Relief

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 11 of 88 · 20 per page

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  The calm and polite unconcern of Lady Middleton on the occasion was a happy relief to Elinor’s spirits, oppressed as they often were by the clamorous kindness of the others. It was a great comfort to her to be sure of exciting no interest in one person at least among their circle of friends: a great comfort to know that there was one who would meet her without feeling any curiosity after particulars, or any anxiety for her sister’s health. Every qualification is raised at times, by the circumstances of the moment, to more than its real value; and she was sometimes worried down by officious condolence to rate good-breeding as more indispensable to comfort than good-nature. Lady Middleton expressed her sense of the affair about once every day, or twice, if the subject occurred very often, by saying, “It is very shocking, indeed!” and by the means of this continual though gentle vent, was able not only to see the Miss Dashwoods from the first without the smallest emotion, but very soon to see them without recollecting a word of the matter; and having thus supported the dignity of her own sex, and spoken her decided censure of what was wrong in the other, she thought herself at liberty to attend to the interest of her own assemblies, and therefore determined (though rather against the opinion of Sir John) that as Mrs. Willoughby would at once be a woman of elegance and fortune, to leave her card with her as soon as she married. Colonel Brandon’s delicate, unobtrusive enquiries were never unwelcome to Miss Dashwood. He had abundantly earned the privilege of intimate discussion of her sister’s disappointment, by the friendly zeal with which he had endeavoured to soften it, and they always conversed with confidence. His chief reward for the painful exertion of disclosing past sorrows and present humiliations, was given in the pitying eye with which Marianne sometimes observed him, and the gentleness of her voice whenever (though it did not often happen) she was obliged, or could oblige herself to speak to him. These assured him that his exertion had produced an increase of good-will towards himself, and these gave Elinor hopes of its being farther augmented hereafter; but Mrs. Jennings, who knew nothing of all this, who knew only that the Colonel continued as grave as ever, and that she could neither prevail on him to make the offer himself, nor commission her to make it for him, began, at the end of two days, to think that, instead of Midsummer, they would not be married till Michaelmas, and by the end of a week that it would not be a match at all. The good understanding between the Colonel and Miss Dashwood seemed rather to declare that the honours of the mulberry-tree, the canal, and the yew arbour, would all be made over to her; and Mrs. Jennings had, for some time ceased to think at all of Mrs. Ferrars.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  In this state of her spirits, a letter was delivered to her from the post, which contained a proposal particularly well timed. It was the offer of a small house, on very easy terms, belonging to a relation of her own, a gentleman of consequence and property in Devonshire. The letter was from this gentleman himself, and written in the true spirit of friendly accommodation. He understood that she was in need of a dwelling; and though the house he now offered her was merely a cottage, he assured her that everything should be done to it which she might think necessary, if the situation pleased her. He earnestly pressed her, after giving the particulars of the house and garden, to come with her daughters to Barton Park, the place of his own residence, from whence she might judge, herself, whether Barton Cottage, for the houses were in the same parish, could, by any alteration, be made comfortable to her. He seemed really anxious to accommodate them and the whole of his letter was written in so friendly a style as could not fail of giving pleasure to his cousin; more especially at a moment when she was suffering under the cold and unfeeling behaviour of her nearer connections. She needed no time for deliberation or inquiry. Her resolution was formed as she read. The situation of Barton, in a county so far distant from Sussex as Devonshire, which, but a few hours before, would have been a sufficient objection to outweigh every possible advantage belonging to the place, was now its first recommendation. To quit the neighbourhood of Norland was no longer an evil; it was an object of desire; it was a blessing, in comparison of the misery of continuing her daughter-in-law’s guest; and to remove for ever from that beloved place would be less painful than to inhabit or visit it while such a woman was its mistress. She instantly wrote Sir John Middleton her acknowledgment of his kindness, and her acceptance of his proposal; and then hastened to show both letters to her daughters, that she might be secure of their approbation before her answer were sent. Elinor had always thought it would be more prudent for them to settle at some distance from Norland, than immediately amongst their present acquaintance. On that head, therefore, it was not for her to oppose her mother’s intention of removing into Devonshire. The house, too, as described by Sir John, was on so simple a scale, and the rent so uncommonly moderate, as to leave her no right of objection on either point; and, therefore, though it was not a plan which brought any charm to her fancy, though it was a removal from the vicinity of Norland beyond her wishes, she made no attempt to dissuade her mother from sending a letter of acquiescence. CHAPTER V.

