Breathe And Stay Calm Quotes

His breath was warm on her neck as he bent his head, resting his cheek against her hair. Her heart beat so quickly, and yet she felt utterly calm—as if she could have stayed there forever and not minded, stayed there forever and let the world fall apart around them. She pictured his fingers, pushing against that line of chalk, reaching for her despite the barrier between them.

She plunged her snout into my hair and took a deep shuddering breath. A warm string of drool dripped from her open maw onto my bare shoulder. I forced myself to stay very calm, and after a moment, she released me. Giving a bashful shrug, she said, "Sorry. Werewolf thing." "Hey, no problem," I said, even though all I could think was, Slobber! Werewolf slobber! On my skin!

What you did for me, Chaol,” she tried again. “Not even with Cain, but when you—” “I have to go,” he interrupted, and half turned away. “Chaol,” she said, grabbing his hand and whirling him to face her. She only saw the haunted gleam in his eyes before she threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly. He straightened, but she crushed her body into his, even though it still aggravated her wounds to do so. Then, after a moment, his arms wrapped around her, keeping her close to him, so close that as she shut her eyes and breathed him in, she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. His breath was warm on her neck as he bent his head, resting his cheek against her hair. Her heart beat so quickly, and yet she felt utterly calm—as if she could have stayed there forever and not minded, stayed there forever and let the world fall apart around them. She pictured his fingers, pushing against that line of chalk, reaching for her despite the barrier between them.

Think about every good thing in your life right now. Free yourself of worrying. Let go of the anxiety, breathe. Stay positive, all is well.

But he would understand,” he said dazedly. “If we explained it to him. If we told him…he would understand.” She made her voice as cold as she could. As calm. “Told him what?” Will only looked at her. There had been light in his eyes on the stairs… And it was going now, fading like the last breath of someone dying. She felt as if she were watching the life bleed out of Will Herondale. “Jem would forgive me,” Will said, but there was hopelessness in his face, his voice, already. He had given up, Tessa thought. “He would,” she said, “He would never stay angry at you, Will; he loves you too well for that. I do not even think he would hold anger toward me. But this morning he told me he thought he would die without ever loving anyone as his father loved his mother, without ever being loved like that in return. Do you want me to go down the hallway and knock on his door and take that away from him? And would you love me still, if I did?” “Then…please, Tessa, don’t tell him what I just told you…” “I will tell no one,” she said. “I swear it…

...I've been with you all day. I'm trying to stay calm. I'm impatient and it's really hard to breathe. I'm going to empty you and fill you in with me...

By taking just a few extra seconds to stay with a positive experience—even the comfort in a single breath—you’ll help turn a passing mental state into lasting neural structure.

I sat down on the cot, curling up on my side and tried to stay quiet as I wept. But the thing writhing inside me was too angry to be calmed. It was too hurt to be hushed. It was a living, breathing thing and it was trying to swallow me whole. And maybe it would. I cried until I couldn’t cry anymore and only the sound of the fire remained.

Sometimes the memories seemed too much and I couldn't understand how I'd stayed so calm when these things actually happened, but lost my breath in the shadowy remembrances.

I don't know how to fit you in my world without hurting you too." The truth in my words revealed more than he'd ever know. "Don't worry about hurting me," he replied calmly. "I like being a part of your world, and I understand that it's more complicated than you're willing to share with me. But I'll respect that, for now." He pulled into the parking lot of a drugstore and put the car in park. Evan seemed nervous as he turned to speak to ne. He released a quick breath before he spoke. My chest tightened, afraid to hear what he had to say." "I don't do this." His hands gestured between us. My eyes narrowed, trying to inerpret his meaning. He exhaled and looked out the windshield. "I don't stay, and I'm used to that. And I'm always prepared to leave-because I have to eventually. He stopped again, frustrated with himself. I sat motionless, absolutely convinced I didn't want him to continue - but I couldn't bring myself to ask him to stop. "I want to stay here," he finally decalred. "It would bother me if I left. I mean, I've already unpacked.

to do list (after the breakup) 1. take refuge in your bed 2. cry. till the tears stop (this will take a few days). 3. don’t listen to slow songs. 4. delete their number from your phone even though it is memorized on your fingertips. 5. don’t look at old photos. 6. find the closest ice cream shop and treat yourself to two scoops of mint chocolate chip. the mint will calm your heart. you deserve the chocolate. 7. buy new bed sheets. 8. collect all the gifts, t-shirts, and everything with their smell on it and drop it off at a donation center. 9. plan a trip. 10. perfect the art of smiling and nodding when someone brings their name up in conversation. 11. start a new project. 12. whatever you do. do not call. 13. do not beg for what does not want to stay. 14. stop crying at some point. 15. allow yourself to feel foolish for believing you could’ve built the rest of your life in someone else’s stomach. 16. breathe.

Why are you being so cruel?' 'Because you won't leave!' Jacks shouted. 'And if you stay, you will die. Chaos hasn't fed in thousands of years. I know he thinks he can control his hunger, but he can't. That's why they put the helm on him.' 'You could have just said that. If you didn't want me to say goodbye or you want me to leave, you don't have to hurt me to get me to do it.' 'I'm not- I-' Jacks broke off abruptly. His eyes were no longer just red, they were blazing with fear. She'd never seen him look so terrified before. She'd been poisoned, shot, lashed across the back, and Jacks had always kept his calm until now. With a great deal of effort, he took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft but uneven. 'I'm sorry, Little Fox. I didn't want to hurt you, I just-' He looked suddenly at a loss for words, as if whatever he said next might be the wrong thing. He's never looked at her like this before. 'Jacks, please, don't use the stones tonight. Come with me instead.' He took a jagged breath. For a second, he looked torn. He raked a hand through his hair, his movements jagged. Evangeline took a step closer. He shuttered his expression and took a step back. 'This doesn't change anything. I still can't have you in my life. You and I aren't meant to be.' 'What if you're wrong?' Evangeline had once heard a tale about a pair of doomed stars, drawn across skies toward each other's brightness, even though they knew that if they drew too close, their desire would end in a fiery explosion. This was how Jacks looked at her now. As if neither of them would survive if they drew any closer. 'Evangeline, you need to go.' A thunderous roar poured out from the Valory, so loud it shook the arch and the angels and the ground at Evangeline's feet. 'Get out of here.' Jacks said. She held his gaze, one final time, wishing she knew how to change his mind. 'I wish our story could have had another ending.' 'I don't want another ending,' Jacks said flatly. 'I just want you to leave.

But I’m not calm. It’s all a lie.” Quinn held Katie closer, breathing faster. “It’s just that when everybody else is screaming, somebody has to be mature and unemotional, so I have these brain-dead moments where I don’t react the way any sane human being would. I stay completely calm and ignore my feelings and compromise and make everything work again. And I’m not going to do that anymore. From now on, I’m going to be Zoe. Screw calm. Somebody else is going to have to do mature because I’m going to be selfish and get what I want.

Show yourself!” Snape said, tapping the map sharply. It stayed blank. Harry was taking deep, calming breaths. “Professor Severus Snape, master of this school, commands you to yield the information you conceal!” Snape said, hitting the map with his wand.

I heard him groan again as he stretched and closed my eyes at the sound. It sounded exactly, precisely, and distractingly like sex. Breathe through your nose, Hanna. Stay calm.

Everything surrounding the ship is gray or dark blue and nothing is particularly hip, and once or maybe twice a day this thin strip of white appears at the horizon line but its so far in the distance you cant be sure whether its land or more sky. Its impossible to believe that any kind of life sustains itself beneath this flat, slate-gray sky or in an ocean so calm and vast, that anything breathing could exist in such limbo, and any movement that occurs below the surface is so faint its like some kind of small accident, a tiny indifferent moment, a minor incident that shouldnt have happened, and in the sky there's never any trace of sun - the air seems vaguely transparent and disposable, with the texture of Kleenex - yet its always bright in a dull way, the wind usually constant as we drift through it, weightless, and below us the trail the ship leaves behind is a Jacuzzi blue that fades within minutes into the same boring gray sheet that blankets everything else surrounding the ship. One day a normal looking rainbow appears and you vaguely notice it, thinking about the enormous sums of money the Kiss reunion tour made over the summer, or maybe a whale swims along the starboard side, waving its fin, showing off. It's easy to feel safe, for people to look at you and think someone's going somewhere. Surrounded by so much boring space, five days is a long time to stay unimpressed.

I cleared my throat and began my presentation. As I moved through the different aspects of the proposal, he stayed silent, staring directly at his copy. Why was he so calm? His temper tantrums I could handle. But the eerie silence? It was unnerving. I was leaning over the table, gesturing toward a set of graphs, when it happened. "Their timeline for the first milestone is a little ambi-" I stopped midsentence, my breath caught in my throat. His hand pressed gently into my lower back before sliding down, settling on the curve of my ass. In the nine months I had worked for him, he had never intentionally touched me. This was most definitely intentional.

Do not let the fame come near to you! Protect your freedom! Fame must be avoided so as to breathe freely! Stay in the shadow to work comfortably! Away from the crowds, in the heart of calmness, there is wonderful peace of mind that no fame can ever give you!

If you intend to stay here and play human here's lesson number one: No one can make a woman hurry up and get dressed. No one. Not God, not the president, and certainly not you. I need ten minutes, but I will try to hurry." I took a deep, calming breath that had the added bonus of focusing Ethan's attention below my neck. "And here's rule number two, just so you know: no matter how much time is involved in the preparation, always tell a woman she looks nice when she's through. Always. Or next time, she'll take longer.

Practicing mindfulness calms down the sympathetic nervous system, so that you are less likely to be thrown into fight-or-flight.11 Learning to observe and tolerate your physical reactions is a prerequisite for safely revisiting the past. If you cannot tolerate what you are feeling right now, opening up the past will only compound the misery and retraumatize you further.12 We can tolerate a great deal of discomfort as long as we stay conscious of the fact that the body’s commotions constantly shift. One moment your chest tightens, but after you take a deep breath and exhale, that feeling softens and you may observe something else, perhaps a tension in your shoulder. Now you can start exploring what happens when you take a deeper breath and notice how your rib cage expands.13 Once you feel calmer and more curious, you can go back to that sensation in your shoulder. You should not be surprised if a memory spontaneously arises in which that shoulder was somehow involved.

Don’t worry about hurting me,” he replied calmly. “I like being a part of your world, and I understand that it’s more complicated than you’re willing to share with me. I’ll respect that…for now.” He pulled into the parking lot of a drugstore and put the car in park. Evan seemed nervous as he turned to speak to me. He released a quick breath before he spoke. My chest tightened, afraid to hear what he had to say. “I don’t do this.” His hands gestured between us. My eyes narrowed, trying to interpret his meaning. He exhaled and looked out the windshield. “I don’t stay, and I’m used to that. And I’m always prepared to leave—because I have to eventually.

This taught me a lot. I needed to stay relaxed, even when I felt nervous. I had to control my emotions. To keep the horse calm, I had to calm my body and slow my breath.

I am not anger. Anger is a storm passing over me. So I take deep breaths until I feel calm, like wind blowing away a storm.

Dr. Carol looks at me with a complete lack of understanding. It’s getting hard for me to stay calm, but I know I have to. I take two breaths before she speaks.

As we strolled into the hospital, I couldn’t help thinking about Maroon 5’s “Harder to Breathe” because I was having a difficult time staying calm. I had been kidnapped and beaten senseless by an agent of Lucifer, and yet the white coats the doctors wore scared me just as badly. The men who had taken me from my mother wore those same damned lab coats. Every time I saw one, it awakened a dormant fear inside me—fear that I’d be dragged away from someone I loved again, fear that I’d be placed into the waiting hands of another horrible person. It would never truly go away. Michael’s shoulder bumped mine, which shook me out of my thoughts. I glanced at him. “What?” “You’re frowning.” “Am I supposed to be smiling right now?” He faced forward, looking at our reflection in the elevator doors. “No, but you look like you’re about to bolt at any second.” I watched the digital numbers change one by one as we rose up to the right floor, fiddling with the rosary in the pocket of my leather jacket. Somehow, the beads had a calming effect on me. “I’m fine.” “Hard ass.” A tiny smirk touched my lips. “Stop thinking about my butt. You’re an archangel.” He grinned, but didn’t reply.

There is no pain - just travel. On her knees, she stays still as a supplicant ready for communion. It is very quiet. All of a sudden there is no hurry. There will be time for everything. For the breezes that blow and for the rainwater drying in the gutters, for Maury to find a place of safety in the world, for Malcolm to come back from the dead and ask her about birds and jets. For the big things too, things like beauty and vengeance and honor and righteousness and the grace of God and the slow spilling of the earth from day to night and back to day again. It is spread out before her, compressed into one single moment. She will be able to see it all -- if she can keep her sleepy eyes open. It's like a dream where she is. Like a dream where you find yourself underwater and you are panicked for a moment until you realize you no longer need to breathe, and you can stay under the surface forever. She feels her body falling sideways to the ground. It happens slow - and she expects a crash that never comes because her mind is jumping and it doesn't know which way is up anymore, like the moon above her and the fish below her and her in between floating, like on the surface of the river, floating between sea and sky, the world all skin, all meniscus, and she a part of it too. Moses Todd told her if you lean over the rail at Niagara Falls it takes your breath away, like turning yourself inside out -- and Lee the hunter told her that one time people used to stuff themselves in barrels and ride over the edge. And she is there too, floating out over the edge of the falls, the roar of the water so deafening it's like hearing nothing at all, like pillows in your ears, and the water exactly the temperature of your skin, like you are falling and the water is falling, and the water is just more of you, like everything is just more of you, just different configurations of the things that make you up. She is there, and she's sailing out and down over the falls, down and down, and it takes a long time because the falls are one of God's great mysteries and so high they are higher than any building, and so she is held there, spinning in the air, her eyes closed because she's spinning on the inside too, down and down. She wonders if she will ever hit the bottom, wonders will the splash ever come. Maybe not - because God is a slick god, and he knows things about infinities. Infinities are warm places that never end. And they aren't about good and evil, they're just peaceful-like and calm, and they're where all travelers go eventually, and they are round everywhere you look because you can't have any edges in infinities. And also they make forever seem like an okay thing.

