were nomads, never living a settled life in a settled land. They had to be constantly moving on. Certain great permanent truths emerge from them. (1) They lived as permanent strangers. The writer to the Hebrews uses three vivid Greek words about them. (a) In 11:13, he calls them xenoi. Xenos is the word for a stranger and a foreigner. In the ancient world, the fate of strangers was hard. They were regarded with hatred and suspicion and contempt. In Sparta, xenos was the equivalent of barbaros, barbarian. One man writes complaining that he was despised ‘because I am a xenos’. Another writes that, however poor a home is, it is better to live at home than epi xenēs, in a foreign country. When clubs had their common meal, those who sat down to it were divided into members and xenoi. Xenos can even mean a refugee. All their lives, the patriarchs were foreigners in a land that was never their own. (b) In 11:9, he uses the word paroikein, to stay for a time, of Abraham. A paroikos was a resident alien. The word is used of the Jews when they were captives in Babylon and in Egypt. Anyone called paroikos was not considered much above a slave in the social scale and had to pay an alien tax. Such people were always outsiders and only became members of the community as a result of payment.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  F 13 Love long Concealed OLLOWING A DISPUTE WITH THE counsellor of the Lord of the Province of Osumi, the samurai Jiuzayemon Fatjibana retired from official life. He lived very comfortably with his wife and son in a remote village. His son, Tamanosuke, was at that time fifteen years old, and so beautiful that people thought it a pity to leave him hidden in this remote village, and not to make him a well-known samurai in some large town. But when Jiuzayemon thought that his son was old enough to serve a Prince as a page, he sent him to the capital, Yedo. He also caused his servant, Kakubel Kanazawa, to accompany him. This man had served him for many years, and was fifty years old and had great experience of life. Before leaving him, his father gave his son some good advice, telling him to conduct himself bravely and to defend his honour to the death. But his mother whispered for a moment with Kakubel, asking him to guard and protect her son, and ended by saying: 'I beg you to take particular care of my son, especially in this matter.' When Tamanosuke and Kakubel were some distance from the house, Tamanosuke asked: 'Did not my mother tell you not to deliver love-letters to me if a samurai should send me one? But if you refuse to oblige a man who sends me love-letters, you will ad heartlessly. You will be a cruel man. I want to be loved by some great samurai, since that is one of the best things in this life of ours. If no one loves me, I shall hate my beautiful face. Once in Great China, a prevalent poet of the Province of Yoshu said in one of his poems, speaking of a young boy: "A cruel youth without a heart." I wish you to feel sympathy for pederasty, O Kakubel.' Kakubel answered: 'But of course, young master! If everybody were as scrupulous as your mother, such a thing as honourable love between samurai would not exist. I shall act quite in accordance with your wishes.' And they laughed together. After a long and troublesome journey they at last reached Yedo. Tamanosuke was presented by a friend of his father's to the Prince of the Province of Aezu, who was charmed with him and immediately engaged him as a page, and took him to the Province of Aezu with him. Tamanosuke was greatly attached to this Lord, and very polite to the other courtiers, of whom this Lord made him his favourite. Compared with Tamanosuke's beauty, all the other pages were as flowers hidden behind a fence from the rays of the sun. One summer evening Tamanosuke was playing ball with the other pages in the palace garden. He was the best player of all, and people watched and admired his grace and skill. Suddenly his eyes grew haggard, his body began to tremble, and he was seized with convulsions in all his limbs.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  He had written a book in four volumes, called A Collection of Stories Pure as Crystal in which he had recorded in every detail everything that he knew of any of Sennojyo's actions and gestures. In it he mentioned even such a trifling matter as a black mole on the actor's back. He had loved Sennojyo with all his heart from the first day the latter had appeared upon the stage; but some time afterwards he had wearied of all earthly joys and had hidden himself away from society. Sennojyo had been greatly grieved at not being able to find this man again, and always bitterly regretted his disappearance. Someone informed him that his patron was living miserably on the bank of the Kamo, and he burst into tears, saying: 'Truly the destiny of man is variable. If he had let me know of his situation, I should not have left him in such misery. I have written him many letters to his house in Owari, but he has never answered me. I sorrowfully thought he had forgotten me, as frequently happens with us poor actors.' That night Sennojyo received his patrons in the tea-house with the greatest cordiality; but at dawn he went to the bank of the river Kamo to look for his former patron. He went alone, without a servant, along the gritty and pebbly river bank, with the river flowing at his side. At last he reached the bridge, and called: 'Samboku, my dear Owari patron! 'But no one answered him. It was the twenty-fourth of November, and not yet very light; therefore he could not distinguish the faces of the wretched men lying under the bridge. There were many beggars and vagabonds there. Then he remembered that his patron had a little scar on his neck; so he Started to examine all the sleepers closely, and after a long search found his man. 'You are cruel, 'he said. 