• From The City of God

  36 Books That Matter: The City of God train ourselves, even here and now, to see rightly in the present as well. And, at times, that requires a certain kind of disorientation in the present so that we’ll be properly oriented in the future. You can see how rhetoric’s formational ambitions meshed well with Platonist and Manichean conversionist sensibilities there. But Augustine was not satisfied with Manicheanism. He had had doubts about it for some time, but in Mediolanum he met and listened to Ambrose, the Neoplatonist Christian bishop of the city, and found in him a congenial way of being Christian. Because of this relationship, and his growing disaffection from the Manichees, Augustine was converted to Christianity. He was baptized on Easter weekend of 387, and he left his job as a rhetoric teacher and retreated to a villa with his friends, his son, and his mother. It is his time with the Manichees, and his Platonism more broadly, that people blame for what they see as his dualism—that is, in his case, what they see as his belief that people are souls embedded in bodies that are, strictly speaking, accidental to their being; and for what other critics see as his anti-materialism—that is, what they claim is his hostility toward the idea that the material world is worth much. Now, we’ll see over the course of these lectures that neither of these understandings of his thought are very accurate. He rejected both the Manichees and the Platonists, and his reasons for doing so—explicitly laid out at much length in these lectures—were precisely since neither properly valued the human body or the material world. Eventually he made his way back from Milan to North Africa, set up a religious community in Thagaste, and became a sort of monk, living an austere life of prayer, poverty, and community with his friends. The North African Christianity of his day—what we saw of it in his youth, and what he led of it in his maturity—was unlike Christianity in other places, in some very important ways. It held a deeply hard-core group of believers, unmoved by and suspicious of the doctrinal disputes that got the Greeks and the Egyptians and all the urbane Greek- speaking Eastern Mediterranean all riled up. For them—these North

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  Mrs. Dashwood took the house for a twelvemonth; it was ready furnished, and she might have immediate possession. No difficulty arose on either side in the agreement; and she waited only for the disposal of her effects at Norland, and to determine her future household, before she set off for the west; and this, as she was exceedingly rapid in the performance of everything that interested her, was soon done.—The horses which were left her by her husband had been sold soon after his death, and an opportunity now offering of disposing of her carriage, she agreed to sell that likewise at the earnest advice of her eldest daughter. For the comfort of her children, had she consulted only her own wishes, she would have kept it; but the discretion of Elinor prevailed. Her wisdom too limited the number of their servants to three; two maids and a man, with whom they were speedily provided from amongst those who had formed their establishment at Norland. The man and one of the maids were sent off immediately into Devonshire, to prepare the house for their mistress’s arrival; for as Lady Middleton was entirely unknown to Mrs. Dashwood, she preferred going directly to the cottage to being a visitor at Barton Park; and she relied so undoubtingly on Sir John’s description of the house, as to feel no curiosity to examine it herself till she entered it as her own. Her eagerness to be gone from Norland was preserved from diminution by the evident satisfaction of her daughter-in-law in the prospect of her removal; a satisfaction which was but feebly attempted to be concealed under a cold invitation to her to defer her departure. Now was the time when her son-in-law’s promise to his father might with particular propriety be fulfilled. Since he had neglected to do it on first coming to the estate, their quitting his house might be looked on as the most suitable period for its accomplishment. But Mrs. Dashwood began shortly to give over every hope of the kind, and to be convinced, from the general drift of his discourse, that his assistance extended no farther than their maintenance for six months at Norland. He so frequently talked of the increasing expenses of housekeeping, and of the perpetual demands upon his purse, which a man of any consequence in the world was beyond calculation exposed to, that he seemed rather to stand in need of more money himself than to have any design of giving money away. In a very few weeks from the day which brought Sir John Middleton’s first letter to Norland, every thing was so far settled in their future abode as to enable Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters to begin their journey.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “Aye, my dear, that I do, indeed. And as to the house being a bad one, I do not know what the Colonel would be at, for it is as good a one as ever I saw.” “He spoke of its being out of repair.” “Well, and whose fault is that? why don’t he repair it?—who should do it but himself?” They were interrupted by the servant’s coming in to announce the carriage being at the door; and Mrs. Jennings immediately preparing to go, said,— “Well, my dear, I must be gone before I have had half my talk out. But, however, we may have it all over in the evening; for we shall be quite alone. I do not ask you to go with me, for I dare say your mind is too full of the matter to care for company; and besides, you must long to tell your sister all about it.” Marianne had left the room before the conversation began. “Certainly, ma’am, I shall tell Marianne of it; but I shall not mention it at present to any body else.” “Oh! very well,” said Mrs. Jennings rather disappointed. “Then you would not have me tell it to Lucy, for I think of going as far as Holborn to-day.” “No, ma’am, not even Lucy if you please. One day’s delay will not be very material; and till I have written to Mr. Ferrars, I think it ought not to be mentioned to any body else. I shall do that directly. It is of importance that no time should be lost with him, for he will of course have much to do relative to his ordination.” This speech at first puzzled Mrs. Jennings exceedingly. Why Mr. Ferrars was to have been written to about it in such a hurry, she could not immediately comprehend. A few moments’ reflection, however, produced a very happy idea, and she exclaimed;— “Oh, ho!—I understand you. Mr. Ferrars is to be the man. Well, so much the better for him. Ay, to be sure, he must be ordained in readiness; and I am very glad to find things are so forward between you. But, my dear, is not this rather out of character? Should not the Colonel write himself?—sure, he is the proper person.” Elinor did not quite understand the beginning of Mrs. Jennings’s speech, neither did she think it worth inquiring into; and therefore only replied to its conclusion. “Colonel Brandon is so delicate a man, that he rather wished any one to announce his intentions to Mr. Ferrars than himself.” “And so you are forced to do it. Well that is an odd kind of delicacy! However, I will not disturb you (seeing her preparing to write.) You know your own concerns best. So goodby, my dear. I have not heard of any thing to please me so well since Charlotte was brought to bed.” And away she went; but returning again in a moment,