I move like I'm gravity, like it's not a decision. Standing on my toes, on the edge of the high dive, the water looks as clear and blue as the sky. In my head there's the possibility that this moment isn't here yet, that maybe I'm not born. I could be an idea. Or I could be realized, and life is standing still. For this moment, the world has stopped. I have a perfect balance. The wind moves around me. My heart is as light and bright as the sun. I am as light as a sparrow bone, and for one moment I am everything that can't be caught and held. Then I'm passing through the air, turning, arms drawn in, toes pointed. My chin rests on my chest. I believe I have a chance at anything: one full revolution. I spread my wings. I arch my back. I remember why swans are graceful, why someone would name this for something beautiful. I think I'm touching the clouds. For a long time they keep me from breaking the blue. I don't hear the shattering surface. I belong behind this sky, all-silent and calm, and part of the world where butterflies live after they give up their feet and dream of flight. I can stay, if I pretend the fire in my chest doesn't burn, if I pretend the world is upside down, if I pretend water is the air I breathe.

Those who saw the true beauty, complexity and the very nature of Nature are [all] incapable of using their intelligence for conciously evil acts, furthermore, the eyes will see violence buried underneath millions of other viable solutions. Rational good radiates, and inspires more rational good. As each ray of the sun harmless [but] in great numbers.

pet. Out came the tongue again, trailing over her cheek to her chin and then across her lips. Oh, no way. “Gross!” she exclaimed, finding her voice. “That was so uncalled for. If you’re going to eat me, then just do it already. No need to torture me with slobber and bad breath.” She wanted to slap herself for the outburst as soon as she uttered the last syllable. So much for staying calm in the face of death. Expecting

I frowned up at him. “It hurts when I look at it?” Jax closed his eyes tightly and laid his head back against the chair. “Yeah, it does. Think of it like this. It wants you. It wants parts of you it can’t have. But he doesn’t know that so he is very ready to take that part of you, and I have to convince him to calm the fuck down. But you looking at him confuses him and he ignores me and stays ready.” Glines, Abbi (2013-06-04). Breathe (Sea Breeze Book 1) (p. 149). Simon Pulse. Kindle Edition.

Christy dug her hand deeper into her shoulder bag. Scanning the papers she finally located there, she found no phone numbers or addresses listed. All the plans had been made in such haste. All she knew was that someone was supposed to meet her here. She was here, and he or she wasn't. Never in her life had she felt so completely alone. Stranded with nowhere to turn. A prayer came quickly to her lips. "Father God, I'm at Your mercy here. I know You're in control. Please show me what to do." Suddenly she heard a voice calling to her. "Kilikina!" Christy's heart stopped. Only one person in the entire world had ever called her by her Hawaiian name. She spun around. "Kilikina," called out the tall, blond surfer who was running toward her. Christy looked up into the screaming silver-blue eyes that could only belong to one person. "Todd?" she whispered, convinced she was hallucinating. "Kilikina," Todd wrapped his arms around her so tightly that for an instant she couldn't breathe. He held her a long time. Crying. She could feel his warm tears on her neck. She knew this had to be real. But how could it be? "Todd?" she whispered again. "How? I mean, what...? I don't..." Todd pulled away, and for the first time she noticed the big gouquet of white carnations in his hand. They were now a bit squashed. "For you," he said, his eyes clearing and his rich voice sounding calm and steady. Then, seeing her shocked expression, he asked, "You really didn't know I was here, did you?" Christy shook her head, unable to find any words. "Didn't Dr. Benson tell you?" She shook her head again. "You mean you came all this way by yourself, and you didn't even know I was here?" Now it was Todd's turn to look surprised. "No, I thought you were in Papua New Guinea or something. I had no idea you were here!" "They needed me here more," Todd said with a chin-up gesture toward the beach. "It's the perfect place for me." With a wide smile spreading above his square jaw, he said, "Ever since I received the fax yesterday saying they were sending you, I've been out of my mind with joy! Kilikina, you can't imagine how I've been feeling." Christy had never heard him talk like this before. Todd took the bouquet from her and placed it on top of her luggage. Then, grasping both her quivering hands in his and looking into her eyes, he said, "Don't you see? There is no way you or I could ever have planned this. It's from God." The shocked tears finally caught up to Christy's eyes, and she blinked to keep Todd in focus. "It is," she agreed. "God brought us back together, didn't He?" A giggle of joy and delight danced from her lips. "Do you remember what I said when you gave me back your bracelet?" Todd asked. "I said that if God ever brought us back together, I would put that bracelet back on your wrist, and that time, it would stay on forever." Christy nodded. She had replayed the memory of that day a thousand times in her mind. It had seemed impossible that God would bring them back together. Christy's heart pounded as she realized that God, in His weird way, had done the impossible. Todd reached into his pocket and pulled out the "Forever" ID bracelet. He tenderly held Christy's wrist, and circling it with the gold chain, he secured the clasp. Above their heads a fresh ocean wind blew through the palm trees. It almost sounded as if the trees were applauding. Christy looked up from her wrist and met Todd's expectant gaze. Deep inside, Christy knew that with the blessing of the Lord, Todd had just stepped into the garden of her heart. In the holiness of that moment, his silver-blue eyes embraced hers and he whispered, "I promise, Kilikina. Forever." "Forever," Christy whispered back. Then gently, reverently, Todd and Christy sealed their forever promise with a kiss.

Now it’s just us kids,” Beatriz joked to the others once the ambassador was gone. “Well, there are a few adults, but we’ll let you stay as long as you behave yourselves.” She stepped up to the podium and took a deep breath before starting. “I am so fortunate that I met Rafael when I did. Not only did he save my life, but he has also inspired me. He inspired me that day in Venice because he kept calm when nobody else did. And he inspired me today at the Capitol because he reminded me that it’s important to stand up to bullies.” Rio was surprised by how emotional this made him feel.

ESTABLISHING A DAILY MEDITATION First select a suitable space for your regular meditation. It can be wherever you can sit easily with minimal disturbance: a corner of your bedroom or any other quiet spot in your home. Place a meditation cushion or chair there for your use. Arrange what is around so that you are reminded of your meditative purpose, so that it feels like a sacred and peaceful space. You may wish to make a simple altar with a flower or sacred image, or place your favorite spiritual books there for a few moments of inspiring reading. Let yourself enjoy creating this space for yourself. Then select a regular time for practice that suits your schedule and temperament. If you are a morning person, experiment with a sitting before breakfast. If evening fits your temperament or schedule better, try that first. Begin with sitting ten or twenty minutes at a time. Later you can sit longer or more frequently. Daily meditation can become like bathing or toothbrushing. It can bring a regular cleansing and calming to your heart and mind. Find a posture on the chair or cushion in which you can easily sit erect without being rigid. Let your body be firmly planted on the earth, your hands resting easily, your heart soft, your eyes closed gently. At first feel your body and consciously soften any obvious tension. Let go of any habitual thoughts or plans. Bring your attention to feel the sensations of your breathing. Take a few deep breaths to sense where you can feel the breath most easily, as coolness or tingling in the nostrils or throat, as movement of the chest, or rise and fall of the belly. Then let your breath be natural. Feel the sensations of your natural breathing very carefully, relaxing into each breath as you feel it, noticing how the soft sensations of breathing come and go with the changing breath. After a few breaths your mind will probably wander. When you notice this, no matter how long or short a time you have been away, simply come back to the next breath. Before you return, you can mindfully acknowledge where you have gone with a soft word in the back of your mind, such as “thinking,” “wandering,” “hearing,” “itching.” After softly and silently naming to yourself where your attention has been, gently and directly return to feel the next breath. Later on in your meditation you will be able to work with the places your mind wanders to, but for initial training, one word of acknowledgment and a simple return to the breath is best. As you sit, let the breath change rhythms naturally, allowing it to be short, long, fast, slow, rough, or easy. Calm yourself by relaxing into the breath. When your breath becomes soft, let your attention become gentle and careful, as soft as the breath itself. Like training a puppy, gently bring yourself back a thousand times. Over weeks and months of this practice you will gradually learn to calm and center yourself using the breath. There will be many cycles in this process, stormy days alternating with clear days. Just stay with it. As you do, listening deeply, you will find the breath helping to connect and quiet your whole body and mind. Working with the breath is an excellent foundation for the other meditations presented in this book. After developing some calm and skills, and connecting with your breath, you can then extend your range of meditation to include healing and awareness of all the levels of your body and mind. You will discover how awareness of your breath can serve as a steady basis for all you do.

Why didn’t your brother take you to London for the season when he was courting Kathleen?” She met his gaze directly. “Town held no interest for me; I was happier staying here.” West’s hand slid over hers and squeezed briefly. “Little friend…let me give you some advice that may prove helpful in the future, when you’re in society. When you lie, don’t fidget with your hands. Keep them still and relaxed in your lap.” “I wasn’t--” Helen broke off abruptly. After a slow breath, she spoke calmly. “I wanted to go, but Theo didn’t think I was ready.” “Better.” He grinned at her. “Still a lie…but better.

night.” “Sometimes, yes,” Meggie had said. “But it only works for children.” Which made Mo tweak her nose. Mo. Meggie had never called her father anything else. That night—when so much began and so many things changed forever—Meggie had one of her favorite books under her pillow, and since the rain wouldn’t let her sleep she sat up, rubbed the drowsiness from her eyes, and took it out. Its pages rustled promisingly when she opened it. Meggie thought this first whisper sounded a little different from one book to another, depending on whether or not she already knew the story it was going to tell her. But she needed light. She had a box of matches hidden in the drawer of her bedside table. Mo had forbidden her to light candles at night. He didn’t like fire. “Fire devours books,” he always said, but she was twelve years old, she surely could be trusted to keep an eye on a couple of candle flames. Meggie loved to read by candlelight. She had five candlesticks on the windowsill, and she was just holding the lighted match to one of the black wicks when she heard footsteps outside. She blew out the match in alarm—oh, how well she remembered it, even many years later—and knelt to look out of the window, which was wet with rain. Then she saw him. The rain cast a kind of pallor on the darkness, and the stranger was little more than a shadow. Only his face gleamed white as he looked up at Meggie. His hair clung to his wet forehead. The rain was falling on him, but he ignored it. He stood there motionless, arms crossed over his chest as if that might at least warm him a little. And he kept on staring at the house. I must go and wake Mo, thought Meggie. But she stayed put, her heart thudding, and went on gazing out into the night as if the stranger’s stillness had infected her. Suddenly, he turned his head, and Meggie felt as if he were looking straight into her eyes. She shot off the bed so fast the open book fell to the floor, and she ran barefoot out into the dark corridor. This was the end of May, but it was chilly in the old house. There was still a light on in Mo’s room. He often stayed up reading late into the night. Meggie had inherited her love of books from her father. When she took refuge from a bad dream with him, nothing could lull her to sleep better than Mo’s calm breathing beside her and the sound of the pages turning. Nothing chased nightmares away faster than

So we begin with a very simple object of attention, like the breath, and train ourselves to return to it even as we get distracted over and over again. This first insight into the habit of distraction leads us to understand the value and importance of steadying our attention, because the worlds we create in ourselves and around us all have their origins in our own minds. How many different mind-worlds do we inhabit in our thoughts, even between one breath and the next? And how many actions do we take because of these unnoticed thoughts? By first taking a particular object of concentration and then training the mind to stay focused on it, we can develop calmness and tranquillity. The object may be the breath, a sound or mantra, a visual image, or certain reflections, all of which serve to concentrate the mind. At first, this requires the effort of continually returning each time the mind wanders off. With practice, though, the mind becomes trained, and then rests quite easily in the chosen object. In addition to the feelings of restfulness and peace, the state of concentration also becomes the basis for deepening insight and wisdom. We find ourselves opening to the world’s suffering as well as to its great beauty. Through the power of increased awareness, simple experience often becomes magically alive: the silhouette of a branch against the night sky or trees swaying in the invisible wind. The way that we sense the world becomes purified, our perception of the world transformed. Marcel Proust wrote, “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new landscapes but in having new eyes.

The bathroom was last, and Valerie was very aware that Anders was standing a foot away, waiting patiently. She would have liked to ask him to leave, but she was a grown-up, he was a grown-up and old enough to know about the physiology of the female body, so she took a deep breath, knelt to open the cupboard under the sink and pulled out tampons and pads. Her period should come in the next week or so and she didn’t know how long she’d have to stay at Leigh’s house. Valerie set the feminine items on the counter, and then moved to the other end of the cupboard to gather some makeup and moisturizer from a drawer there. When she turned back with the new items, Anders was calmly packing her feminine hygiene products away in the duffel with her clothes. “Thank you,” she murmured self-consciously as she dumped the new items in.