'I have kept calling you, and you never answered.'And he wept for pity and joy at finding his old lover again, and chatted with him a little of past days and of their former love. The morning air was fresh, and to warm the two of them Sennojyo poured out the wine which he had brought, and they both drank. When the sky grew light in the East he could distinguish his old lover's features. He had lost all refinement, and Sennojyo was very sorry for this. He tenderly caressed the scurfed feet, and lay down with the old man under the bridge. Day came and people began to pass over the bridge; and the time came for the announcement of the theatre programme. Sennojyo was obliged to retire secretly, for he could not Stay there in the sight of all. He said to the old man: 'I beg you to wait for me here this evening.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Falling One by one. 58. Deep Light.I have no wish for A frivolous or coquettish existence, I want the deep life of love. have set up the double screen Against a wind balmed with the plum trees. Come to me and I will love you In the tender light of a veiled moon, I will love you, far from the plum trees. Yet afterwards in bed I know I shall sulk and weep; Frogs in the garden pool All night, all night. 59. Snow Night.There are two in the small room On this cold snow night. Pretty half-meanings As they tease each other, Hair she has just washed And cannot manage. 'You get on my nerves,' she says, 'Always chewing your toothpick.' 60. Spring Night.This dream of a Spring night Grows complicated. The smell of his body lies on the air. The cloudy sky and my ringed eyes Are veiled. Are we not a couple Made of flower and butterfly? Well, well, I mean to say. 61. Love Night.The cuckoo has sung all night And at first they did not sleep at all. There is sweet slumber after love With a rounded arm for pillow. The lamp was fetched away Without their noticing. 62. Moon and Plum Tree. The moon and the plum tree part not On a very clear night, But rather lie smiling to the snow. Not a word is said, But the scent the plum tree cannot hold Goes up toward the moon. And look at the innocent whiteness Of the plum tree. 63. Bamboos and Sparrows. This sparrow lighting Harmoniously On the bamboo. In love things do not go quite so Harmoniously. It is I alone who love and suffer. I hate his beastly face. 64. Sky before Dawn.Sky just at dawn between the trees The cuckoo flies and hides. I comb the wet hair on my temples I am wetted and am happy. I am so wet. It rains this morning. 65. Myosotis.If I clasp my hands, my sleeve: Dew and perfume and colour. His picture remains in absence Myosotis, memory. If he flowered on a branch I would plant him, And love him every Lonely hour. 66. Flower of the Cherry.It is because they fall That they are admirable. What is the good of clinging Without hope? Clinging violently to the branches, Withered on all the branches, Soiled by the birds. 67. Pillow.How many nights We have not come together. The plovers of Awaji island Mingle their crying. I am alone and wretched In this plank custom's hut, Alone and loft. That moonbeam entering to my pillow, Would it were, Just for once. 68. The Pine Tree.The wind in the roof Is playing on three Strings, Moon, snow and flower. Right from the very small Pushing of the Spring The green of the green pine Changes not. What do the infant cranes cry Fluttering from the nest In the green pine top? 'Long live the King! 'they cry. The green pine lives for ever.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  I no longer felt better than her, or like this was a game or competition or a question of perfection or who was right or anything. I no longer judged her for being a mother and not having this shit under control, for what she might be putting her children through. I saw that she was me and I was her. It wasn’t that she was me when I was in a bad way. Even when I was in a better place, I was completely her. Yet knowing all this—seeing in these women what I could be like and feel like—did nothing to dull my cravings when they arose. So strange how the book, now in flow, and Dominic, so lovely, could be enough for a few days, and then suddenly they were just furniture: objects in my orbit. They floated in the nothingness but didn’t fill it. For the next two nights after speaking with Claire, I fought to keep myself from going to the rocks. In the mornings I would waken glad that I hadn’t. I had resisted. On the third night, it was like I was free again. I didn’t need anything. But then, with no warning: no resistance, no fight or second thought or question—no thought of Diana or the group—I found myself bundling up in a long skirt and a thick cream-colored sweater. I took a blanket out with me to the rocks and sat there, waves lapping up and stinging my feet. So strange how Theo had gone from someone who wasn’t anything at all to me to someone I suddenly needed. Was it ever real: the way we felt about another person? Or was it always a projection of something we needed or wanted regardless of them? “It’s fine,” I said to myself. “It is absolutely all fine.” He wasn’t there yet. But the ocean itself was exciting. I could watch it anytime from my balcony, but to be touching it was a different kind of thrill. Why didn’t I do things more often that excited me? Why did it take some strange swimmer boy to get me out here? Couldn’t the ocean itself be enough, the lure and adventure of its wild, salty licks? I texted Claire. i’m sorry if I judged you. or if you felt judged. I only wanted to differentiate things in my mind for myself so that I would no longer have to feel pain i did it as a self-protective measure i was trying to make sense of things or have a linear box in the big bad void Are you high? she texted back. no, I wrote. I’m back on the rocks