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  As soon as Mrs. Dashwood had recovered herself, to see Marianne was her first desire; and in two minutes she was with her beloved child, rendered dearer to her than ever by absence, unhappiness, and danger. Elinor’s delight, as she saw what each felt in the meeting, was only checked by an apprehension of its robbing Marianne of farther sleep: but Mrs. Dashwood could be calm, could be even prudent, when the life of a child was at stake, and Marianne, satisfied in knowing her mother was near her, and conscious of being too weak for conversation, submitted readily to the silence and quiet prescribed by every nurse around her. Mrs. Dashwood would sit up with her all night; and Elinor, in compliance with her mother’s entreaty, went to bed. But the rest, which one night entirely sleepless, and many hours of the most wearing anxiety seemed to make requisite, was kept off by irritation of spirits. Willoughby, “poor Willoughby,” as she now allowed herself to call him, was constantly in her thoughts; she would not but have heard his vindication for the world, and now blamed, now acquitted herself for having judged him so harshly before. But her promise of relating it to her sister was invariably painful. She dreaded the performance of it, dreaded what its effect on Marianne might be; doubted whether after such an explanation she could ever be happy with another; and for a moment wished Willoughby a widower. Then, remembering Colonel Brandon, reproved herself, felt that to his sufferings and his constancy far more than to his rival’s, the reward of her sister was due, and wished any thing rather than Mrs. Willoughby’s death. The shock of Colonel Brandon’s errand at Barton had been much softened to Mrs. Dashwood by her own previous alarm; for so great was her uneasiness about Marianne, that she had already determined to set out for Cleveland on that very day, without waiting for any further intelligence, and had so far settled her journey before his arrival, that the Careys were then expected every moment to fetch Margaret away, as her mother was unwilling to take her where there might be infection.

• From Cults Inside Out: How People Get In and Can Get Out (2014)