The principles of Jiu Jitsu can be applied to every endeavor in life. You have stay calm when you are in bad situations. You need to cover and conceal your intent with other maneuvers. You need to utilize the simplest and most efficient methods. You need to prioritize your focus of effort. You need to train until you trust yourself to move intuitively, without having to think. You need to move at the right time. You have to defend critical areas. You should not attack your enemy’s strongpoints. You must utilize leverage. You cannot let your emotions drive your decisions. You have to establish a good base foundation to build upon. You cannot be overly aggressive, but you can’t just allow things to happen. When you make a move, you have to believe in what you are doing. You have to be mentally strong. You have to keep an open mind. You have to continuously learn new techniques while always reinforcing the fundamentals. You have to adapt your plan if circumstances change.

So, fast forward from Cardiff 1997 to Auckland 2011, from a Rugby World Cup quarter-final to a World Cup final, from a team heading towards defeat to a team heading towards victory. It’s the same two sides playing: New Zealand vs. France. It’s just as tight, but this time New Zealand lead by one point. Read the body language. Richie McCaw breathes, holds his wrist, stamps his feet – reconnecting with himself, returning to the moment. He looks around. There are no glazed eyes now. No walking dead. Brad Thorne throws water over himself, cooling his thoughts. Kieran Read stares out to the far distant edge of the stadium, regaining perspective. New Zealand, the stadium of four million people, is less calm. The dread casts a long black cloud. The spectators can’t help but flash back to the bad pictures. They are in the Red, but the All Blacks stay in the Blue. The clock counts itself down, slowly, slowly; until finally . . . the whistle blows. 8-7 New Zealand. ‘We smashed ’em,’ says Graham Henry. And in their heads, they did.

Your mother told you," he states flatly. "Yeah," I snap. "She told me." "She doesn't know everything. She doesn't know me...or how I feel. I would never force you to do anything against your will, and I would never, ever let anyone harm you." His words enrage me. Lies, I'm convinced. My hand shoots out, ready to slap that earnest look off his face. The same earnest look he'd given me the first time he lid to my face. He catches my hand, squeezes the wrist tight. "Jacinda-" "I don't believe you. You gave me your word. Five weeks-" "Five weeks was too long. I couldn't leave you for that long without checking on you." "Because you're a liar," I assert. His expression cracks. Emotion bleeds through. He knows I'm not talking about just the five weeks. With a shake of his head, he sounds almost sorry as he admits, "Maybe I didn't tell you everything, but it doesn't change anything I said. I will never hurt you. I want to try to protect you." "Try," I repeat. His jaw clenches. "I can. I can stop them." After several moments, I twist my hand free. He lets me go. Rubbing my wrist, I glare at him. "I have a life here now." My fingers stretch, curl into talons at my sides, still hungry to fight him. "Make me go, and I'll never forgive you." He inhales deeply, his broad chest lifting high. "Well. I can't have that." "Then you'll go? Leave me alone?" Hope stirs. He shakes his head. "I didn't say that." "Of course not," I sneer. "What do you mean then?" Panic washes over me at the thought of him staying here and learning about Will and his family. "There's no reason for you to stay." His dark eyes glint. "There's you. I can give you more time. You can't seriously fit in here. You'll come around." "I won't!" His voice cracks like thunder on the air. "I won't leave you! Do you know how unbearable it's been without you? You're not like the rest of them." His hand swipes through air almost savagely. I stare at him, eyes wide and aching. "You're not some well-trained puppy content to go alone with what you're told. You have fire." He laughs brokenly. "I don't mean literally, although there is that. There's something in you, Jacinda. You're the only thing real for me there, the only thing remotely interesting." He stares at me starkly and I don't breathe. He looks ready to reach out and fold me into his arms. I jump hastily back. Unbelievably, he looks hurt. Dropping his immense hands, he speaks again, evenly, calmly. "I'll give you more space. Time for you to realize that this"-he motions to the living room-"isn't for you. You need mists and mountains and sky. Flight. How can you stay here where you have none of that? How can you hope to survive? If you haven't figured that out yet, you will." In my mind, I see Will. Think how he has become the mist, the sky, everything, to me. I do more than survive here. I love. But Cassian can never know that. “What I have here beats what waits for me back home. The wing clipping you so conveniently failed to mention-" "Is not going to happen, Jacinda." He steps closer. His head dips to look into my eyes. "You have my word. If you return with me, you won't be harmed. I'd die first." His words flow through me like a chill wind. "But your father-" "My father won't be our alpha forever. Someday, I'll lead. Everyone knows it. The pride will listen to me. I promise you'll be safe.

She sighed “Can’t you just think about sex like a normal guy?” He blinked. “Excuse me?” “How are you not thinking about sex right now?” “You don’t know what I’m thinking about.” “Yeah, but I know what you’re feeling. And you’re feeling…happy. Where’s all the desire and want?” He picked up another arrow. “Are you seriously mad at me right now because I’m not having lustful thoughts?” “No. I’m just confused. I mean, I’m thinking about sex. But you’re over there coating arrows in blood and thinking about God knows what—“ “Star Wars figurines.” “What?” “That’s what I was thinking about.” She blinked in confusion. “Star Wars figurines make you happy?” He smiled and went back to the arrows on the table. “No. You make me happy. My happy feelings are because of you. My desire and want feelings—which I have plenty of—are also because of you, but I have those contained right now because I’m trying not to overwhelm you with emotions.” “Oh.” “Trust me,” he grabbed another arrow. “You don’t want me to think about sex when you can feel my emotions. It’s very intense. I could barely handle it with you and I had five hundred years of practice.” She shot her eyes to him. “What are you trying to say? That I’m some kind of baby? I can handle it.” He shook his head and smiled. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Try me.” This was a dangerous game, but since only his life was at stake… “Okay.” He shrugged and started thinking about sex. With Scarlet. He watched as she stood frozen and the color drained from her face as everything he felt rolled into her. Then bright red color returned to her face and she looked like she might catch fire. He kept his eyes on her as his feelings stayed in the hottest parts of his being. She looked at him with hungry eyes and moved her mouth to speak but no sound came out. He watched her breathing grow heavier. She dropped the arrows she held and stared at him. He changed his pattern of thought and tried to calm his emotions so she wouldn’t do anything she regretted. Once his thoughts were back on happy non-sexual things, he glanced at Scarlet, who was still frozen in place with red cheeks and parted lips. “Scar?” He leaned to the side to look in her far away eyes. “You okay?” She mouthed something and nodded, then tried again. “Yeah.” Her voice cracked. She was staring at the wall with big eyes. “I’m, uh…I’m good. I’m great.” He went back to the arrows and smiled. “Told you.” Scarlet blinked a few times and looked at Tristan. “We definitely need a chaperone.

For physical issues, we have an entire pharmacopoeia of pain medicine. For the actual pain of grief, we have . . . nothing. It’s always seemed so bizarre to me that we have an answer for almost every physical pain, but for this—some of the most intense pain we can experience—there is no medicine. You’re just supposed to feel it. And in a way, that’s true. The answer to pain is simply to feel it. Some traditions speak of practicing compassion in the face of pain, rather than trying to fix it. As I understand the Buddhist teaching, the fourth form of compassion in the Brahma Viharas, or the four immeasurables, describes an approach to the kinds of pain that cannot be fixed: upekkha, or equanimity. Upekkha is the practice of staying emotionally open and bearing witness to the pain while dwelling in equanimity around one’s limited ability to effect change. This form of compassion—for self, for others—is about remaining calm enough to feel everything, to remain calm while feeling everything, knowing that it can’t be changed. Equanimity (upekkha) is said to be the hardest form of compassion to teach, and the hardest to practice. It’s not, as is commonly understood, equanimity in the way of being unaffected by what’s happened, but more a quality of clear, calm attention in the face of immoveable truth. When something cannot be changed, the “enlightened” response is to pay attention. To feel it. To turn toward it and say, “I see you.” That’s the big secret of grief: the answer to the pain is in the pain. Or, as e. e. cummings wrote, healing of the wound is to be sought in the blood of the wound itself. It seems too intangible to be of use, but by allowing your pain to exist, you change it somehow. There’s power in witnessing your own pain. The challenge is to stay present in your heart, to your heart, to your own deep self, even, and especially, when that self is broken. Pain wants to be heard. It deserves to be heard. Denying or minimizing the reality of pain makes it worse. Telling the truth about the immensity of your pain—which is another way of paying attention—makes things different, if not better. It’s important to find those places where your grief gets to be as bad as it is, where it gets to suck as much as it does. Let your pain stretch out. Take up all the space it needs. When so many others tell you that your grief has to be cleaned up or contained, hearing that there is enough room for your pain to spread out, to unfurl—it’s healing. It’s a relief. The more you open to your pain, the more you can just be with it, the more you can give yourself the tenderness and care you need to survive this. Your pain needs space. Room to unfold. I think this is why we seek out natural landscapes that are larger than us. Not just in grief, but often in grief. The expanding horizon line, the sense of limitless space, a landscape wide and deep and vast enough to hold what is—we need those places. Sometimes grief like yours cannot be held by the universe itself. True. Sometimes grief needs more than an endless galaxy. Maybe your pain could wrap around the axle of the universe several times. Only the stars are large enough to take it on. With enough room to breathe, to expand, to be itself, pain softens. No longer confined and cramped, it can stop thrashing at the bars of its cage, can stop defending itself against its right to exist. There isn’t anything you need to do with your pain. Nothing you need to do about your pain. It simply is. Give it your attention, your care. Find ways to let it stretch out, let it exist. Tend to yourself inside it. That’s so different from trying to get yourself out of it. The way to come to pain is with open eyes, and an open heart, committed to bearing witness to your own broken place. It won’t fix anything. And it changes everything.

How to live (forty pieces of advice I feel to be helpful but which I don’t always follow) 1. Appreciate happiness when it is there 2. Sip, don’t gulp. 3. Be gentle with yourself. Work less. Sleep more. 4. There is absolutely nothing in the past that you can change. That’s basic physics. 5. Beware of Tuesdays. And Octobers. 6. Kurt Vonnegut was right. “Reading and writing are the most nourishing forms of meditation anyone has so far found.” 7. Listen more than you talk. 8. Don’t feel guilty about being idle. More harm is probably done to the world through work than idleness. But perfect your idleness. Make it mindful. 9. Be aware that you are breathing. 10. Wherever you are, at any moment, try to find something beautiful. A face, a line out of a poem, the clouds out of a window, some graffiti, a wind farm. Beauty cleans the mind. 11. Hate is a pointless emotion to have inside you. It is like eating a scorpion to punish it for stinging you. 12. Go for a run. Then do some yoga. 13. Shower before noon. 14. Look at the sky. Remind yourself of the cosmos. Seek vastness at every opportunity, in order to see the smallness of yourself. 15. Be kind. 16. Understand that thoughts are thoughts. If they are unreasonable, reason with them, even if you have no reason left. You are the observer of your mind, not its victim. 17. Do not watch TV aimlessly. Do not go on social media aimlessly. Always be aware of what you are doing and why you are doing it. Don’t value TV less. Value it more. Then you will watch it less. Unchecked distractions will lead you to distraction. 18. Sit down. Lie down. Be still. Do nothing. Observe. Listen to your mind. Let it do what it does without judging it. Let it go, like Snow Queen in Frozen. 19. Don’t’ worry about things that probably won’t happen. 20. Look at trees. Be near trees. Plant trees. (Trees are great.) 21. Listen to that yoga instructor on YouTube, and “walk as if you are kissing the earth with your feet”. 22. Live. Love. Let go. The three Ls. 23. Alcohol maths. Wine multiplies itself by itself. The more you have, the more you are likely to have. And if it is hard to stop at one glass, it will be impossible at three. Addition is multiplication. 24. Beware of the gap. The gap between where you are and where you want to be. Simply thinking of the gap widens it. And you end up falling through. 25. Read a book without thinking about finishing it. Just read it. Enjoy every word, sentence, and paragraph. Don’t wish for it to end, or for it to never end. 26. No drug in the universe will make you feel better, at the deepest level, than being kind to other people. 27. Listen to what Hamlet – literature’s most famous depressive – told Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” 28. If someone loves you, let them. Believe in that love. Live for them, even when you feel there is no point. 29. You don’t need the world to understand you. It’s fine. Some people will never really understand things they haven’t experienced. Some will. Be grateful. 30. Jules Verne wrote of the “Living Infinite”. This is the world of love and emotion that is like a “sea”. If we can submerge ourselves in it, we find infinity in ourselves, and the space we need to survive. 31. Three in the morning is never the time to try and sort out your life. 32. Remember that there is nothing weird about you. You are just a human, and everything you do and feel is a natural thing, because we are natural animals. You are nature. You are a hominid ape. You are in the world and the world is in you. Everything connects. 33. Don’t believe in good or bad, or winning and losing, or victory and defeat, or ups and down. At your lowest and your highest, whether you are happy or despairing or calm or angry, there is a kernel of you that stays the same. That is the you that matters.