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  My soul, I envy the love of cats. 17. Night Waiting. I have waited all night. It is midnight and I burn for love. Towards dawn I pillow my head on my folded arms In case I may see him in dream. I hate these blustering birds. 18. Intimacy. Two in their little room Far from other people and from life. The silence of boiling water, And she says: 'Listen to the wind In the pine tops. 19. Small Hours. Midnight has passed and she wakes And looks to left and right, There is no one. She only sees the long sleeve of her nightgown To left and right. 20. Knots in the Bamboo. The nightingale Climbing a bamboo Stem Sings his love at every knot, At every knot of it. The season of long night is coming When the leaves of the sainfoin redden. I weep at every midnight. 21. The Letter. If there were no moon I would read it by the Winter snow light, Or in Summer by the fireflies, Or if there were no moon or snow or fireflies I would read it by the light of my heart. 22. Spring all in Flower. Spring all in flower And the dark Stain of the pine forest On the watershed of the Sumida. The gracious cherry trees reflected In that deep water, which is love. To-day two Chinese ducks Float in the thread of the current, And I too am married. 23. Feast of Kamo. At the feast of Kamo I put rose-mallows in my hair; He never came back, and I am waiting.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  Songs of the Geishas 1. Campanula. Eglantine and campanula furtively Placed in a letter, a moon setting Beyond the plain, dew on the grass, I wait. Matsumushi singing of night, the late night, Bell far sounds, and the crying of the wild geese, All these things are love. 2.Cherry. A horse tied by the bridle To a flowering cherry. When he shakes his head There falls a snow of flowers, Flower snow, A snow of flowers. 3. Notes taken in my Bedroom. Called out by the rushes I go to my doorstep. And there is dew. Troubled heart and coloured chrysanthemums, Their deep scent is troubling And their gold colour. How pleasant is the scent of sake With a chrysanthemum petal floating. White frost is on the opened petal And the frost has Coloured and deep Transparencies. 4. Do Not Go. In the morning I hid his overcoat. Your overcoat is playing hide and seek. It is raining so. Look at the green rice field Where the wet frogs are singing. 5. Frog. I wish to keep him, but he will go to his own. I call him back, but he goes to his own. A frog jumps and goes to his own rice field And the water there. The world is leaving me. Night rain. 6. Heart. My heart, a fine rain, Life is so uncertain, Drop by drop in the mist. One is very handsome, And the other may be more sincere. This downfalling of leaves, I shall never have any luck, I will always be alone. A Stag cries and tramples the red leaves Of the red maple. My heart is torn. 7. Joy of Obscurity. Very little happiness would be enough; I see myself walking in a snow Storm to her With a net of new carps on my shoulder. I would have paper garments And, on windy Winter nights When the plovers cry, Also have my little flaming brazier of pine cones, My little red portable brazier. I could not do without that. It is true, is it not, That I could not do without that? 8. Prediction. A hole in the paper wall, Who has been so guilty? Through it I hear the breaking of a samisen string, Meaning bad luck. Yet the prediction-seller says That mine is excellent. 9. Unstable love Love is unstable. I dream of a drifting Barque. My body is limited. My thought is infinite. Things do not go as I would have them. I see him in the dream of a light sleep Or resting on one arm in place of a pillow. Audible are the bells of Mil. 10. Tamagava River. I bathed my snow skin In pure Tamagava river. Our quarrel is loosened slowly, And he loosens my hair. I am all uncombed. I will not remember him, I will not altogether forget him, I will wait for Spring. 11. Katushika. At Katushika the river water Runs gently, and the plum blossom Bursts out laughing.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  My hut must have become the resort of mice and rats since it has been unoccupied; though there is not a single piece of fish left there for such guests to enjoy. You may laugh at my poverty, dear friend. No one will regret the chrysanthemums when they fade in my garden. But if by chance you should be passing near my hut, enter, and, since I have given you the key, let the weary passers-by come in. I buried some nuts and potatoes under the north door: use them, for otherwise they will be spoiled. Takenaka sent me these provisions, and I do not like to waste them. And now I shall speak to you of myself. As you know, my eternal and incurable weakness is to fall in love with some pretty boy; and I confess to you that I have an affair here with an entrancing lad, and I hesitate to return to Kyoto. Last year, on leaving the capital, I went to my friend at Okayama in the Province of Bizen. He received me very hospitably, but I quickly grew weary there; so I went by boat to the Province of Higo, where I have a friend who is a poet and a priest of the temple of Kiyomasa, and I lived with him. One evening I was in his wonderful garden, enjoying the fresh breeze after a hot day. An artificial Stream flowed between fanciful rocks and grass-covered hillocks which had been built up there. The effect was as the dwelling of some mountain hermit, delighting in spiritual beauty and the pure pleasures of the soul. The faint song of a cuckoo rose from the density of the mighty pines behind the temple, so poignantly pure that I thought I had never heard such beautiful song in Kyoto. I thought that a cuckoo, singing in the evening in so sacred a place as the temple of Kiyomasa, would make a fitting subject for a poem. I began to compose a poem in my head, and was thinking out the rhymes and the arrangement of the syllables.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  One day it Started to rain, and several women who were making a pleasure party were caught in the shower. They all ran for shelter beneath the eaves of Hayemon's house, and chattered together: 'If we knew who lived here, we could get ourselves invited to tea and rest till the evening; and perhaps they would lend us umbrellas. They might even invite us to an agreeable supper. It is a great pity that we are not their friends.'One of them, who was older, bolder and less scrupulous than the rest, dared to open the door a little and cast a glance into the house. Then Hayemon in fury seized a bamboo cane and drove the woman away, crying: 'Get out of here, you vile female! You witch, you very poisoner, begone! 