  As the day ended we discussed what sociologist Benjamin Zablocki calls the “exit costs” cult members consider as “disincentives for leaving.” Zablocki lists “costs ranging from financial penalties, to relational commitments.”1171 I added that this might also include a sense of personal equity after much time, effort, and money have been invested and hardships endured. At this point the young man looked at his parents and me and said he was done with Amway. Despite whatever exit costs existed, he had decided to stop being an Amway distributor. He explained that it was better to cut his losses now and move on than to suffer the probable greater costs of leaving later. CHAPTER 22 FAILED INTERVENTIONS It is important to understand the basis on which a successful intervention is determined. That is, what defines “success” and “failure” in my work as a professional consultant or cult-intervention specialist? Success Historically about 75 percent of the people who have retained me to help them due to concern about someone in a cultlike group or cultic situation have experienced a successful outcome. That is, by the end of our working relationship, the person who was the focus of concern ended his or her group involvement or cultic relationship. It must be understood that my success rate includes all the people who have retained me. That means anyone who has paid me professional fees for assessment, consultation, or intervention work. This includes every billed client regardless of the level of work provided or amount of time spent in that working relationship. Clients who retain me typically expect my work to culminate in an intervention effort. This usually means that there is a set date for the intervention, which is most often agreed on before I’m retained. The intervention typically takes three to four days. Failure A failure occurs when the person who is the focus of concern decides to stay with the cultlike group or leader despite the work I performed through the consultation or intervention effort. The determination of whether my work has been a success or failure is therefore based on a simple question. Has the cult-involved person ended his or her involvement with the group or cultic situation as the direct result of my professional effort? I have participated in approximately five hundred interventions (1982–2013). I don’t typically follow up with clients unless they subsequently decide to contact me. This is my policy based on professional boundaries regarding respect for privacy. But some clients have decided to follow up with me, particularly if there is a problem. I can recall only two or three occasions when former clients contacted me to say that a person who had decided to leave a group or cultic situation by the end of an intervention effort later changed his or her mind and returned to the same group or situation. Based on this feedback from former clients, the rate of relapse after an initially successful interventions would seem to be less than 1 percent.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “Oh, did not you? But it was said, I know, very well, and by more than one; for Miss Godby told Miss Sparks, that nobody in their senses could expect Mr. Ferrars to give up a woman like Miss Morton, with thirty thousand pounds to her fortune, for Lucy Steele that had nothing at all; and I had it from Miss Sparks myself. And besides that, my cousin Richard said himself, that when it came to the point he was afraid Mr. Ferrars would be off; and when Edward did not come near us for three days, I could not tell what to think myself; and I believe in my heart Lucy gave it up all for lost; for we came away from your brother’s Wednesday, and we saw nothing of him not all Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and did not know what was become of him. Once Lucy thought to write to him, but then her spirits rose against that. However this morning he came just as we came home from church; and then it all came out, how he had been sent for Wednesday to Harley Street, and been talked to by his mother and all of them, and how he had declared before them all that he loved nobody but Lucy, and nobody but Lucy would he have. And how he had been so worried by what passed, that as soon as he had went away from his mother’s house, he had got upon his horse, and rid into the country, some where or other; and how he had stayed about at an inn all Thursday and Friday, on purpose to get the better of it. And after thinking it all over and over again, he said, it seemed to him as if, now he had no fortune, and no nothing at all, it would be quite unkind to keep her on to the engagement, because it must be for her loss, for he had nothing but two thousand pounds, and no hope of any thing else; and if he was to go into orders, as he had some thoughts, he could get nothing but a curacy, and how was they to live upon that?—He could not bear to think of her doing no better, and so he begged, if she had the least mind for it, to put an end to the matter directly, and leave him shift for himself. I heard him say all this as plain as could possibly be. And it was entirely for her sake, and upon her account, that he said a word about being off, and not upon his own. I will take my oath he never dropt a syllable of being tired of her, or of wishing to marry Miss Morton, or any thing like it. But, to be sure, Lucy would not give ear to such kind of talking; so she told him directly (with a great deal about sweet and love, you know, and all that—Oh, la! one can’t repeat such kind of things you know)—she told him directly, she had not the least mind in the world to be off, for she could live with him upon a trifle, and how little so ever he might have, she should be very glad to have it all, you know, or something of the kind. So then he was monstrous happy, and talked on some time about what they should do, and they agreed he should take orders directly, and they must wait to be married till he got a living. And just then I could not hear any more, for my cousin called from below to tell me Mrs. Richardson was come in her coach, and would take one of us to Kensington Gardens; so I was forced to go into the room and interrupt them, to ask Lucy if she would like to go, but she did not care to leave Edward; so I just run up stairs and put on a pair of silk stockings and came off with the Richardsons.”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “It is a great relief to me—what Elinor told me this morning—I have now heard exactly what I wished to hear.”—For some moments her voice was lost; but recovering herself, she added, and with greater calmness than before—“I am now perfectly satisfied, I wish for no change. I never could have been happy with him, after knowing, as sooner or later I must have known, all this.—I should have had no confidence, no esteem. Nothing could have done it away to my feelings.” “I know it—I know it,” cried her mother. “Happy with a man of libertine practices!—With one who so injured the peace of the dearest of our friends, and the best of men!