We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. —Romans 8:26 (NIV) C’mon guys, it's time to leave!” I call. The younger kids head toward the door. “No!” John bellows so loudly that Stephen clasps his ears. I take a deep breath. It’s my fifteen-year-old’s Sunday-morning anxiety attack, which manifests itself as belligerence. I have Andrew go on ahead with the other kids. It’s better to handle this without an audience. I talk to John for a bit. It is the usual problem: He is afraid God is angry and will not forgive him for some of the things he’s done in the past. We talk about grace, mercy, and love. We discuss the irrationality of thinking you’re the only unforgivable person in the world. I pray for him silently, because he won’t let me pray out loud. Then I have to decide: Is he safe and capable of calming down on his own? Should I stay home to make sure he’s okay? I head out the door, hoping John will join us at church in a little while. A deep ache grows in my heart as I walk the two blocks to church, the grief of a mother whose teenager’s troubles stretch far beyond her ability to solve. I try to articulate my feelings in prayer but cannot. Not knowing what else to do, I shove the groan in my soul God-ward, as if to say, “Here. This is what I mean. You know.” And God does. Holy Spirit, speak the words I cannot utter. —Julia Attaway Digging Deeper: Rom 8:26–28;1 Thes 5:17

WHM PROTOCOL: BASIC MINDSET EXERCISE The greatest accomplishment you can achieve is stillness of the mind. It is only when your mind is still that you can go from external to internal programming. In the absence of thoughts, this stillness brings your feelings into alignment with your innermost being, reflecting the true self in a direct mirror. This is how I was able to set all of my records, and you can do it too. First, take a step away and find a comfortable place to sit down. Then begin to follow the breath. Deeply in, letting go. Deeply in, letting go. Peacefully following the breath. Deeply in, letting go. Deeply in, letting go. A sense of calm will begin to settle over you, and it is in this moment that you can set your mind. Begin to scan your body while visualizing what it is you are going to do. Perhaps you want to stay longer in the cold shower or achieve a new personal record for push-ups. Maybe you want to hold a particularly challenging yoga pose or take a longer bike ride than you ever have before. Now is the time to scan your body and set your intention. Take your time with it. Tell your body what you expect it to do. Scan yourself for how you feel. You will be able to detect any misalignment of your intention and your body’s feeling. Just remain calm, keep breathing, and wait for the moment in which there is a sense of trust, of centered energy, of alignment. Give power to that feeling with your breath and then go and do what you intend to do. Success.

Whether it’s watching a sunset, or really feeling the stream of water hit your face in the shower, everyone needs to take time to find a way to quiet themselves. Allowing these moments of awareness and recognizing that it is a magnificent thing to be alive, regardless of what might be pressing on me, has brought a level of calm that words can’t adequately explain. Many of the spiritual teachers who have talked with me on Super Soul Sunday describe the highest state of mindfulness as a “constant state of prayer.” This means acknowledging only what you are experiencing in that moment. The true power of staying in the now means that you resist projecting what might happen in the future or lamenting past mistakes. There will always be times of stress or sadness, but when you feel the earth moving, that’s the time to bring yourself back to center. Whatever shakeup or disturbance that might come, you’ll handle that when it actually happens. But in this moment, you’re still breathing. In this moment, you’ve survived. In this moment, you’re finding a way to step onto higher ground. Today and every day, I continue to do the consciousness work, focusing on prayer and just being still. I awaken, and my first thought is, Thank you, and my next thought is, I’m still here in this body. I feel the All that is God so deeply that it lifts and carries me. Sometimes I actually feel weightless in the love that I call God, because I sense it in all things. The entry point for living consciously is mindfulness.

Then something moved on the hall floor, just outside the bars. Her eyes swung there. Sunday Justice sat on his haunches staring at her dark eyes with his green ones. Her heart raced. Locked up alone all these weeks, and now this creature could step wizardlike between the bars. Be with her. Sunday Justice broke the stare and looked down the hall, toward the inmates' talk. Kya was terrified that he would leave her and walk to them. But he looked back at her, blinked in obligatory boredom, and squeezed easily between the bars. Inside. Kya breathed out. Whispered, "Please stay." Taking his time, he sniffed his way around the cell, researching the damp cement walls, the exposed pipes, and the sink, all the while compelled to ignore her. A small crack in the wall was the most interesting to him. She knew because he flicked his thoughts on his tail. He ended his tour next to the small bed. Then, just like that, he jumped onto her lap and circled, his large white paws finding soft purchase on her thighs. Kya sat frozen, her arms slightly raised, so as not to interfere with his maneuvering. Finally, he settled as though he had nested here every night of his life. He looked at her. Gently she touched his head, then scratched his neck. A loud purr erupted like a current. She closed her eyes at such easy acceptance. A deep pause in a lifetime of longing. Afraid to move, she sat stiff until her leg cramped, then shifted slightly to stretch her muscles. Sunday Justice, without opening his eyes, slid off her lap and curled up next to her side. She lay down fully clothed, and they both nestled in. She watched him sleep, then followed. Not falling toward a jolt, but a drifting, finally, into an empty calm. Once during the night, she opened her eyes and watched him sleeping on his back, forepaws stretched one way, hind paws the other.

In the last thirty years, I’ve read, heard, and seen the world’s most creative, gruesome, distasteful, and well-performed threats. I’ve learned that it’s important to react calmly, because when in alarm we stop evaluating information mindfully and start doing it physically. For example, a death threat communicated in a letter or phone call cannot possibly pose any immediate hazard, but the recipient might nonetheless start getting physically ready for danger, with increased blood flow to the arms and legs (for fighting or running), release of the chemical cortisol (which helps blood coagulate more quickly in case of injury), lactic acid heating up in the muscles (to prepare them for effort), focused vision, and increased breathing and heartbeat to support all these systems. These responses are valuable when facing present danger (such as when Kelly stood up and walked out of her apartment), but for evaluating future hazard, staying calm produces better results. A way to do this is to consciously ask and answer the question “Am I in immediate danger?” Your body wants you to get this question out of the way, and once you do, you’ll be free to keep perceiving what’s going on. The great enemy of perception, and thus of accurate predictions, is judgment. People often learn just enough about something to judge it as belonging in this or that category. They observe bizarre conduct and say, “This guy is just crazy.” Judgments are the automatic pigeon-holing of a person or situation simply because some characteristic is familiar to the observer (so whatever that characteristic meant before it must mean again now). Familiarity is comfortable, but such judgments drop the curtain, effectively preventing the observer from seeing the rest of the play. Another time people stop perceiving new information is when they prematurely judge someone as guilty or not guilty.

In the shores of twilight, Wide and deep as your eyes, I swim. In a way, I feel her Night, a crowned goddess commanding the stars to swim, So peaceful, even death escapes into serenity. Stars so far, they seem as they tell the living world, lights, live into shinning, die into nothingness. Worlds I want to travel, away to shadows of your eyes in the hold of your lips. So far, so far away.... As your kiss, as my lover. Night, With a soft touch, Touches my face, winds to the trees, sunlight on grass, life, breath, so quite, death screams in the abyss, a black pearl with grains of sand. The dance of the night..reminds me of her. Her tender laughter, the gleam in her enormous eyes, her soft whirlpool lips. As a reflection from dark streams, She reveals hot love, Nothing hidden, no shame, just love that hurts. The solace in the night makes me cry... The lights of stars as arrows to me. Night, Hits my eyes, Beauty of the wilderness, Calling me, Homeless in a city, naked on cold steel At home with the sea, with night above, foam of waters breaks below. As my companion, friend I speak to. I say to the night sky. Does she love me? When travels of the heart goes outside of me, outside the seas into clouds of your warmth, To another place in her heart trying to find out... Does your heart want me to visit or stay? Night, Calm is the winds, feeling the air, Night, She is beautiful.. Hitting me with such painful softness, I don't want day to arrive, I want to stay.. In the night, Peaceful, loving...with you... Night...vast space in time, Nothing, empty, to hold, for night, you are me. For I cannot have her. A love vast, beautiful and alone. For in the night, We see each other, In the light, Nothing hidden, Everything revealed, Night..I love you.,,as I love her. For I don't have her but I have you. As my love, invisible and forever waiting like a lost sailor in the night sea....

Gregori approached the tiny being cautiously. The extent of the trauma was enormous. The baby was fading as blood gushed from its mother’s body. He could feel its willingness to slide away from the pain and outrage of the assault. He could only hope Shea would stop the bleeding quickly, as he had to concentrate on the child. She was so tiny, almost nonexistent, yet he could feel her pain and her puzzlement. She knew fear before she was born, knew pain, and now held forever the knowledge that life was not safe, even here in her mother’s womb. Gregori murmured softly, reassuringly, to her. He had bathed her in his light once before, and she recognized him now, moved toward him, seeking comfort. Very carefully he attended to the wound in the artery that supplied her with nourishment. Very soon he would give her his own blood, sealing her fate, binding her ever closer to him. There were several tears in the placenta, which he meticulously sealed. She was afraid as his light floated closer, so he provided waves of reassurance and warmth. There was a laceration in her right thigh. It hurt, and blood was seeping into the fluid surrounding her. With the lightest of touches he closed the wound, his touch lingering to calm her. His chant, the low pitch of his voice, echoed in her heart, in her mind, invading her soul. Gregori talked to her as he worked, the purity of his tone beguiling her, soothing her, so that she stayed with Raven rather than simply letting go, fading away with the steady trickle of blood. Gregori could feel the strength in her, the determination. Without a doubt, she was Mikhail and Raven’s daughter. If she chose to go, she would do so, but if she chose to stay, she would fight with every breath left in her body. Gregori made certain she wanted to fight. He whispered to her in his most beguiling voice, promised a fascinating future, lured her with the secrets and beauty of the universe awaiting her. He promised her she would never be left alone; he would be there to guide her, to protect her, to see to her happiness.

Handling Abusive or Disrespectful Behavior Decide what you want to say before the interaction. What are your goals? Are there particular points that you want to make sure you make? Write out the two or three most important things you want to say. If you’re particularly nervous, practice saying them out loud. Have an exit plan. How will you get off the phone or away from the interaction if it starts to head south? Consider prefacing the conversation with some ground rules if prior interactions have gone poorly. Say something like “I know these conversations haven’t gone very well when we’ve had them in the past, so let’s both make a good effort to keep it calm and reasonable, okay? Maybe you should tell me what you’d like to get out of the conversation and I’ll tell you what I’d like to get. How does that sound?” Express good intentions. “I really do want to understand what you’re saying. I would like to have a closer relationship with you.” Or “I’m sure these interactions haven’t felt very good to you in the past, either.” Start by expressing a belief in the child’s good intentions even if you don’t like how he or she is saying it. “I think that you’re telling me something that you really want me to understand. Something that you think is very important.” Describe your perception of your child’s dilemma that is causing them to talk to you in a disrespectful manner. “You must feel like I’m not going to understand unless you beat me over the head with it.” Describe your dilemma. “While I want to understand what you’re saying, it’s hard to focus on it when you’re yelling at me or calling me names. I’m sure you can understand that.” Ask for different behavior. “Do you think you could try to tell that to me in a calmer way so I can focus on what you’re telling me? It’s actually hard for me to hear what you want me to hear when you talk to me like that.” Give an example of appropriate behavior. “You can tell me you’re furious with me or even tell me that you hate my guts if you like, but you can’t scream at me and you can’t call me names.” Stay calm. Take deep breaths. Count to ten. Set limits. “If you can’t talk to me in a more respectful tone, I’m getting off the phone.

One question.” I managed to gather the two words as his struggling breath entangled in my hair. “This isn’t fair. There is so much I want to know.” He laced his fingers into mine as he dipped his head down to my ear. “I want to know how you like your coffee, and what your favorite song is. I want to know what annoys you, and the worst thing you’ve ever done. I want to know your greatest fear, and whether or not you talk in your sleep. If you prefer chocolate over vanilla, and if you cried watching The Notebook … if you’ve ever seen The Notebook, or like movies at all. What gives you the greatest high, and what can take all the pain away …” Ollie drew in a deep breath, and at the same time, my heart skipped in my chest. “But what I need to know is … are you willing to open yourself up to me so I can find out?” “Is that your question?” I stammered, lost in all his words. “Yes.” He exhaled. “That’s my final question.” Turning to face him, his eyes filled with hope and wonder, but his absent smile expected the inescapable truth. We both knew there wasn’t anything inside me to open up, an empty shell. So, what exactly did I have to lose? And, so, it was there, in the middle of the romance section of the maze-like library at Dolor University outside of Guildford in the United Kingdom where I decided I was willing to show him I was nothing more than a hollow soul. “I will only disappoint you.” “I doubt it.” “And I’m difficult,” I warned. “Good.” Ollie grinned. “I wasn’t expecting anything less, Mia. I’m only asking you to knock down a wall. Not even a wall—fuck, carve me out a door. I only want to know you.” He grabbed my hand, and a calmness washed over me. I didn’t have the tools to destroy a wall, let alone carve out a door. The barriers had endured ten years. Tough and sturdy and placed for a reason. Each one had a purpose, and even though I’d forgotten why they stood there in the first place, I was scared what would happen if I started carving out holes. The walls became my friends—they were safe. But I nodded, anyway, because the small glimmer of hope in his eyes spread like an infection. “And to clarify, no, I’ve never seen The Notebook, and I don’t plan on it, either.” Ollie threw his head back and a raspy laugh echoed in our maze. A laugh I had quickly grown to adore.

Marlboro Man paused, his eyes piercing through to my marrow. We’d started out watching the sunset over the ranch, sitting on the tailgate of his pickup, legs dangling playfully over the edge. By the time the sun had gone down, we were lying down, legs overlapping, as the sky turned blacker and blacker. And making out wildly. Making out, oh, so very wildly. I didn’t want to wait for him to bring it up again--the dreaded subject of Chicago. I’d avoided it like the plague for the past several days, not wanting to face the reality of my impending move, of walking away from my new love so soon after we’d found each other. But now the subject wasn’t so scary; it was safe. I’d made the decision, at least for now, to stay--I just had to tell Marlboro Man. And finally, in between kisses, the words bubbled suddenly and boldly to the surface; I could no longer contain them. But before I had a chance to say them, Marlboro Man opened his mouth and began to speak. “Oh no,” he said, a pained expression on his face. “Don’t tell me--you’re leaving tomorrow.” He ran his fingers through my hair and touched his forehead to mine. I smiled, giggling inside at the secret I was seconds away from spilling. A herd of cows mooed in the distance. Serenading us. “Um…no,” I said, finding it hard to believe what I was about to tell him. “I’m not…I’m…I’m not going.” He paused, then pulled his face away from mine, allowing just enough distance between us for him to pull focus. “What?” he asked, is strong fingers still grasping my hair. A tentative smile appeared on his face. I breathed in a deep dose of night air, trying to calm my schoolgirl nervousness. “I, umm…” I began. “I decided to stick around here a little while.” There. I’d said it. This was all officially real. Without a moment of hesitation, Marlboro Man wrapped his ample arms around my waist. Then, in what seemed to be less than a second, he hoisted me from my horizontal position on the bed of his pickup until we were both standing in front of each other. Scooping me off my feet, he raised me up to his height so his icy blue eyes were level with mine. “Wait…are you serious?” he asked, taking my face in his hands. Squaring it in front of his. Looking me in the eye. “You’re not going?” “Nope,” I answered. “Whoa,” he said, smiling and moving in for a long, impassioned kiss on the back of his Ford F250. “I can’t believe it,” he continued, squeezing me tightly.