'When the terrified woman had run away, he purified the place with salt and clean sand. It is an ancient Japanese custom to spread salt and sand to purify a place which has been polluted. Without doubt there was never in all the great town of Yedo a fiercer enemy of women. [image file=image_rsrc1KM.jpg] 8 A Samurai becomes a Beggar through his Love for a PageAYOUNG SAMURAI NAMED GUZAYEMON Toyawa lived in a house by himself in his master's palace near Toranomon. One day, being at liberty, he went out for a walk, as he was tired of his bachelor solitude. When young he had been famous for his manly beauty, and had lived in the town of Matsuyama in the Province of South Shikoku; but he had at length left his former master and come to Yedo. There he was soon engaged by another Lord at the same salary which he had received at Matsuyama. His house was in the Shibuya district. Mid-spring had come, and the weather was delightful. He went to visit the shrine of the god Tudo at Meguro. Passing by a little water-fall in the temple garden, he saw a beautiful young man. This youth was wearing a large hat decorated with silk and kept in place by a pale blue ribbon: his wide-sleeved robe was as purple as the glory of morning flowers: he carried at his girdle two swords in wonderfully-ornamented scabbards: he was walking at ease carrying a branch of yellow flowers in his hand. His beauty was such that Guzayemon for a moment asked himself if the god Roya had not taken human form, or if a peony had not come to life and was walking in the spring sunlight. He was fascinated by the young man, who was already accompanied by two shaven courtiers and several servants, and followed him.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  Or perhaps it was not for the sake of control over the terror of nature at all that they created their gods. Perhaps it was because the world, with all its beauty, was not enough. Simply being alive was not enough. The Greeks needed a new fantasy to make the world more exciting. With their war, wine, poetry, gods, and food, they needed to get high. Maybe we all did. Yes, it certainly seemed like the human instinct, to get high on someone else, an external entity who could make life more exciting and relieve you of your own self, your own life, even for just a moment. Maybe once that person became too real, too familiar, they could no longer get you high—no longer be a drug—and that was why you grew tired of them. That was what had happened to me and Jamie. It was only when he was pushing me away—and then after he was gone—that he became a drug. It was so much easier for someone to be the drug before or after the relationship. When they were absent they were exciting. When they were right there it was a different story. But some human beings did want simple partnership: someone with whom to weather life, like Annika and Steve. How did they stay so into each other living side by side, everything out in the open? How did they simultaneously have each other and still want each other? To want what you had—now, that was an art, a gift maybe. But whenever I felt I finally “had” Jamie, the nights in his bed seemed suffocating. I preferred the acquiring, the almost-getting, the moment before he was mine again. What was left to look forward to after you got a person? To “have” seemed nauseating. Then again, I was the sick one—the one in group therapy—not Annika. The women in group told themselves they were looking for symbiotic companionship, something like Annika and Steve. They thought they wanted a man to show up for them. But I didn’t believe them. They were choosing men who couldn’t be present, so it probably wasn’t really what they wanted. It certainly wasn’t what Claire or Diana wanted. It wasn’t what I wanted.

• From Comrade Loves of the Samurai (1972)

  9 An Actor loved his Patron, even as a Flint Seller T HERE WAS ONCE A CELEBRATED FEMALE character-actor named Sennojyo. He had made his first appearance on the Stage at the age of fourteen, and at forty-two years of age was Still so popular that people loved to see him portray feminine characters. His greatest success was in the drama called While going toward Kawashi to an assignation , which was performed for three years at Yedo. But one autumn an epidemic disease of the spinal marrow broke out in Yedo, and to this Sennojyo fell a victim. His back grew bent and deformed, and he altogether lost his grace of body. But he was gifted with high talent and intelligence, and did not lose his popularity because of his disease. Many employers even found it difficult to secure him for their comedies; for, when he was a little drunk, his cheeks became rosy, giving him such charm that many men fell in love with him. Several well-known priests lost their heads about him, and spent so much money to have him that they were obliged to sell the precious relics of their temples to gain an interview. Some of these were even so mad as to sell the holy trees of the sacred forests, for which they were driven from their temples and became beggars. Many clerks also spent their employers' money to see Sennojyo privately, and ruined their masters. Once, when he was Still young, Sennojyo took his diary from a little private chest. Its title was My experiences with many men, and it was a very interesting record. He Started to read it through. He had noted down in it all his impressions, from the very first day, of widely different people. Sometimes he would go to a samurai's room. By the mere caress of his hand he would soothe a demon in an angry man. He would make men of refinement or priests even out of farmers. In a word, he had treated each of his different patrons in the way most suitable to him. He shut the diary with a smile. But suddenly he thought of one of his patrons who had been most devoted to him. Sennojyo did not know where this man was. That evening a violent gale blew up, and snow began to fall. The mountains to the north of Kyoto were already white. A wretched-looking man was Standing under the Gojyo bridge. He lived on the bank of the river Kamo, and there he slept during the night. In the morning he gathered pebbles from the river Kurama and sold them in Kyoto for gun flints. Those that he had been unable to sell he threw away in the evening. His life under this bridge was very miserable. He had formerly been one of the rich men of the Province of Owari. He had been given over to male love.