—No—my Marianne has not a heart to be made happy with such a man!—Her conscience, her sensitive conscience, would have felt all that the conscience of her husband ought to have felt.” Marianne sighed, and repeated, “I wish for no change.” “You consider the matter,” said Elinor, “exactly as a good mind and a sound understanding must consider it; and I dare say you perceive, as well as myself, not only in this, but in many other circumstances, reason enough to be convinced that your marriage must have involved you in many certain troubles and disappointments, in which you would have been poorly supported by an affection, on his side, much less certain. Had you married, you must have been always poor. His expensiveness is acknowledged even by himself, and his whole conduct declares that self-denial is a word hardly understood by him. His demands and your inexperience together, on a small, very small income, must have brought on distresses which would not be the less grievous to you, from having been entirely unknown and unthought of before. Your sense of honour and honesty would have led you, I know, when aware of your situation, to attempt all the economy that would appear to you possible: and, perhaps, as long as your frugality retrenched only on your own comfort, you might have been suffered to practice it, but beyond that—and how little could the utmost of your single management do to stop the ruin which had begun before your marriage? Beyond that, had you endeavoured, however reasonably, to abridge his enjoyments, is it not to be feared, that instead of prevailing on feelings so selfish to consent to it, you would have lessened your own influence on his heart, and made him regret the connection which had involved him in such difficulties?” Marianne’s lips quivered, and she repeated the word “Selfish?” in a tone that implied—“do you really think him selfish?”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “I should be undeserving of the confidence you have honoured me with, if I felt no desire for its continuance, or no farther curiosity on its subject. I will not apologize therefore for bringing it forward again.” “Thank you,” cried Lucy warmly, “for breaking the ice; you have set my heart at ease by it; for I was somehow or other afraid I had offended you by what I told you that Monday.” “Offended me! How could you suppose so? Believe me,” and Elinor spoke it with the truest sincerity, “nothing could be farther from my intention than to give you such an idea. Could you have a motive for the trust, that was not honourable and flattering to me?” “And yet I do assure you,” replied Lucy, her little sharp eyes full of meaning, “there seemed to me to be a coldness and displeasure in your manner that made me quite uncomfortable. I felt sure that you was angry with me; and have been quarrelling with myself ever since, for having took such a liberty as to trouble you with my affairs. But I am very glad to find it was only my own fancy, and that you really do not blame me. If you knew what a consolation it was to me to relieve my heart speaking to you of what I am always thinking of every moment of my life, your compassion would make you overlook every thing else I am sure.” “Indeed, I can easily believe that it was a very great relief to you, to acknowledge your situation to me, and be assured that you shall never have reason to repent it. Your case is a very unfortunate one; you seem to me to be surrounded with difficulties, and you will have need of all your mutual affection to support you under them. Mr. Ferrars, I believe, is entirely dependent on his mother.” “He has only two thousand pounds of his own; it would be madness to marry upon that, though for my own part, I could give up every prospect of more without a sigh. I have been always used to a very small income, and could struggle with any poverty for him; but I love him too well to be the selfish means of robbing him, perhaps, of all that his mother might give him if he married to please her. We must wait, it may be for many years. With almost every other man in the world, it would be an alarming prospect; but Edward’s affection and constancy nothing can deprive me of I know.” “That conviction must be every thing to you; and he is undoubtedly supported by the same trust in your’s. If the strength of your reciprocal attachment had failed, as between many people, and under many circumstances it naturally would during a four years’ engagement, your situation would have been pitiable, indeed.”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  He put his hands gently on her hips and looked at her face. “Feel naked now.” He circled his hands over her hipbones and then pressed his thumbs gently into her stomach. “Breath in and feel naked,” he said. As he pressed she saw his chest muscles jump. “I will do this one first,” he said. He put both his hands over the flower on her breast. His touch was very light at first. “Feel,” he said. She began to feel an urgency coming from his hands. Her breast was glued to them. “You see how we are bonding.” Suddenly he flinched. “Oh,” he said, “here comes the pain of it.” “The pain of the tattoo?” “Yes, all of it is going in my arm at once.” “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay, it’s what happens. It’s lifting now. Wait, watch. Look in the air above your booby.” He removed his hands and lifted them. Following his fingers was a faint flower shape in blue and green ink, with a red blossom. He scooped it out of the air carefully. “Where shall I wear this flower?” he said. She found a place on him that was still mostly free of other tattoos. It was on his rib cage just under his left pectoral. “Touch it,” he said. She touched it. His skin was hot and very dry. “Kiss it,” he said. She kissed the skin. He smelled smoky. He closed his eyes then and held the captured tattoo to his skin. “Ouch,” he said. He drew his hand away. “Now it is on me, and your breast is naked. Look.” She looked, and her breast was entirely free. There was no ghost of the tattoo, no hint except the faintest tiny outline of what had been there. She sighed and laughed a laugh of relief. “I feel free,” she said. “Good,” he said. “Now my back? My back is the one I really don’t want anymore. I hate it. Everybody has a butterfly.” “Stand and turn and I will see,” he said. She turned and he sighed with pleasure, lightly touching the base of her spine. His fingertips had a strange focused intensity. “Ah, no. This is not merely a tramp stamp. This one was done by a hostile tattooer of great skill. He put a potent fingerblock on it. This will be most difficult. I think we must help you grow back your pussy hair first. You can’t release such a tattoo with a bald cameltoe, it won’t work.” “But that will take a week at least.” “No, I can help. It will mean my kissing your pussybone and then cupping my hands over it and blowing softly on it.” “Okay.” “You must close your eyes and ask to be naked and hairy again.” “Help me be naked and hairy, Hax.” “I can’t hear you.” “Help me be naked and hairy, Hax!”