I breathed in a deep dose of night air, trying to calm my schoolgirl nervousness. “I, umm…” I began. “I decided to stick around here a little while.” There. I’d said it. This was all officially real. Without a moment of hesitation, Marlboro Man wrapped his ample arms around my waist. Then, in what seemed to be less than a second, he hoisted me from my horizontal position on the bed of his pickup until we were both standing in front of each other. Scooping me off my feet, he raised me up to his height so his icy blue eyes were level with mine. “Wait…are you serious?” he asked, taking my face in his hands. Squaring it in front of his. Looking me in the eye. “You’re not going?” “Nope,” I answered. “Whoa,” he said, smiling and moving in for a long, impassioned kiss on the back of his Ford F250. “I can’t believe it,” he continued, squeezing me tightly. Our knees buckled under the heat, and before I knew it we were back where we’d been before, rolling around and kissing manically in the bed of his diesel pickup. Occasionally my arm would hit a crowbar and my head would slam against a spare tire or a cattle prod or a jack; I didn’t care, of course. I’d said what I wanted to say that night. Everything else--even minor head injuries--was a piece of cake. We stayed there a long, long time, the balmy night air giving us no good reason to leave. Under the innumerable stars, amidst all the embraces and kisses and sounds from the surrounding livestock, I suddenly felt more at peace in my decision than I had since my phone call with Rhonda the Realtor that morning. I felt at home, comfortable, nestled in, wonderful. My life had changed that day, changed in a way I never, ever, could have predicted. My big-city plans--plans many months in the making--had all at once been smashed to smithereens by a six-foot cowboy with manure on his boots. A cowboy I’d known, essentially, for less than three weeks. It was the craziest thing I’d ever done, deciding to take an impulsive walk down this new and unexpected path. And while I secretly wondered how long it would take for me to regret my decision, I rested easily, at least for that night, in the knowledge that I’d had the courage to step out on such an enormous limb. It was late. Time to go. “Want me to drive you home now?” Marlboro Man asked, lacing our fingers together, kissing the back of my hand. “Or, do you…” He paused, considering his words. “Do you want to come stay at my place?

for later. Keep it safe. If the child has collapsed into a tantrum in a place where he might hurt himself, move him to an area where he will be safe—an open, carpeted area, away from the glass coffee table. A child in the midst of a tantrum often flails, grabs for things to throw, or reaches for people to hit. Keep the child away from everything, including your body.       Sometimes very young children feel totally out of control and will need you to contain them. Sit on the floor and gently but firmly hold your child’s back to your front, on the floor between your legs, both arms crossed in front of him. This is not an angry hold, but rather one that says I am keeping you safe. Soon (or maybe not so soon!) he will stop resisting you, relax a bit, and take it down a notch to crying. This hold should not become a physical battle. It is, instead, a form of support and safety that you provide for your child. Do not leave the child alone. There are those who believe in sending the child to his room to have the meltdown. I believe the child is better served by your not abandoning him to his out-of-control feelings and behavior. Stay close by. Even though you are not talking to him, he knows you are there, and your presence is comforting. He might command you to “Go away” or “Leave me alone,” but he doesn’t mean it. Sit in a chair across the room and pick up a magazine. If the child is holding on to your leg, try to ignore it. In fact, try to ignore him altogether as best as you can. You can say: “You are really angry right now. I will wait until you are done.” Or, “Let me know when you are done.”       If the child is trying to hurt you, hit you, or grab at you, stand up and step away. Tell him: “I will not let you hurt me. Let me know when you are done, and we can talk.”       When you are standing, your legs are the only target he can reach. He’ll wrap his arms around your calves in a death grip. Ignore it. It will end eventually, I promise. The End Save. You can usually tell when the tantrum is winding down. When you hear and see that your child is starting to come back down to earth—his crying has calmed to sobs, his breaths are broken and quick, he is sniffling a bit—it is a good time to step in and accompany him on his journey back. Scoop him up and say something diverting, like: “C’mon, Sam, let’s go see if there are any squirrels outside.” By this point, most children are ready to be saved. They just don’t know how to do so gracefully. A paradigm shift offers the child the chance to reenter the world and save face.

Reaching the door of his mother’s apartments, Marcus found it locked. He rattled the handle violently. “Open it,” he bellowed. “Open it now!” Silence, and then a maid’s frightened reply from within. “Milord… the countess bade me to tell you that she is resting.” “I’ll send her to her eternal fucking rest,” Marcus roared, “if this door isn’t opened now.” “Milord, please—” He drew back three or four paces and hurled himself against the door, which shook on its hinges and partially gave with a splintering sound. There were fearful cries in the hallway from a pair of female guests who happened to witness the astonishing display of raging frenzy. “Dear God,” one exclaimed to the other, “he’s gone berserk!” Marcus drew back again and lunged at the door, this time sending chunks of paneling flying. He felt Simon Hunt’s hands grasp him from behind, and he whirled with his fist drawn back, ready to launch an attack on all fronts. “Jesus,” Hunt muttered, retreating a step or two with his hands raised in a defensive gesture. His face was taut and his eyes were wide, and he stared at Marcus as if he were a stranger. “Westcliff—” “Stay the hell out of my way!” “Gladly. But let me point out that if our positions were reversed, you would be the first to tell me to keep a cool—” Ignoring him, Marcus swerved back to the door and targeted the disjointed lock with a powerful, accurately aimed blow of his boot heel. The housemaid’s scream shot through the doorway as the ruined portal swung open. Bursting into the receiving room, Marcus charged toward the bedchamber, where the countess sat in a chair by a small hearth fire. Fully dressed and swathed in ropes of pearls, she stared at him with amused disdain. Breathing heavily, Marcus advanced on her with bloodlust racing through his veins. It was certain that the countess had no idea that she was in mortal danger, or she would not have received him so calmly. “Full of animal spirits today, are we?” she asked. “Your descent from gentleman to savage brute has been accomplished so very quickly. I must offer Miss Bowman my compliments on her efficacy.” “What have you done with her?” “Done with her?” Her expression taunted him with its innocent perplexity. “What the devil do you mean, Westcliff?” “You met with her at Butterfly Court this morning.” “I never walk that far from the manor,” the countess said haughtily. “What a ridiculous asser—” She let out a strident cry as Marcus seized her, his fingers wrapping around the pearl ropes and tightening them around her throat. “Tell me where she is, or I’ll snap your neck like a wishbone!” Simon Hunt seized him from behind once more, determined to prevent a murder from occurring. “Westcliff!” Marcus closed his hand in a harder grip around the pearls. He glared without blinking into his mother’s face, not missing the flicker of vindictive triumph that lurked in her eyes. He did not take his gaze from hers even as he heard his sister Livia’s voice. “Marcus,” she said urgently. “Marcus, listen to me! You have my permission to throttle her later. I’ll even help. But at least wait until we’ve found out what she’s done.” Marcus tightened the tension of the pearls until the elderly woman’s eyes seemed to protrude from their shallow sockets. “Your only value to me,” he said in a low tone, “is your knowledge of Lillian Bowman’s whereabouts. If I can’t obtain that from you, I’ll send you to the devil. Tell me, or I’ll choke it from you. And believe that I have enough of my father in me to do it without a second thought.

It is the last evening at home. Everyone is silent. I go to bed early, I seize the pillow, press it against myself and bury my head in it. Who knows if I will ever lie in a feather bed again? Late in the night my mother comes into my room. She thinks I am asleep, and I pretend to be so. To talk, to stay awake with one another, it is too hard. She sits long into the night although she is in pain and often writhes. At last I can bear it no longer, and pretend I have just wakened up. ”Go and sleep, Mother, you will catch cold here.” ”I can sleep enough later,” she says. I sit up. ”I don’t go straight back to the front, mother. I have to do four weeks at the training camp. I may come over from there one Sunday, perhaps.” She is silent. Then she asks gently: ”Are you very much afraid?” ”No Mother.” ”I would like to tell you to be on your guard against the women out in France. They are no good.” Ah! Mother, Mother! You still think I am a child–why can I not put my head in your lap and weep? Why have I always to be strong and self-controlled? I would like to weep and be comforted too, indeed I am little more than a child; in the wardrobe still hang short, boy’s trousers–it is such a little time ago, why is it over? ”Where we are there aren’t any women, Mother,” I say as calmly as I can. ”And be very careful at the front, Paul.” Ah, Mother, Mother! Why do I not take you in my arms and die with you. What poor wretches we are! ”Yes Mother, I will.” ”I will pray for you every day, Paul.” Ah! Mother, Mother! Let us rise up and go out, back through the years, where the burden of all this misery lies on us no more, back to you and me alone, mother! ”Perhaps you can get a job that is not so dangerous.” ”Yes, Mother, perhaps I can get into the cookhouse, that can easily be done.” ”You do it then, and if the others say anything–” ”That won’t worry me, mother–” She sighs. Her face is a white gleam in the darkness. ”Now you must go to sleep, Mother.” She does not reply. I get up and wrap my cover round her shoulders. She supports herself on my arm, she is in pain. And so I take her to her room. I stay with her a little while. ”And you must get well again, Mother, before I come back.” ”Yes, yes, my child.” ”You ought not to send your things to me, Mother. We have plenty to eat out there. You can make much better use of them here.” How destitute she lies there in her bed, she that loves me more than all the world. As I am about to leave, she says hastily: ”I have two pairs of under-pants for you. They are all wool. They will keep you warm. You must not forget to put them in your pack.” Ah! Mother! I know what these under-pants have cost you in waiting, and walking, and begging! Ah! Mother, Mother! how can it be that I must part from you? Who else is there that has any claim on me but you. Here I sit and there you are lying; we have so much to say, and we shall never say it. ”Good-night, Mother.” ”Good-night, my child.” The room is dark. I hear my mother’s breathing, and the ticking of the clock. Outside the window the wind blows and the chestnut trees rustle. On the landing I stumble over my pack, which lies there already made up because I have to leave early in the morning. I bite into my pillow. I grasp the iron rods of my bed with my fists. I ought never to have come here. Out there I was indifferent and often hopeless;–I will never be able to be so again. I was a soldier, and now I am nothing but an agony for myself, for my mother, for everything that is so comfortless and without end. I ought never to have come on leave.

Downdraughts and Upwellings Just the mention of a downcurrent is enough to inspire fear in many divers as they visualize themselves getting caught by an irresistible force that drags them into the abyss with no opportunity for escape. The natural response when confronted with a situation like this where you feel out of control is to panic but there is no need. Normally, downdraughts or downcurrents are localized phenomena that occur along reef walls: think of them as waterfalls in the sea. When you encounter one, the first thing to do is get out of the flow by moving closer in to the wall so that the contours offer you shelter. Once out of the stream, relax, exhale, take a few deep full breaths, check your air supply, depth and decompression status, look around you and plan. Look to see where the big fish are hiding or if there is a place where the sea whips are not waving around. It is not a good idea to fight a downcurrent. It is a struggle you cannot win. The oft-quoted tactic of inflating your BCD to counteract its efforts to carry you down is potentially dangerous as the current might suddenly release you from its hold and you will find yourself on a runaway ascent to the surface, which will do you much more harm than the current could do. Unless you have spotted a place further along the wall that seems calm, usually the best advice is to swim laterally out away from the reef towards the blue. If you find yourself being carried a little deeper initially, stay calm and keep swimming, you will emerge from the pull of the downcurrent before long or its effect will weaken and allow you to begin your ascent and return to the wall. Think of upwellings as reverse down currents. The same advice applies. First move into the wall out of the flow, relax, think, observe and act calmly.

He told me I’d know for sure when you heard their voices,” Etienne went on. “And he said to ask you about the screams. He said only you would hear their screams at night.” Her curiosity vanished now, replaced by a growing panic. This can’t be happening to me. It squeezed her heart and choked her words, though she fought to stay calm. Her hands clenched at her sides. She willed her voice not to tremble. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” “Look, Miranda--” “I don’t know about any voices.” “But you heard one in your apartment today, yeah? We both know that--” “No. It was a mistake. I only thought I did…” “I guess it’d be easier to believe that. Safer to believe that.” Despite her angry glare, Etienne’s voice softened. “Your grand-père, he cares about you. He knows what it’s like. He wants your life to be happy.” “I’ll be happy when you leave. Why’d you come here anyway? Why don’t you just go?” She was starting to shake uncontrollably. Deep, painful chills that ached all the way through. She couldn’t get warm. She couldn’t concentrate on what Etienne was saying. She hugged herself and tried to stop shivering, and that’s when she realized Etienne’s arms were around her. “Your grand-père, he wants me to help you, cher,” Etienne insisted. “So you won’t be alone in all this.” The chills began instantly to melt. As Etienne pressed her firmly to his chest, she could feel his faint stir of breath through her hair, the length and shape of his body against hers. Her pulse quickened; her thoughts spun. She had to escape--from this room and this house, from Etienne and the way he was holding her, from these crazy things he was saying… Miranda pushed him away. “I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. My grandpa doesn’t know anything about me, and neither do you. There’s nothing to help me with. I don’t need any help. And I’m not lonely.” “I didn’t say you’d be lonely.” Etienne seemed to be studying her, as if she was some unusual specimen under a microscope. “I said you’d be alone. But in this case, you might end up being both.