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

  On the 17th of September Charles sailed from the harbor of Flushing for Spain with a fleet of fifty-six sails, his two sisters (Mary, formerly queen of Hungary, and regent of the Low Countries, and Eleanor, the widow of King Francis of France), and a hundred and fifty select persons of the imperial household. After a boisterous voyage, and a tedious land-journey, he arrived, Feb. 3, 1557, at the Convent of St. Gerome in Yuste, which he had previously selected for his retreat. The resolution to exchange the splendors of the world for monastic seclusion was not uncommon among the rulers and nobles of Spain; and the rich convents of Montserrat and Poblet (now in ruins) had special accommodations for royal and princely guests. Charles had formed it during the lifetime of the Empress Isabella, and agreed with her that they would spend the rest of their days in neighboring convents, and be buried under the same altar. In 1542 he announced his intention to Francisco de Borgia; but the current of events involved him in a new and vain attempt to restore once more the Holy Roman Empire in the fullness of its power. Now his work was done, and he longed for rest. His resolution was strengthened by the desire to atone for sins of unchastity committed after the death of his wife.324 Yuste is situated in the mountainous province of Estremadura, about eight leagues from Plasencia and fifty leagues from Valladolid (then the capital of Spain), in a well-watered valley and a salubrious climate, and was in every way well fitted for the wishes of the Emperor.325 Here he spent about eighteen months till his death,—a remarkable instance of the old adage, Sie transit gloria mundi. His Cloister Life. There is something grand and romantic, as well as sad and solemn, in the voluntary retirement of a monarch who had swayed a scepter of unlimited power over two hemispheres, and taken a leading part in the greatest events of an eventful century. There is also an idyllic charm in the combination of the innocent amusements of country life with the exercises of piety. The cloister life of Charles even more than his public life reveals his personal and religious character. It was represented by former historians as the life of a devout and philosophic recluse, dead to the world and absorbed in preparation for the awful day of judgment;326 but the authentic documents of Simancas, made known since 1844, correct and supplement this view. He lived not in the convent with the monks, but in a special house with eight rooms built for him three years before. It opened into gardens alive with aromatic plants, flowers, orange, citron, and fig trees, and protected by high walls against intruders. From the window of his bedroom he could look into the chapel, and listen to the music and prayers of the friars, when unable to attend.

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

  It is the Holy, Spirit who lifts us up to Christ on the wings of faith, and brings him down to us, and thus unites heaven and earth. A view quite similar to that of Berengar seems to have obtained about that time in the Anglo-Saxon Church, if we are to judge from the Homilies of Aelfric, which enjoyed great authority and popularity.745 § 130. Lanfranc and the Triumph of Transubstantiation. The chief opponent of Berengar was his former friend, Lanfranc, a native of Pavia (b. 1005), prior of the Convent of Bet in Normandy (1045), afterwards archbishop of Canterbury (1070–1089), and in both positions the predecessor of the more distinguished Anselm.746 He was, next to Berengar, the greatest dialectician of his age, but used dialectics only in support of church authority and tradition, and thus prepared the way for orthodox scholasticism. He assailed Berengar in a treatise of twenty-three chapters on the eucharist, written after 1063, in epistolary form, and advocated the doctrine of transubstantiation (without using the term) with its consequences.747 He describes the change as a miraculous and incomprehensible change of the substance of bread and wine into the very body and blood of Christ.748 He also teaches (what Radbert had not done expressly) that even unworthy communicants (indigne sumentes) receive the same sacramental substance as believers, though with opposite effect.749 Among the less distinguished writers on the Eucharist must be mentioned Adelmann, Durandus, and Guitmund, who defended the catholic doctrine against Berengar. Guitmund (a pupil of Lanfranc, and archbishop of Aversa in Apulia) reports that the Berengarians differed, some holding only a symbolical presence, others (with Berengar) a real, but latent presence, or a sort of impanation, but all denied a change of substance. This change he regards as the main thing which nourishes piety. "What can be more salutary," he asks," than such a faith? Purely receiving into itself the pure and simple Christ alone, in the consciousness of possessing so glorious a gift, it guards with the greater vigilance against sin; it glows with a more earnest longing after all righteousness; it strives every day to escape from the world ... and to embrace in unclouded vision the fountain of life itself."750 From this time on, transubstantiation may be regarded as a dogma of the Latin church. It was defended by the orthodox schoolmen, and oecumenically sanctioned under Pope Innocent III. in 1215. With the triumph of transubstantiation is closely connected the withdrawal of the communion cup from the laity, which gradually spread in the twelfth century,751 and the adoration of the presence of Christ in the consecrated elements, which dates from the eleventh century, was enjoined by Honorius III. in 1217, and gave rise to the Corpus Christi festival appointed by Urban IV., in 1264. The withdrawal of the cup had its origin partly in considerations of expediency, but chiefly in the superstitious solicitude to guard against profanation by spilling the blood of Christ.