• From Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

  Information and endearments flew up and down, the conversants apparently oblivious to the ears of the passersby as they discussed the availability of lawyers, the length of stay, family, conditions, and the undying quality of true love. The Women’s House of Detention, right smack in the middle of the Village, always felt like one up for our side—a defiant pocket of female resistance, ever-present as a reminder of possibility, as well as punishment. “Think we can cop a honeydew?” My mouth was watering for the fresh sweet fruit. I looked up Greenwich, which was growing more crowded with evening strollers. I made up my mind, more daring than scared. “I don’t know, but let’s try. I’ll get one from the side and go down Sixth. If he comes after me, yell ‘Cheeko!’ then meet me around the corner on Waverly.” We separated with elaborate casualness and Muriel walked over to the oranges, feeling them in deep consideration. The fruit vendor approached her expectantly. I sidled around the other side of the crates behind his back, snatched the ripest golden green melon that caught my eye, then took off. First rule of snatching anything outdoors: try to do it on one-way streets and always run against the flow of traffic. I sprinted down Sixth Avenue, avoiding startled pedestrians, turning into Waverly Place a block away only slightly winded. Pleased with my feat, I leaned against a railing to observe the luscious spoils and wait for Muriel. Suddenly, a hand grabbed my arm from behind. My heart in my mouth, I tried to wrench free without even looking, still clutching our melon. Oh shit! “Take it easy, girl, you’re lucky it’s just me!” I recognized Vida’s rough kindly voice with a wave of relief. I sagged against the railing, unable to talk. “I thought that was you. I’m driving up Sixth and I see you tear-assing along, said to myself, lemme park this car and see what my buddy’s doin’.” Muriel sauntered around the corner, stopping short with surprise at the sight of Vida. She and I exchanged quick glances. This was not exactly what we’d have preferred Vida find us doing. Uncool, definitely, stealing fruit on Saturday night. Vida laughed a broad laugh. “Scared you good, didn’t I?” Her voice changed, earnestly. “Well, I’m glad. You-all better stop this jiveass shit before next time it isn’t me. Come on, Pet’s in the car, let’s go for a ride.” Muriel and I talked endlessly.

• From Cults Inside Out: How People Get In and Can Get Out (2014)