Were you not optimistic about Mr. Winterborn’s vision?” “I expected it would turn out well enough, but there was still a chance that something might have gone wrong. I would hate for that to happen to Winterborne. He’s not one to suffer hard knocks with forbearance and grace.” Helen gathered that not all of Winterborne’s impatience was a result of being confined to a sickroom. “I had imagined that a man who owned a department store would be very charming and put people at ease.” West grinned at that. “He can be. But the moments when he’s charming and putting people at ease are when he’s most dangerous. Never trust him when he’s nice.” Her eyes rounded with surprise. “I thought he was your friend.” “Oh, he is. But have no illusions about Winterborne. He’s not like any man you’ve ever known, nor is he someone your parents would have allowed you to meet in society.” “My parents,” Helen said, “had no intention of allowing me to meet anyone in society.” Staring at her keenly, West asked, “Why is that, I wonder?” She was silent, regretting her comment. “I’ve always thought it odd,” West remarked, “that you’ve been obliged to live like a nun in a cloister. Why didn’t your brother take you to London for the season when he was courting Kathleen?” She met his gaze directly. “Town held no interest for me; I was happier staying here.” West’s hand slid over hers and squeezed briefly. “Little friend…let me give you some advice that may prove helpful in the future, when you’re in society. When you lie, don’t fidget with your hands. Keep them still and relaxed in your lap.” “I wasn’t--” Helen broke off abruptly. After a slow breath, she spoke calmly. “I wanted to go, but Theo didn’t think I was ready.” “Better.” He grinned at her. “Still a lie…but better.

You need to take a deep breath and calm down. Can you ask a relative to come and stay with you?" Welling asked.

Eliza woke with a start at an unusual noise. Her eyes widened, her heart refused to beat, and she tried to muffle a scream. She stayed motionless, too afraid to move, to breathe. Eliza’s blood drained from her face and she tried to rouse her companions without frightening the horrid creature, afraid at any moment it would attack. “Kitty! Thomas!” she squeaked, staying still. Neither of them moved. She called for them again, louder this time. Thomas jerked and grabbed at the pistol underneath his side. He stalled for a moment, looking back and forth before his body shook with a bellowing laugh. Awake and giggling, Kitty rested on her elbow next to Eliza. “Liza, how do you always attract those creatures?” “This isn’t funny! Why isn’t it moving? Get it off of me!” Eliza squealed. Her plea only made Thomas laugh harder. How could they possibly find humor in this? “Please! Get it off of me, one of you. Why doesn’t it just leave?” Eliza covered her mouth and breathed through her fingers while the large gray squirrel stared at her from tiny black eyes. “Allow me to rescue you from this dangerous attacker, fair maiden.” Thomas reached over and shooed the animal from its perch on Eliza’s lower leg. It scampered away as Thomas continued chuckling and wiping tears from his eyes. He winked and his smile softened, but not enough to soothe the waves of Eliza’s embarrassment that crashed against her. She sat up straight and pressed her hand to her chest as she tried to calm the rapid thumping of her heart. Thomas pointed out the cave with a tilt to his voice that announced his teasing. “You could have been killed.” His winsome smile almost took away the shame. Almost. “I’m glad you were both so entertained.

What the f**k is this?” Trevor didn’t rise to the bait, as he hadn’t for the last several days. Calmly, he asked, “What?” “This.” Edgard threw the pristine, custom-made saddle on the ground within Trevor’s peripheral view. Shit. How had Edgard found it? And why in the hell had that bastard gone snooping around instead of figuring out what was wrong with Meridian like he’d promised? “Trev? I asked you a question.” “You know damn good and well what it is, Ed.” “I figured you would’ve gotten rid of it by now.” “Well, I didn’t.” Edgard practically growled, “That don’t tell me why you still have it. That don’t tell me nothin’.” Trevor turned his face toward the opposite fence to gaze across to the mountains. His reasons for keeping the saddle seemed sentimental, sloppy and stupid now, but he’d be damned if he’d share those reasons with anyone, least of all Edgard, the man responsible for those feelings. Bootsteps made a sucking sound in the muck of the corral as Edgard closed the short distance between them. “I ain’t gonna drop it. Answer me.” “Fine. You said I could do whatever I wanted with it. So I kept it.” “You didn’t use it at all, did you?” Trevor shook his head, keeping his eyes averted. “Why not?” “I have plenty of other saddles, saddles I like better.” “That’s a piss-poor excuse. Try again.” He stayed mum, wishing the damn mud would open up and swallow him like a sinkhole. “Were you hoping if you kept it I’d come back?” Trevor’s heart said yes but his mouth stayed tight as a rusty hinge. “Answer the f**king question, Trevor.” Edgard’s arrogant streak snapped Trevor’s forced patience. “What do you want me to say? It’s obvious I saved the goddamn saddle.” “Why?” “Because it reminded me of you, all right?” He kicked a chunk of mud and stalked away. “Fuck this and f**k you.” Edgard rattled off something in Portuguese, something Trevor vaguely remembered as being a plea. Or was it a threat? Dammit. His feet stopped. Trevor’s gaze zeroed in on Edgard, who’d circled him until they were standing less than a foot apart. “Tell me why.” Be cruel, that’ll nip this in the bud once and for all. “I didn’t keep the f**kin’ thing because I had some girlish goddamn hope you’d come back lookin’ for it like Cinderella’s lost glass slipper, and we’d pick up where we left off after you left me.” He locked his eyes to the liquid heat in Edgard’s, not allowing the man to look away. “Especially after you made it crystal clear you weren’t ever comin’ back.” Angry puffs of breath distorted the air between them. Several beats passed before Edgard retorted, “But I am here now, aren’t I?” “What? Am I supposed to be flippin’ cartwheels about that fact? I don’t know what you want from me, Ed. Take the saddle back if that’ll make you happy. I’ve got no use for it. I never did.” Angry, disgusted with himself, Edgard, and the whole uncomfortable situation, Trevor spun and walked toward the barn. Edgard laughed—the taunting, soft laughter that was guaranteed to raise Trevor’s hackles and his ire. “It’s that easy for you? To get pissed off and walk away?” “Yep. You’ve got no right to act so goddamned surprised since it’s a trick I learned from you, amigo.” Not two seconds later, the air left Trevor’s lungs as Edgard tackled him to the ground. Trevor rolled to dislodge the man from his back; Edgard countered, took a swing and missed. Trevor bucked and twisted his shoulders, but Edgard anticipated the move and used the momentum against Trevor to try and shove Trevor’s face against the fence. Before Edgard cornered him and held him down completely to land a punch, Trevor rolled again and pushed to his feet. A noise echoed behind him, but he ignored it as he fisted his hands in Edgard’s shearling coat, dragging him upright until they were nose to nose.

Using the Time-Out The time-out process involves six steps, each of which needs to be followed or the time-out will not work. We’ve used the word TEMPER to make the steps easier to remember. T—Take your temperature. Find out if you are at or near your exit point temperature. If you are, proceed with the time-out. E—Explain toyour partner that you need to take a time-out. Let her know you are concerned that if you stay any longer, you may not be able to manage your behavior. M—Mention exactly how many minutes you’ll be gone. We suggest thirty to sixty minutes. P—Promise to return. Tell her that you know your discussion is important and that you want to try to resolve the issue. E—Exit. Leave your home. Going to the basement or garage is not adequate. Use calm breathing and positive self-talk to help quiet yourself and let go of your anger. It may help to take a walk or do another form of exercise. Do not go to a bar, casino, or any other place that interferes with your calming down and thinking clearly. R—Return at the designated time and continue the discussion. If the time-out hasn’t been long enough to let you calm down, then explain to your partner that you need more time. Take another time-out. Once again, let her know how long you will be gone, and promise to return. Returning on time is important; if you don’t, your partner is unlikely to believe you the next time.

He said to me, Badshah, you can see the signs. But she is stubborn, she will refuse to leave.' 'Leave where? Delhi? For what?' 'The country, Rabia. You can't have missed what's happening around us. Even in your own colony, the trouble at Arshad's wedding two years ago ...' 'But it's always been this way!' she cries. 'Some pushing and pulling, yes, some clashes between us and them, yes. We are used to a hundred little fires breaking out here and there, smouldering. Then people calm down and the fires go out, leaving only the memory of ashes behind. But this is different. When someone blows on each fire and sends the flames rising higher, when they bring fresh coals every time, when a hundred fires join together and become a thousand-I see it happening. We are in our middle years, Rabia, I am at the lip of old age. Too old to stay and spend the rest of my life fighting for a space to breathe.

Early Morning Walks & the first flush of Winter Sunshine. It's incredibly difficult to wake up in the mornings of cold and cozy winter days, but somehow if you manage to get up and ask your mind to take a walk in the woods, the sunshine and warmth that catches your soul is breathtakingly beautiful, beyond beautiful. Each time a cold breeze touches you by while your heart is pulsating from the walk, you feel a Smile of calm widening in each and every breath of your bones, and when you catch a glimpse of the Morning Sun, and let the rays embrace your core, you know it was all worth it, the waking up and the walking on, so much worth it all. And then you Smile knowing, isn't the walk of Life exactly the same? When you wake up each day to walk a little more, to get wrapped in the warmth of Life all while cutting across the cold of Life's dark nights to find your way to the freshness of day, the Morning Sun of Life. And oh boy, it's just so much worth it, so much worth it all. To staying alive through the wilderness of Life. Stay in your Aura! Love & Light, always - Debatrayee

When she starts to escalate, keep your voice level. Do your own breathing. Don’t panic. She really will be okay. She may get angry with you in the process, especially if you’ve been her primary coping skill up until this point. She may want to lure you into an argument so that she can have an emotional release. If exploding at you is the coping skill she uses most often at home, it’s one that will continue into adulthood and into her adult relationships, such as her marriage, friendships, and workplace relationships. Teach her healthy coping skills instead. Model them yourself. Pray persistently. Prompt her to practice her skills. She can do this. And you can, too, especially if you both stay calm and connected.

I will myself to stay calm and rational. Think. Breathe. They’re only dogs. Just dogs. They’re not monsters.

Voyagers, I’ve always wanted to write about you. And now, at 4:41 a.m. on an autumn morning, Words have found their way into my mind. I picture myself like you— Distant from life, Alone, Yet moving towards an unknown destination! Like you, in the early stages of my journey, I could see, I could gather knowledge and transmit it, I was useful and efficient. But sometimes, to keep connected to the world, To be able to stay on course and conserve my energy, I had to shut parts of myself down, To survive, To go blind, to be deaf, to be isolated, and just occasionally signal my existence to the world. The same thing I do, that you do, that so many others do. The boundless reaches of space Have become somewhat more comprehensible through you, Yet the depths of the human soul remain unfathomable, And its pain incurable. We live in an age surrounded by a torrent of information, Yet somehow, we remain lonely and lost. Language has advanced, There are words for nearly everything, Everyone can describe their own state of mind, yet we’re still at war with one another. Earth has turned into a vast ship, Perhaps like Noah’s Ark, With maximum diversity and multiplicity, Yet everyone on this ship plays their own tune, rallies their own cause! Someone steps forward, claiming each individual’s thoughts and personal benefit are like rare pearls to be cherished, While another insists that collective welfare takes precedence, That the needs of the masses outweigh individual desires. Some launch movements to claim their rights, While others start movements to flaunt the rights they’ve acquired. No one knows what they truly want; We’re all still lost. I don’t know how Earth looks from afar— Perhaps like a blueberry-flavored lollipop, A lollipop with a stick, But Earth’s stick is an invisible one made of sorrow. I find something common among all the passengers on this ship, All the inhabitants of this blueberry lollipop: sorrow. A fetus in its mother’s womb is also like a lollipop, But connected by an umbilical cord. As a fetus, Growing in the mother’s womb, Suffering, malnutrition, and physical ailments can be painful for us. If the mother’s state is stable, We may enjoy brief periods of security and calm, but after that, We must endure the pain of separation, Learn how to breathe, And besides the sorrow of leaving security behind, We face new emotions like fear and anger. Later in life, We each take our own path. No matter how much they try to show humans as social creatures, It’s always the individual who walks their own way, who has the freedom to choose, Even if one finds the meaning of their path in joining a group or a collective, it’s their individual choice that put them on that path. Today, people have countless options to join others who are like them, And these options themselves bring confusion, And when you join a group out of confusion, You treat the other groups with hostility. Science, philosophy, religion, politics…each of them has thousands of branches, and each branch Wants to disprove the other, cleanse itself of its shameful past. Freedom of speech has become an excuse for verbal assaults and psychological wounds, Non-violence has become a breeding ground for new and emerging dictators, For heartless sects and brutal factions. Knowledge and science alone cannot save us, Just as religion couldn’t. I don’t want to write about chaos, Life isn’t that disorganized, In some corner of the world, A lover is staring up at his beloved’s window, A child is laughing joyfully. But writing about sorrow, Speaking of chaos and Asking questions can reveal where we stand. Now, we know so much about space, And about the Sun, too. The James Webb telescope has mapped out the cosmos for us, and countless projects are underway for the future, crafted with flawless precision and extraordinary coherence, but the rift between humans remains deep.