• From How God Became King (2012)

  Here, then, is the great biblical theme that enables us to understand what the gospels are saying about God—not just any “god,” but Israel’s God, the covenant God, the creator. That YHWH will come back was the underlying theological narrative of a great deal of Second Temple literature, giving direction not only to thinkers and writers but to activists and would-be leaders, as we see in the great Temple-cleansing and Temple-rebuilding projects of the Maccabees, of Herod, of the final ill-fated would-be messiah Simon bar-Kochba. That he had not yet done so was the constant ache, the nagging sorrow both for the pious, praying the Psalms and waiting patiently, and for the pragmatists, knowing that until he came back Israel would not be free of foreign domination. The book of Exodus ends with the divine presence coming at last to dwell in the newly built tabernacle. The Hebrew scriptures as a whole end with the hope that the larger-scale story that mirrors that early, prototypical narrative will have a similar ending. The problem is that nobody knows when or how this will happen. The story the gospels are telling, once we turn down the overly loud volume of the second speaker, which has simply been shouting, “He’s divine! He’s divine!” is the story of how YHWH came back to his people at last. Looking for the Right Thing At this point we have to be careful and once more get some critical distance from the main streams of our own recent traditions. It all depends on looking for the right thing. It has been popular for well over a hundred years to see the explicitly high Christology of John as contrasted with the implicitly low Christology of the synoptics. According to this view, John thinks Jesus is divine, but Matthew, Mark, and Luke basically don’t. True, they push the boundaries here and there, but they are still telling the story of the “human” Jesus, while John is telling the story of the “divine” Jesus. This contrast is simply wrong—on both sides. John has been made the spokesman for the kind of “high Christology” with which devout Christians in recent centuries have been trying to oppose post-Enlightenment skepticism; and the skeptics have replied by declaring that John is late, nonhistorical, and therefore irrelevant. The skeptics, in turn, have made the synoptics their spokesmen; in them they see the human Jesus, admittedly already distorted, but still visible. But none of this dialogue of the deaf has paid attention to the biblical story of God as we have just briefly sketched it.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  The vet hadn’t exactly said it would all be fine, but she didn’t seem particularly concerned either. I felt strangely jealous that Annika would come home to see the dog. After my mother died, I longed for my sister to take some time off from college to be with me. I verbalized this one time, a few days after the funeral, that maybe she might delay her return to school. She was sitting on my bed behind me, playing with my hair, which was something my mother used to do every night before I went to sleep. It was very quiet; the only sound I could hear was the gentle brush of her fingers against my scalp. “Please stay with me,” I said. “I need you.” But she told me she had exams, and while she wanted to stay with me, she had to go back or she wouldn’t complete the semester. I felt totally rejected, but I did not judge her. I looked up to her, and my world had already been so destroyed by the death of my mother that I couldn’t afford to be angry with her. But it hurt, nonetheless. So instead I judged myself. I made myself wrong for needing someone, for revealing that need. I needed more than the universe could give me. Clearly my feelings were too big for the universe to hold, too disgusting. I would not put them out there like that again. I didn’t even want to have to feel them myself. Well, now I was feeling again and I did not want Annika coming home. If she returned there was no way I could just wander out to the ocean alone at night. I guess I could still go to the rocks and not tell her where I was going—I could lie and say I was going across town or to a café to see some acoustic guitar bullshit. But if she saw me out the window, what would I say I was doing? She would start asking questions. Also, I had a new fantasy. I wanted to ask Theo if he would maybe come with me to the house and stay for a night. I didn’t know how I would get him there. Certainly he couldn’t drag himself across the beach. I doubted he would want me to carry him. But maybe I could get one of those little sand-wagon things, or a bicycle with a wagon on the back. I had already planned this visit, fully, in my head. I wanted to have sex with him on a bed. I didn’t even care if he slept over or not. I just wanted a place to be with him where we could relax that wasn’t freezing and where we weren’t looking around for people to catch us. The way I felt when we kissed or when he went down on me—I wanted to create that feeling and live in that for as long as I could.