  The wife moved out of the family home and rented an apartment in a building largely occupied by other group members. After being retained, I began to coach the husband in coping strategies. Subsequently he stopped arguing with his wife about her involvement with the group and apologized for any angry outbursts that had previously occurred. He also began to carefully filter his ongoing communication, avoiding negative comments and criticism about his wife’s behavior, the yoga group, and its guru. As a direct result of using this strategy, after a few weeks the friction diminished, as did much of the tension; though still separated, the couple became increasingly friendly. Their level of communication greatly improved. Eventually the wife later even agreed to go on a family vacation. After returning from the vacation, the husband requested that I facilitate an intervention as soon as possible. His wife had advised him during the trip that she would soon be moving from her apartment into group housing. The husband felt the timing was crucial to begin the intervention before his wife became embedded in the more controlled group environment. We also agreed that an intervention would be far more difficult after such a move due to increased group influence, control of communication, and the probability of more limited access. I soon flew in to begin my preparation work. Upon my arrival I met with the husband and his wife’s family members, who were to be included in the intervention effort. This included both of the wife’s parents and her brother. I coached the family about what to say and what not to say regarding the boundaries of their participation. I encouraged the family to offer their firsthand observations about the group and the guru’s influence and to explain how this had caused them concern. But they were cautioned not to become needlessly argumentative, accusatory, or excessively confrontational. We also discussed who had the most emotional pull, which could be used as leverage to keep the wife from ending the intervention and leaving. We discussed this in some detail and rehearsed how to handle such a situation. The woman’s parents agreed that they would both follow her out if she attempted to leave in an effort to convince her to return. The brother also understood that part of his role was to emphasize to his sister the importance of staying, listening, and participating in the discussion. We reviewed the four main blocks of the intervention. Family members asked general questions about our schedule, breaks, food arrangements, and what to do throughout the intervening time in the evenings between each day of the intervention. The family understood that they must not discuss the group or any related topic while I was gone and should instead wait until my return the following day. This would be done to avoid any argument or conflict that could potentially end the intervention. Our preparation process took several hours on the day before the intervention began.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  He removed his hands and lifted them. Following his fingers was a faint flower shape in blue and green ink, with a red blossom. He scooped it out of the air carefully. “Where shall I wear this flower?” he said. She found a place on him that was still mostly free of other tattoos. It was on his rib cage just under his left pectoral. “Touch it,” he said. She touched it. His skin was hot and very dry. “Kiss it,” he said. She kissed the skin. He smelled smoky. He closed his eyes then and held the captured tattoo to his skin. “Ouch,” he said. He drew his hand away. “Now it is on me, and your breast is naked. Look.” She looked, and her breast was entirely free. There was no ghost of the tattoo, no hint except the faintest tiny outline of what had been there. She sighed and laughed a laugh of relief. “I feel free,” she said. “Good,” he said. “Now my back? My back is the one I really don’t want anymore. I hate it. Everybody has a butterfly.” “Stand and turn and I will see,” he said. She turned and he sighed with pleasure, lightly touching the base of her spine. His fingertips had a strange focused intensity. “Ah, no. This is not merely a tramp stamp. This one was done by a hostile tattooer of great skill. He put a potent fingerblock on it. This will be most difficult. I think we must help you grow back your pussy hair first. You can’t release such a tattoo with a bald cameltoe, it won’t work.” “But that will take a week at least.” “No, I can help. It will mean my kissing your pussybone and then cupping my hands over it and blowing softly on it.” “Okay.” “You must close your eyes and ask to be naked and hairy again.” “Help me be naked and hairy, Hax.” “I can’t hear you.” “Help me be naked and hairy, Hax!” Gently he directed her to sit on the edge of the table. He knelt between her legs and brushed his fingers in peacock-feather motions over her stomach. He looked up at her. “I will kiss your pussybone now, very lightly.” “Okay.” She felt the kiss as a burning ring that made all of her discouraged and thwarted hair follicles scream and come alive. And then quickly he stood and cupped his large hands over her entire sex place, one hand over the other. He pushed hard against her several times. “Open your legs a bit more,” he said. “Good. Now we wait. It will be very warm, almost hot.” All around her pussy the follicles were quivering and trembling and sending up shoots of hair.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  We said, ‘Can we eat the pinecone seed right now to get started?’ And Brigid said, ‘Go ahead.’ And then she went inside to bake a pie. My friend Natasha got scared and said she didn’t want to do it. But I said I would. I chose a nice big pinecone from the tree, and I pulled a seed from it and chewed it up, and nothing happened. We sat on the hill and looked at the telephone pole against the sky and talked about how much we liked boys.” “Nothing happened?” said Wade. “Natasha kept asking me if I felt anything, and I said no. Finally she went back to the tree and got the biggest pinecone she could find, and she put a seed from it in her mouth, and she swallowed it. Meanwhile, I could definitely feel something going on inside my body. I felt this tremendous pressure in my bottom, against my anus.” “Did it hurt?” asked Wade, full of sympathy. “No, not then. I pulled down my pants and lay facedown in the grass, and Natasha opened my bottom cheeks and looked. She said she couldn’t see anything except that my pussy seemed to be very purple. I said, ‘I need to go down to the creek.’ So we went down to the creek, and I took off my shoes and my pants and held on to a branch and dipped my bottom in the creek, and I screamed because the water was so cold. Then Natasha whimpered a little and said her boycone was really hurting and needing to come out. I said, ‘Mine’s hurting, too.’ But it wasn’t hurting as much, because I hadn’t chosen quite so big a pinecone. Then we both squatted in the creek for a while, and we pushed and pushed, and we could feel the boycones wanting to come out but not being able to. Finally we took a breath together and looked into each other’s eyes and gave a huge push as hard as we could. She got very red, and then at last the boycones splashed into the creek. We were relieved, and we laughed and washed them off and laid the pinecones in the sun to dry, and we lay next to them. We were quite exhausted.” “I can imagine,” said Wade. “And a few minutes after that, we heard the two pinecones go pop, pop, and crack open. Just as Brigid said, there was a miniature boy in each one, wrapped in green plant folds.” “How old?” said Wade. “They were about seventeen, but very tiny. We rubbed them and massaged them, and after half an hour they grew to one quarter size, then half size, and then they were full-size long-legged boys, but their eyes were still closed.