Narian was walking restlessly around his parlor when I entered, and my worry increased tenfold. Was he moving about because he was in pain? I glanced around the room, noticing an empty wineglass and a half-eaten bowl of soup. “You’re out of breath, Alera,” he said with a smile. “I hope that means your conversation with Nantilam went well.” I hesitated, unsure how to begin, unsure how to tell him what she was demanding, what she had done to him. Unsure how to tell him she had meted out one last betrayal. “How are you feeling?” I blurted, and he laughed. “I’m fine, but you don’t seem to be. Come and talk to me.” He took my hand and led me to the sofa, pulling me down to sit beside him. He winced as he did so, an indication he was experiencing some discomfort. I brushed his hair off his forehead, subtly checking for a fever, then told him of the High Priestess’s desires. “The terms of the actual treaty are not a problem, Narian, but Nantilam won’t enter into it unless you agree to make Cokyri your home. She wants to control your power, now and in the future, even to the point of progeny.” “Alera,” he calmly said, taking both my hands in his. “Those decisions are not hers to make. Besides, she’s a little late.” “I don’t understand.” He looked at me, bemused, then rolled up his right shirtsleeve, revealing an intricate tattoo encircling his forearm just below the elbow--the Cokyrian symbol that a man was voluntarily bound to a woman. I stared at it; I stared at him; and I burst into tears. His eyebrows rose in surprise, but he nonetheless took me into his arms. “That’s not the reaction I expected,” he drolly commented, “but it’s convinced me something is wrong.” “How….are…you…feeling?” I managed between sobs. “You’ve already asked me that, and I’m fine.” When I finally had my weeping under control, words tumbled from my mouth. “Even if the revolt has been successful, the High Priestess won’t enter into a treaty unless you stay in Cokyri. Otherwise, she’ll attack Hytanica again, and this time she will kill all of our military leaders and enslave my people. And she wants you to bind yourself to a woman of her choosing because if your powers pass to a child, she wants the child to be Cokyrian.” “That’s all well and good, but this time, she won’t be able to have things her way. There’s no need for you to worry about this. We are strong enough to take her on, Alera.” “But we’re not.” I glanced once more toward the food he had been given, and a flicker of understanding appeared in his eyes. “We have no choice, Narian, because she’s poisoned your food and drink and only she can heal you. And I don’t know what to do, only that I cannot let you die!” “Shhh,” he soothed, holding me close, and I couldn’t understand how he could be so calm. Not when panic rose higher inside me with each passing moment. When I had quieted, resting with my head cradled against his chest, he tried to sort through the things I had said. “So Nantilam, in her wisdom, has linked Hytanican’s freedom to my willingness to stay in Cokyri, and she has effectively taken me out of the fighting by poisoning my food?” I shudder, then nodded. “If I stay here, she is willing to sign a treaty, but if I’m not, she will never relinquish Hytanica and I won’t be around to prevent it.” “Yes,” I murmured. “So she is tearing us apart, dictating the rest of my life and we have to go along with it or she will destroy Hytanica?” “Yes. And we’re running out of time.” He shook his head in awe. “I have to hand it to her, Alera. She’s ruthless in pursuing what she wants.” “This is serious, Narian.” I found his attitude almost irritating. He obviously understood the direness of his situation, yet was acting like it was only a game. “I know it’s serious, but there is only one choice as far as I’m concerned. I don’t want to live without you, Alera. I won’t live without you.

SHREK Written by William Steig & Ted Elliott SHREK Once upon a time there was a lovely princess. But she had an enchantment upon her of a fearful sort which could only be broken by love's first kiss. She was locked away in a castle guarded by a terrible fire-breathing dragon. Many brave knights had attempted to free her from this dreadful prison, but non prevailed. She waited in the dragon's keep in the highest room of the tallest tower for her true love and true love's first kiss. (laughs) Like that's ever gonna happen. What a load of - (toilet flush) Allstar - by Smashmouth begins to play. Shrek goes about his day. While in a nearby town, the villagers get together to go after the ogre. NIGHT - NEAR SHREK'S HOME MAN1 Think it's in there? MAN2 All right. Let's get it! MAN1 Whoa. Hold on. Do you know what that thing can do to you? MAN3 Yeah, it'll grind your bones for it's bread. Shrek sneaks up behind them and laughs. SHREK Yes, well, actually, that would be a giant. Now, ogres, oh they're much worse. They'll make a suit from your freshly peeled skin. MEN No! SHREK They'll shave your liver. Squeeze the jelly from your eyes! Actually, it's quite good on toast. MAN1 Back! Back, beast! Back! I warn ya! (waves the torch at Shrek.) Shrek calmly licks his fingers and extinguishes the torch. The men shrink back away from him. Shrek roars very loudly and long and his breath extinguishes all the remaining torches until the men are in the dark. SHREK This is the part where you run away. (The men scramble to get away. He laughs.) And stay out! (looks down and picks up a piece of paper. Reads.) "Wanted. Fairy tale creatures."(He sighs and throws the paper over his shoulder.)

inner cheek, heart hammering, realizing he’d wasted two valuable bullets on a dime store scare. Only one bullet left. Then he was out of ammo. Roy checked his watch. Not even 4am yet. Hours to go before dawn. Might as well be days. Breathe. Remember to breathe. He took in air through his nostrils, tried to let it out slowly. His hands were shaking, and sweat was stinging his eyes despite the cool temperature. Roy holstered his sidearm, and drew his KA-BAR knife from his belt sheath, clutching it to his chest. Okay, stay calm. Find a place

By taking just a few extra seconds to stay with a positive experience—even the comfort in a single breath—you’ll help turn a passing mental state into lasting neural structure. Over time, you can fill up your inner storehouse with the strengths you need, such as feeling at ease rather than irritable, loved rather than mistreated, and resourced rather than running on empty.

he attended a Buddhist retreat in the north of England at which the principal teachers were a small group of Buddhist nuns. He no longer remembers any details about the tradition they belonged to, but he remembers well the profound effect their teachings had on him. At the core of the retreat were instructions on how participants could develop a practice of meditation through using the breath as a focus to remain anchored in the present moment. “What the nuns pointed me to was the part of their tradition kept alive through monastic practice for 2,500 years,” he says. “This was the importance of staying in the present moment, the importance of calm abiding, the practice of concentration in Buddhism known as samatha.” This time spent in the company of nuns, listening to their guidance, was “a seminal moment.

They’ve gone, love. Stay a moment more. There’s nothing to be gained by haste at this point, and we need to sort this out before we face your family.” Love? Now he called her love? “Let me go. I can’t breathe…” She tried to wrestle free, but he had his hand on the back of her head, his arm around her back. Out in the hallway, the front door didn’t close; it banged shut with the impact of a rifle shot ricocheting through the house… and through the rest of Eve’s blighted, miserable life. “Mama slammed that door, Lucas Denning. Her Grace, the Duchess of Moreland, slammed a door, because of me, because of my stupid, selfish, useless, greedy, stupid, asinine…” There were not words to describe the depth of the betrayal she’d just handed her family. She collapsed against Deene’s chest, misery a dry, scraping ache in her throat. “Eve, many couples anticipate their vows, even a few couples closely associated with the Duchess of Moreland.” The reason in his voice had her hands balling to fists. “I will not marry you.” She could not, not him of all men. That signal fact gave her scattering wits a rallying point. Deene did not argue. When an argument was imperative, he did not argue. His hand stroked slowly over her hair, and as the fighting instinct coursing through Eve’s body struggled to stand against a swamping despair, some part of Eve’s brain made a curious observation: Deene was breathing in a slow, unhurried rhythm, and as a function of the intimacy of their posture, Eve was breathing in counterpoint to him. The same easy, almost restful tempo, but her exhale matched his inhale. “We cannot marry, Deene. I won’t have it. A white marriage was as far as I was willing to go, and then only to the right sort of man, a man who would never seek to… impose conjugal duties on me.” His arms fell away, when Eve would very much have liked them to stay around her. Better he not see her face, better she not have to see his lovely blue eyes going chill and distant. “We need to set you to rights.” His hands on her shirt were deft and impersonal, his fingers barely touching her skin. The detachment in his touch was probably meant to be a kindness, but it… hurt. “Lucas, I cannot think.” “We’ll think this through together. I can guarantee you not a soul will be coming through that door until we decide to pass through it ourselves.” “I hate that you can be so calm.” And—worst

So you’ve run off from him, have you?” Beatrix asked, smoothing the wiry ruff on his head. “Naughty boy. I suppose you’ve had a fine old time chasing rabbits and squirrels. And there’s a damaging rumor about a missing chicken. You had better stay out of poultry yards, or it won’t go well for you in Stony Cross. Shall I take you home, boy? He’s probably looking for you. He--” She stopped at the sound of something…someone…moving through the thicket. Albert turned his head and let out a happy bark, bounding toward the approaching figure. Beatrix was slow to lift her head. She struggled to moderate her breathing, and tried to calm the frantic stutters of her heart. She was aware of the dog bounding joyfully back to her, tongue dangling. He glanced back at his master as if to convey Look what I found! Letting out a slow breath, Beatrix looked up at the man who had stopped approximately three yards away. Christopher. It seemed the entire world stopped.

It was worse than she’d expected. “None?” she asked. “No fresh boot prints anywhere around the perimeter of the house,” Sheriff Coughlin confirmed. “It was windy last night. Maybe the drifting snow filled in the prints?” Even before she finished speaking, the sheriff was shaking his head. “With the warm temperatures we’ve been having, the snow is either frozen or wet and heavy. If someone had walked through that yard last night, there would’ve been prints.” Daisy hid her wince at his words, even though they hit as hard as an elbow to the gut, and struggled to keep her voice firm. “There was someone walking around the outside of that house last night, Sheriff. I don’t know why there aren’t any boot prints, but I definitely saw someone.” He was giving her that look again, but it was worse, because she saw a thread of pity mixed in with the condescension. “Have you given more thought to starting therapy again?” The question surprised her. “Not really. What does that have to do…?” As comprehension dawned, a surge of rage shoved out her bewilderment. “I didn’t imagine that I saw someone last night. There really was a person there, looking in the side window.” All her protest did was increase the pity in his expression. “It must get lonely here by yourself.” “I’m not making things up to get attention!” Her voice had gotten shrill, so she took a deep breath. “I even said there was no need for you to get involved. I only suggested one of the on-duty deputies drive past to scare away the kid.” “Ms. Little.” His tone made it clear that impatience had drowned out any feelings of sympathy. “Physical evidence doesn’t lie. No one was in that yard last night.” “I know what I saw.” The sheriff took a step closer. Daisy hated how she had to crane her neck back to look at him. It made her feel so small and vulnerable. “Do you really?” he asked. “Eyewitness accounts are notoriously unreliable. Even people without your issues misinterpret what they see all the time. The brain is a tricky thing.” Daisy set her jaw as she stared back at the sheriff, fighting the urge to step back, to retreat from the man looming over her. There had been someone there, footprints or no footprints. She couldn’t start doubting what she’d witnessed the night before. If she did, then that meant she’d gone from mildly, can’t-leave-the-house crazy, to the kind of crazy that involved hallucinations, medications, and institutionalization. There had to be some other explanation, because she wasn’t going to accept that. Not when her life was getting so much better. She could tell by looking at his expression that she wasn’t going to convince Coughlin of anything. “Thank you for checking on it, Sheriff. I promise not to bother you again.” Although he kept his face impassive, his eyes narrowed slightly. “If you…see anything else, Ms. Little, please call me.” That wasn’t going to happen, especially when he put that meaningful pause in front of “see” that just screamed “delusional.” Trying to mask her true feelings, she plastered on a smile and turned her body toward the door in a not-so-subtle hint for him to leave. “Of course.” Apparently, she needed some lessons in deception, since the sheriff frowned, unconvinced. Daisy met his eyes with as much calmness as she could muster, dropping the fake smile because she could feel it shifting into manic territory. She’d lost enough credibility with the sheriff as it was. The silence stretched until Daisy wanted to run away and hide in a closet, but she managed to continue holding his gaze. The memory of Chris telling her about the sheriff using his “going to confession” stare-down on suspects helped her to stay quiet. Finally, Coughlin turned toward the door. Daisy barely managed to keep her sigh of relief silent. “Ms. Little,” he said with a short nod, which she returned. “Sheriff.” Only when he was through the doorway with the door locked behind him did Daisy’s knees start to shake.