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  The surfers began to come in, but there was no sign of Theo. I always wondered where the surfers put their keys, their wallets. Out of all the things they did—choosing a wave, standing up on their boards, staying on their boards, somehow not dying—it seemed the most interesting to me where they put their stuff. Did they have secret compartments in their wet suits? Wouldn’t their phones get ruined? Maybe they didn’t bring their phones. There were definitely a lot of girls waiting to get texted back. I waited for hours, but Theo never came. He was probably avoiding me. Or maybe he was on land, out with a bunch of other young people. I imagined them drinking beer on a roof somewhere, setting off fireworks. The group laughed in unison, the tinkling of their voices echoing in the brisk Venice air. They didn’t give a fuck about anything. He was at the center of the group, lighting the fireworks and grinning. No, he was sitting over to the side of the group, sullen and mysterious. There were girls in the group—surfer girls with long beach hair, who smelled like vanilla and coconut. They wanted him. They wanted him for his distance. In turns they each came over to him, offering a hit off a joint, or a beer. He could have any of them he wanted. He could kiss them right there, up on the roof, and then lead them by the hand inside the house. But as each girl approached him, he held up his hand, silently. What an asshole, really. Why was he so sullen? Was he thinking about someone else? I pretended he was thinking about me. It made me happy for a moment. Then I felt a flush of shame for being so stupid. I went back inside and fell asleep cradling Dominic. I had given my power away to Garrett and I didn’t like the feeling. It reminded me of the past year with Jamie, only Garrett was someone much stupider. It was like I had taken that longing for Jamie and transplanted it onto the next closest body. How had I ended up here again? When I woke up in the middle of the night I had to pee like a motherfucker. I raced to the toilet and sat down, but nothing would come out. I squeezed out a few drops and they burned. Uh oh. I crawled back into bed hoping it wasn’t what I thought it was. But then I had to pee again ten minutes later. “Jesus fuck, why?” I whimpered, curling up in a fetal position. Dominic licked my cheek. He seemed to understand that I was hurting. He whined a little. I whined back at him and we whined together.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  She had been in pain but couldn’t surrender—not until she knew it was truly over between her and the objects of her affection. It wasn’t enough for the tennis boys to ignore her texts. They would have to go further. They would have to tell her she disgusted them and it was never happening again. Even that might not be enough. In truth what she needed was to have no remaining options at all, no one left to fuck. She would have to burn through all of the tennis boys in Los Angeles, maybe in the state of California. Perhaps again in the future, the pain of not hearing from her conquests—the pain of waiting—would outweigh the potential for sparkle itself. Diana would come back to group and get strong for just a day or for a few weeks. But the moment she got a text, the moment that glitter reached out to her, she would forget what that pain had felt like. She would want only the glitter. Euphoric recall of past glitter would blind her to the suffering it had caused. Then, the group would become just an afterthought: a place for sick people to go, but not for her. She was not so bad off as the sick people. When she called me I could hear it in her voice. Who could blame her? Somehow she had gotten another taste of sparkle. Now that she had a taste or saw its potential she was going for it again. When she looked back at the group she saw sick, miserable humans, something she would want to block out having ever been a part of. But the women in the group would see her as the sick, miserable one. They thought she would either come back or face devastation. But they’d forgotten the sensation of what it was like out there, to be in the throes of madness. I didn’t tell Diana about Theo, either. I took Dominic for a quick walk. He began pulling me in the direction of Oakwood Park, but I didn’t have the energy for it. I held the leash tightly as he yanked and skipped in place, whimpering with his head pointing in that direction. I knew that I should give him what he wanted, a little piece of that effortless happiness, but I couldn’t play wolf woman today. My mind was too much elsewhere, already on the rocks, waiting, waiting for Theo to surface and transform my perception. My mind was already in the ocean. I decided I would call Claire. “How are you doing, dearest?” I asked. “I’m better,” she said. “David called. I’m seeing him tomorrow. I told him he isn’t giving me enough of what I need. I haven’t hung myself from any silk scarves. So I guess that’s progress?” “Good,” I said. “And you?” “I’ve done it again,” I said. “I’ve fallen hard. Only this time I think it’s real.” “The surfer?” asked Claire.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  It would be difficult for any woman, but there was just no way that Sappho, being Sappho, would be able to play it cool or stay detached. And so she got hooked. I had done all the drugs and now I was at the place where the addict goes to wait for her dealer. Even if she shakes and shakes, she waits. Even if he never returns, she waits. There is nothing else left. So I returned to the rocks every night and sat by the sea with a blanket around me. As the days passed I became less inflamed with pain, and more just empty. I began to feel purified as though I were a gourd and someone had spooned me out. I felt spiritual, almost holy, like I could look down at myself from the sky. There I was, a woman on the rocks by the ocean, wrapped in a blanket, waiting for the return of her lover. Everything I knew about art would say that I was a painting. I was certainly a poem. Sappho was too—her life, perhaps, unknowable, but her feelings were mine. I was mythic. And though I was convinced that I would never see him again, it was too tragic to contemplate. My body cried. But I didn’t let the nothingness eat me whole. Inside me was a small spark of hope that sent me out there every night. I would bring the wagon, just in case he appeared. I wanted to show him I would labor for him. But I also wondered if maybe it was