• From Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

  She discovers finally, through a stain on the toilet seat left there on purpose by me as a mute announcement, what has taken place; she scolds, “Why didn’t you tell me about all of this, now? It’s nothing to get upset over, you are a woman, not a child anymore. Now you go over to the drugstore and ask the man for…” I was just relieved the whole damn thing was over with. It’s difficult to talk about double messages without having a twin tongue. Nightmarish evocations and restrictions were being verbalized by my mother: “This means from now on you better watch your step and not be so friendly with every Tom, Dick, and Harry…” (which must have meant my staying late after school to talk with my girlfriends, because I did not even know any boys); and, “Now remember, too, after you wrap up your soiled napkins in newspaper, don’t leave them hanging around on the bathroom floor where your father has to see them, not that it’s anything shameful but all the same, remember…” Along with all of these admonitions, there was something else coming from my mother that I could not define. It was the lurking of that amused/annoyed brow-furrowed half-smile of hers that made me feel—all her nagging words to the contrary—that something very good and satisfactory and pleasing to her had just happened, and that we were both pretending otherwise for some very wise and secret reasons. I would come to understand these reasons later, as a reward, if I handled myself properly. Then, at the end of it all, my mother thrust the box of Kotex at me (I had fetched it in its plain wrapper back from the drugstore, along with a sanitary belt), saying to me, “But look now what time it is already, I wonder what we’re going to eat for supper tonight?” She waited. At first I didn’t understand, but I quickly picked up the cue. I had seen the beefends in the icebox that morning. “Mommy, please let’s have some souse—I’ll pound the garlic.” I dropped the box onto a kitchen chair and started to wash my hands in anticipation. “Well, go put your business away first. What did I tell you about leaving that lying around?” She wiped her hands from the washtub where she had been working and handed the plain wrapped box of Kotex back to me. “I have to go out, I forgot to pick up tea at the store. Now make sure you rub the meat good.” When I came back into the kitchen, my mother had left.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  He put his hands gently on her hips and looked at her face. “Feel naked now.” He circled his hands over her hipbones and then pressed his thumbs gently into her stomach. “Breath in and feel naked,” he said. As he pressed she saw his chest muscles jump. “I will do this one first,” he said. He put both his hands over the flower on her breast. His touch was very light at first. “Feel,” he said. She began to feel an urgency coming from his hands. Her breast was glued to them. “You see how we are bonding.” Suddenly he flinched. “Oh,” he said, “here comes the pain of it.” “The pain of the tattoo?” “Yes, all of it is going in my arm at once.” “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay, it’s what happens. It’s lifting now. Wait, watch. Look in the air above your booby.” He removed his hands and lifted them. Following his fingers was a faint flower shape in blue and green ink, with a red blossom. He scooped it out of the air carefully. “Where shall I wear this flower?” he said. She found a place on him that was still mostly free of other tattoos. It was on his rib cage just under his left pectoral. “Touch it,” he said. She touched it. His skin was hot and very dry. “Kiss it,” he said. She kissed the skin. He smelled smoky. He closed his eyes then and held the captured tattoo to his skin. “Ouch,” he said. He drew his hand away. “Now it is on me, and your breast is naked. Look.” She looked, and her breast was entirely free. There was no ghost of the tattoo, no hint except the faintest tiny outline of what had been there. She sighed and laughed a laugh of relief. “I feel free,” she said. “Good,” he said. “Now my back? My back is the one I really don’t want anymore. I hate it. Everybody has a butterfly.” “Stand and turn and I will see,” he said. She turned and he sighed with pleasure, lightly touching the base of her spine. His fingertips had a strange focused intensity. “Ah, no. This is not merely a tramp stamp. This one was done by a hostile tattooer of great skill. He put a potent fingerblock on it. This will be most difficult. I think we must help you grow back your pussy hair first. You can’t release such a tattoo with a bald cameltoe, it won’t work.” “But that will take a week at least.” “No, I can help. It will mean my kissing your pussybone and then cupping my hands over it and blowing softly on it.” “Okay.” “You must close your eyes and ask to be naked and hairy again.” “Help me be naked and hairy, Hax.” “I can’t hear you.” “Help me be naked and hairy, Hax!”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  He removed his hands and lifted them. Following his fingers was a faint flower shape in blue and green ink, with a red blossom. He scooped it out of the air carefully. “Where shall I wear this flower?” he said. She found a place on him that was still mostly free of other tattoos. It was on his rib cage just under his left pectoral. “Touch it,” he said. She touched it. His skin was hot and very dry. “Kiss it,” he said. She kissed the skin. He smelled smoky. He closed his eyes then and held the captured tattoo to his skin. “Ouch,” he said. He drew his hand away. “Now it is on me, and your breast is naked. Look.” She looked, and her breast was entirely free. There was no ghost of the tattoo, no hint except the faintest tiny outline of what had been there. She sighed and laughed a laugh of relief. “I feel free,” she said. “Good,” he said. “Now my back? My back is the one I really don’t want anymore. I hate it. Everybody has a butterfly.” “Stand and turn and I will see,” he said. She turned and he sighed with pleasure, lightly touching the base of her spine. His fingertips had a strange focused intensity. “ Ah, no. This is not merely a tramp stamp. This one was done by a hostile tattooer of great skill. He put a potent fingerblock on it. This will be most difficult. I think we must help you grow back your pussy hair first. You can’t release such a tattoo with a bald cameltoe, it won’t work.” “But that will take a week at least.” “No, I can help. It will mean my kissing your pussybone and then cupping my hands over it and blowing softly on it.” “Okay.” “You must close your eyes and ask to be naked and hairy again.” “Help me be naked and hairy, Hax.” “I can’t hear you.” “Help me be naked and hairy, Hax!” Gently he directed her to sit on the edge of the table. He knelt between her legs and brushed his fingers in peacock-feather motions over her stomach. He looked up at her. “I will kiss your pussybone now, very lightly.” “Okay.” She felt the kiss as a burning ring that made all of her discouraged and thwarted hair follicles scream and come alive. And then quickly he stood and cupped his large hands over her entire sex place, one hand over the other. He pushed hard against her several times. “Open your legs a bit more,” he said. “Good. Now we wait. It will be very warm, almost hot.” All around her pussy the follicles were quivering and trembling and sending up shoots of hair.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  Dave’s arm snapped its fingers impatiently. “So,” said Dave, “how do we do this?” “Lila told me how,” said Shandee. “I’ve been sleeping every night with the cloth of Ka-Chiang tucked in my pussyhole, so my juices have special healing powers.” “Oh, nice.” “Now all you have to do is, ah”—she lay back on her bed and pulled up her little denim skirt—“press your stump right here on my cunny.” She pulled her panties to one side and pointed. “I can do that,” said Dave. “But could we maybe kiss a little bit first?” Shandee nodded, and Dave knelt by the bed. She felt the full-on murflement of his enveloping kiss. Their tongues made friends; they’d known each other forever, it seemed. Shandee let her hand fall as if casually till it found the cocky thickness under his pants. She smoothed it over, feeling it swell, and he made a happy sound. Then he pushed his sleeve up higher and aimed his stump so it touched her gently between her legs—too gently. “You can go ahead and grind it in,” she said. He ground it in. “Like that?” “No, harder. You have to get it all wet. In other words, fuck me with your stump. ” He pushed harder. “How about that?” “Oh, god, aaah, whoa, fuck, that’s far enough. Now tighten your biceps muscle so I can feel it jerk. Aaah! Good.” She sat up and straightened her hair. “That should do it, yes, you’re all moistened up now.” “Feels strange, a little like burning,” said Dave. “Now, quickly,” said Shandee. Dave held out his glistening stump, and Shandee peeled off the cap on Dave’s arm. She pushed the two ends together, and they joined, making a juicy sloomping sound. Dave was whole again. He fell on the bed, clutching his elbow. “Eee, eee, eee!” he said. “Pins and needles, and thorns and burrs and shrapnel—ow! I can feel the bone knitting back together.” Then, after the pain passed, he smiled, flexing his hand. “My arm is sending me up some vivid memories of touching your face,” he said. “May I touch your face?” “Mmm,” said Shandee. She moved toward him and opened her mouth to be kissed again. But just at that moment there was a knock on the door. Zilka strode in, followed by Jason the bowl man, who held an enormous wooden bowl of his own fashioning, and Glenn the Australian wilderness photographer, and Betsy the beachgoer, and Lanasha the masseuse, and Daggett. Lanasha had a spray tank strapped to her back, and Daggett was carrying his bag of bras. “We’re the field unit for crotchal transfers,” said Daggett. “That was awfully fast, guys,” said Dave. “You must have been waiting in the hall.” He waved. “Hi, Glenn. I’ve enjoyed your dick very much.” Glenn, dressed in a blue button-down shirt and stone-colored chinos, looked pleased. “I’ve enjoyed yours,” he said .

• From The City of God

  As for those who find an empty threat rather than a truth in such passages as these:"Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire;" and "These shall go away into eternal punishment;" [1555] and "They shall be tormented for ever and ever;" [1556] and "Their worm shall not die, and their fire shall not be quenched," [1557] --such persons, I say, are most emphatically and abundantly refuted, not by me so much as by the divine Scripture itself. For the men of Nineveh repented in this life, and therefore their repentance was fruitful, inasmuch as they sowed in that field which the Lord meant to be sown in tears that it might afterwards be reaped in joy. And yet who will deny that God's prediction was fulfilled in their case, if at least he observes that God destroys sinners not only in anger but also in compassion? For sinners are destroyed in two ways,--either, like the Sodomites, the men themselves are punished for their sins, or, like the Ninevites, the men's sins are destroyed by repentance. God's prediction, therefore, was fulfilled,--the wicked Nineveh was overthrown, and a good Nineveh built up. For its walls and houses remained standing; the city was overthrown in its depraved manners. And thus, though the prophet was provoked that the destruction which the inhabitants dreaded, because of his prediction, did not take place, yet that which God's foreknowledge had predicted did take place, for He who foretold the destruction knew how it should be fulfilled in a less calamitous sense.