a jinx—that if I brought the wagon he wouldn’t be there, like when you bring an umbrella and it doesn’t rain. Still, the wagon was my totem and I had to bring it. It showed my hope to the gods I didn’t even think I believed in. It was like an empty chalice waiting to be filled. Every night, I promised myself that it would be the last night I drugged Dominic. But every night I had to do it, just in case. Should Theo return, I didn’t want there to be any impediments when he came swimming up. I would take him home and we would be entwined right away. I would do anything to stay with him. I would never think of leaving him again. Sometimes I would fall asleep on the rocks. As I drifted off I would imagine that he was watching me from somewhere, seeing if I was putting in my time, testing me. Perhaps it was the gods I didn’t think I believed in who were watching me. But this is how it is with the gods and other mythic creatures. You imagine them watching you.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  I washed my face and realized that I hadn’t eaten either, but was too tired to make anything. I thought of that song, I didn’t know the music, just the words, something like “When you’re in love you’re never hungry.” Was I in love with this swimmer boy? Or was I just completely crazy? It didn’t make sense that something could feel so good, holy, and spiritual—like the gods themselves had put it there—and still not be right. It must be right, a gift for all of my suffering. But what if Theo just wanted sex? I thought about whether he was an “unavailable” man, and it seemed unlikely. I mean, I had never spent time with him out of the water. But even if he was available, I was not available—not for long anyway. What would happen when I went back to Phoenix? I fell asleep spooning Dominic and felt the kind of love I felt the first night I’d arrived in Venice. Only this was deeper, more tinged with dependency, like a heroin vibe, and I knew it wasn’t Dominic but Theo I was feeling. 29.The next morning I awoke to find a long string of texts from Jamie. He must have been drunk and stayed up all night, because the texts were in varying stages of “I want you.” He could probably smell Theo from thousands of miles away, how absorbed I was becoming. Men could smell an opening and they could smell a closing. He said he wanted to see me when I got back to Phoenix. He asked what I thought about giving things another try. I figured you got a restraining order, I wrote. I miss you Lucy. I didn’t ask him about the scientist. I’m not sure why. Maybe because I didn’t want to burst the double bubble of dopamine I now had coursing through me, first from Theo and now from Jamie. I lay around in bed for an hour, high on the potentiality of both of them, texting languidly. Jamie’s texts seemed more urgent than they had ever been, asking me questions about my return date, if I needed anything financially, if I wanted him to come pick me up and we could drive back to the desert together. I enjoyed being coy now, the elusive one for once. The independent one. That’s ok, I wrote, really, but thank you. I will see you when I get back. Then I got another text. This one from Claire. how shall I kill myself?

• From The Pisces (2018)

  On the way home in the car, I kept checking my phone but he didn’t message me right away like Adam did. I kept turning my ringer off and on. Did I want to be notified? Did I not want to be notified or just be surprised? What if he never texted me again? When I got home, a pile of what looked like brown soft-serve ice cream was waiting for me on the kitchen tile. Dominic had shit on the floor. 18.The following night, tired of waiting, I texted Garrett. I had fun last night I waited to hear back, carrying the phone with me from room to room. There was no response. I felt like Dominic’s pile of shit. Was he really going to ignore me? I had gotten a weird feeling after our kisses, that I had suffocated him or seemed too interested. I texted him again. Would you want to hang out again? And again: Hey, sorry if I seemed too eager or something. And again: Ok I’ll leave you alone now I went outside to the beach. I saw a girl bike by on the boardwalk. She had long hair to her ass and was wearing a tiny black skirt and a hot-pink crop top with her stomach showing. I thought to myself, You little slut. I didn’t think it in a mean way but as a celebratory thing. I wanted to be her in that moment. She seemed like such an independent slut. I bet she never waited for texts, just fucked guys like Garrett all the time, casually. Surfer boys who looked like Theo the swimmer too, probably. I bet she never got attached. I wanted to be like this girl, not dependent on anyone else to be okay. Slutty, but an island. She wasn’t pretending to be content without anyone while secretly wallowing in misery. She genuinely didn’t give a fuck. I walked over to the rocks to see if Theo was there, but he wasn’t: only the waves. It was still probably too early. I waited a few minutes and wondered if he was mad at me for talking about my dating life. Was he jealous? That couldn’t be possible. I wasn’t even sure if he liked me. Still, now I was being ignored by two men. This felt worse than only being ignored by one, like the hole in me had gotten bigger. Maybe the more men you put in it the more stretched it became. Maybe Claire had been wrong. But suddenly a text came through. It was Garrett. fuck you this Sunday? My heart jumped. It was brazen, not exactly romantic, but it was clear that he wanted me. I felt as though someone had suddenly injected me with good drugs. In an instant the world had gone from black and white to Technicolor again. I began walking back to the house, smiling. ok yeah good he wrote. have you heard of the Shalimar? YES, I wrote back.