You got me so fucking turned on I couldn’t stand up if the place were on fucking fire, princess.” He points toward my chocolate-milk container. “And all you did was touch your pretty little lips to a fucking milk carton.” He rubs his forehead as if he wants to rub the thoughts away. He looks into my eyes. “All I know is if you ever touched me with that mouth of yours, I would go off like a cannon, princess. I’d be the happiest man in the world, but ashamed of myself, because I have no control when it comes to you, apparently.” He grimaces and looks down toward his lap, adjusting his pants as he wiggles his hips. “Our situation is messed up for so many reasons that I can’t even think about going there with you. But all I can think about is going there with you.” He groans and shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth. His eyes don’t leave mine, though. “I got up this morning thoroughly prepared to ignore you today. But then there you were, and you were smiling at me.” He looks down at my mouth. “I couldn’t ignore you if I tried.” I take a deep breath, trying to rationalize my thoughts. But I can’t. I have never, ever felt like this before. My girlfriends have talked about it, but I have never felt it. Even when I go on dates, it’s like some part of me shuts down. But with Pete, nothing shuts down. Everything wakes up. He goes on to say, “I don’t want to want you.” My heart stutters. I get it. I don’t like it. But I get it. I nod. Nobody likes damaged goods. I get up from the table and pick up my plate. “Wait,” he calls. I can’t wait. If I wait, he might see the tears that are brimming in my eyes. “Princess,” he calls again. Suddenly, my shirt jerks and I can’t walk any farther. I look back and see his hand twisted in the tail end of my shirt. He leans over the table and presses his lips together. “Don’t walk away,” he says. But all I see is the hand fisted in my shirt. My heart stutters, and my breaths freeze in my chest. I can’t get away. I turn back and punch him directly in the face with the heel of my hand. He jerks, his eyes closing as he winces and snaps his head back. I chop his wrist with my fist. One, two… Next, I’ll go for his eyes. “Reagan!” Dad yells as he drops what he’s holding and rushes in my direction. He tackles Pete, who is still stunned from my punch to the face. They drop to the ground, with Pete rolling to the bottom. Dad flips him over and pulls his hands behind his back. “Reagan,” Dad grunts. “What happened?” Pete lays there on the ground. He’s not even putting up a fight. He just winces, his eyes shut tightly as a slow trickle of blood streams from his nose. “Stay down,” Dad warns. Pete nods, and he doesn’t move. But his eyes finally open, and they meet mine. I don’t know how to interpret that look at all or what to say. So, I turn and run back to the house. I run like the terrified little girl I am.

You look like you were on the wrong side of a gang fight, he signs, and then he points to my eye. I shrug. That’s what happens when you grab a girl the wrong way. Take note: Some of them can kick your ass. I thought the other kids were lying, he says. Then he laughs. She really hit you? He looks toward Reagan and grins. That’s what you get for putting the moves on my girl. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. He points a finger at me in warning. “Why aren’t you swimming?” I ask, using my voice. He points to the piece of plastic. Kind of hard to breathe when it’s full of water. “You can’t swim with that thing? Really?” His face falls. I should have left it alone. “Then what are you doing here?” I ask. “You could be riding horses or doing something fun.” He looks toward Reagan. And miss seeing her legs? Absolutely not. I’ll stay right here. I chuckle and shake my head. The boy’s funny. I’ll give him that. I pull a chair up close to him and sit down. “Just so you know,” I say. “I’ve called dibs on that one. So you can stop dreaming.” Dude, she punched you in the face. He laughs. I pat my chest. “I can be charming when I want to.” When will that start? He grins.

So you’ve run off from him, have you?” Beatrix asked, smoothing the wiry ruff on his head. “Naughty boy. I suppose you’ve had a fine old time chasing rabbits and squirrels. And there’s a damaging rumor about a missing chicken. You had better stay out of poultry yards, or it won’t go well for you in Stony Cross. Shall I take you home, boy? He’s probably looking for you. He--” She stopped at the sound of something…someone…moving through the thicket. Albert turned his head and let out a happy bark, bounding toward the approaching figure. Beatrix was slow to lift her head. She struggled to moderate her breathing, and tried to calm the frantic stutters of her heart. She was aware of the dog bounding joyfully back to her, tongue dangling. He glanced back at his master as if to convey Look what I found! Letting out a slow breath, Beatrix looked up at the man who had stopped approximately three yards away. Christopher. It seemed the entire world stopped. Beatrix tried to compare the man standing before her with the cavalier rake he had once been. But it seemed impossible that he could be the same person. No longer a god descending from Olympus…now a warrior hardened by bitter experience. His complexion was a deep mixture of gold and copper, as if he had been slowly steeped in sun. The dark wheaten locks of his hair had been cut in efficiently short layers. His face was impassive, but something volatile was contained in the stillness. How bleak he looked. How alone. She wanted to run to him. She wanted to touch him. The effort of standing motionless caused her muscles to tremble in protest. She heard herself speak in a voice that wasn’t quite steady. “Welcome home, Captain Phelan.” He was silent, staring at her without apparent recognition. Dear Lord, those eyes…frost and fire, his gaze burning through her awareness. “I’m Beatrix Hathaway,” she managed to say. “My family--” “I remember you.” The rough velvet of his voice was a pleasure-stroke against her ears. Fascinated, bewildered, Beatrix stared at his guarded face. To Christopher Phelan, she was a stranger. But the memories of his letters were between them, even if he wasn’t aware of it. Her hand moved gently over Albert’s rough fur. “You were absent in London,” she said. “There was a great deal of hullabaloo on your behalf.” “I wasn’t ready for it.” So much was expressed in that spare handful of words. Of course he wasn’t ready. The contrast would be too jarring, the blood-soaked brutality of war followed by a fanfare of parades and trumpets and flower petals. “I can’t imagine any sane man would be,” she said. “It’s quite an uproar. Your picture is in all the shop windows. And they’re naming things after you.” “Things,” he repeated cautiously. “There’s a Phelan hat.” His brows lowered. “No there isn’t.” “Oh, yes there is. Rounded at the top. Narrow-brimmed. Sold in shades of gray or black. They have one featured at the milliner’s in Stony Cross.” Scowling, Christopher muttered something beneath his breath.

When do you want me to leave, Frank?” His head whipped around. “Leave?” He seemed panicked. And yet today he’d been . . . Well, he’d been confusing. “I just thought . . .” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Of course. You need to go. I understand. We can manage.” He crisscrossed the room, stopped to finger the clock on the mantel. “But the children seem to have taken to you. I’d hate for them to have another loss right now.” I hopped up from my place, suddenly eager to make him understand. “It’s fine if I stay for a while. It really is. I . . .” The words died in my throat. I couldn’t explain. Relief seemed to flood his face, calming the flutters in my chest. I’d told God I’d wait right here until He showed me what to do next. And I intended to do just that—if Frank would let me. “I don’t want to impose. I know you’ve been here three months already.” His face mirrored James’s again as he ran a hand through his dark hair and blew out a long breath. “I’m not sure I can manage it all on my own. Not yet. But if you can stay for a while longer, maybe until after spring planting, I’d be mighty grateful.

I don’t know if I can stay here for two weeks.” Cat flinched internally at the flat words. “Why not?” Out of her peripheral vision she could see his hands tighten on the chair arms, the only outward sign he was uncomfortable. She forced herself to stay relaxed. “Because I need to get back to work. I can’t leave LNF short-handed.” “They’re not. Duncan said he’d had to hire three people to take your place, but the new guys are already working. Your position is secure, however. I checked with Wilde before I arranged all this.” The information didn’t seem to relax him at all. The wood creaked beneath his massive clenching hands. “Why are you stressing?” she asked calmly. “I don’t know if I can stay here with you that long.” Searing pain shattered her heart at his cold words, but she forced herself to breathe. Icy determination pushed away the pain. “Well, you’re going to have to, because this is the last time I’m doing this. This time here at the house is also meant to be for us to decide where this marriage is going, because right now it’s circling the drain. I can’t hang in this limbo anymore and it’s not fair to the kids to expect them to either. So before you bolt out of here just be aware that this is the last time I am going to fight for our marriage.” Unable to stay still any longer, she pushed up out of the chair. “I’m going to go soak in the tub. Or something.” She

When Kylie was ready, Blair went into her friend’s room and lay next to her on the bed. Blair started to thread her fingers through the doctor’s soft curls, speaking to her in a soothing voice. “It’s gonna be all right. Everything will work out. We’re gonna be one small, happy family.” She kept up her ministrations, until she felt Kylie’s body relax, and then slowed down and finally stopped. Kylie was sound asleep, and Blair couldn’t resist staying right where she was. She nestled her cheek against Kylie’s back, listening to her strong, sure heartbeat and the steady intake of breath. It’s gonna be so nice when I can sleep with her, she thought. Just lying here with her calms me down. She noticed that Mackenzie was unusually calm, too, and whispered, “Mama Kylie calms you down, too, doesn’t she, Mackenzie? All we have to do now is convince her that we’re gonna love her as much as she loves us.

Deanna was up and out of her chair like it was spring-loaded.Thankfully, Lucky had excellent reflexes. It also didn’t hurt that he’d already been anticipating her quick departure, so he was right behind her. As soon as they made it outside, her phone buzzed in her purse. She pulled it out and said, “Shit!” “Everything okay?” he asked. Apparently, she hadn’t realized he was hot on her tail, because she screamed and threw her arms up in the air, sending her phone flying. Thanks to his aforementioned great reflexes, he caught it in midair. Gripping her chest, she asked, wild-eyed, “What are you doing?” “I want to talk to you.” “I don’t want to talk to you,” her response was so fast, it felt like it’d been rehearsed. Maybe it had. Maybe she’d planned on saying that if he ever showed interest in having a conversation with her. Handing her phone back, he ignored her protest and repeated, “Everything okay?” Looking flustered, Deanna replied, “I just… I forgot that Eli is my ride.” “I’ll take you home,” Lucky offered. Pulling her head back, she scoffed. “What? No. Thanks, but no. I’ll walk.” Then she turned on her heel and started hightailing out of the parking lot. In two strides, he was beside her. “What are you doing?” Deanna asked, which was becoming a running theme in their relationship. Lucky smiled. “Walking you home.” “Thanks, but I’m fine. This is Hope Falls.” She dramatically stretched her arms out. “Seriously, I can take care of myself.” “Really?” He continued walking beside her. “Yes, really.” Her feet moved faster. “Like you did back there when you screamed and threw your phone in the air?” Stopping, she spun towards him and crossed her arms. She was mad—or, at the very least, irritated—so he tried not to let the fact that she looked cuter than anything he’d ever seen in his life show on his face. “I didn’t know you were there,” she said in a defiant explanation. He knew that he might just piss her off more, but that didn’t stop him from saying, “Oh, right. And I guess most attackers announce their presence. Give you plenty of time to prepare your retaliation.” Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm down. Or stay mad. He couldn’t really tell, but he was enjoying the show. Between her arms pushing her breasts up so they were spilling over her revealing neckline, and the motion of her chest rising and falling, he could’ve stood there and watched her breathe all night and not get bored. “Look, this is a safe town. I’ve studied self-defense, and I was just distracted.” “Okay,” he agreed. She narrowed her gaze as if she didn’t accept his easy answer. “Okay?” Shrugging casually, he repeated, “Okay.” Nodding, she smoothed her hands over her dress and started walking again. So, naturally, he followed. “You said okay!” she exclaimed indignantly as she once again stopped. “Yes, I did. Just because I agreed with the points you made doesn’t mean I’m going to let you walk home alone.” He grinned, trying to disguise the fact that she was so damn adorable when flustered from irritation.

Keir will not die. Leave us." I was of half a mind to scream out, to attract attention. But what would they think of a Warprize cowering before him? I grit my teeth. Iften opened his arms, as if making a peaceful gesture. "It is you that should leave. Ride out now, return to your people. All will be as it was." His voice was smooth and sure, as if offering the friendliest of advice. "No need to place yourself in jeopardy. No need to face attacks, such as in your own marketplace. No need to face the Elders or the warrior-priests." His face changed, and I had to stop myself from taking a step back. "Go, Xyian. Prepare your people for the army that will come in the spring, to ravage—" Something broke the fear inside me. With swift steps, I moved toward him, my fist raised in anger, swearing at the top of my lungs. "I curse you, bracnect. May the skies deny you breath!" Iften's eyes went wide, and his breath caught. His hand went to his sword hilt. I glared at him, took another step forward and shook my fist in his face. "May the earth sink below your feet." There was a gasp from outside, I wasn't sure who, but I didn't let it stop me. "May the fire deny you heat, and the very waters of the land dry in your hand." Iften didn't draw his sword. His face went pale and he stepped back quickly, stumbling out into the meeting room, heading for the main exit. As he retreated through the flap, I followed right behind. "May the very elements reject you and all that you are!" Marcus and Joden were outside, their eyes wide as plates. Others within hearing distance turned horrified faces toward us. I just kept my eyes on Iften, and took another step to jab my finger into his chest. "May your balls rot like fruit in the sun, and your manhood wither at the root!" I spit in the earth in front of Iften's toe. Without another word, I stomped back into the tent. By the time Marcus and Joden stepped into the tent, I was sitting calmly by Keir, wiping his chest down with water that I had added herbs to. Marcus spoke first, softly. "Warprize? How did you know such a curse?" "She overheard it?" Joden said. "How? When? None would say it in her presence without my knowledge. And none have cursed so in this army that I have heard word of." I responded calmly. "I didn't know it. I made it up. He was standing there, prating about the elements and bragging about what he was going to do and I just got so very angry." "A strong curse, Warprize." Marcus's voice carried a note of pride. "I don't care, so long as he stays away from me and Keir." Joden's tone was dry. "No fear of that, Lara.

If Sophie’s too young,” he said, “then you can be my girl, Elise. You’re a looker.” “None of us are going to be your girl,” she shot back. He advanced closer. “Your uncle told us he’s throwing you all out of here soon. But if you’re my girl, I’ll make sure you stay.” Elise was surprised Uncle Hermann hadn’t forced them out yet. She’d known it was only a matter of time before he did. Since Reinhold had brought her the news of Uncle’s plans, she’d been asking around the neighborhood for a new place to live. But whenever she found an available space, no one wanted so many young dependents, especially when over half weren’t wage earners. Friedric drew close enough that she caught the smell of beer on his breath. “You know you want me.” He leaned in and attempted to kiss her. She dodged him and at the same time thrust out the knife. When the sharp tip pricked him in the chest, he froze. “Don’t try to touch me or my sisters again.” She attempted to keep her hand from trembling. “If you so much as breathe on us, I won’t hesitate to cut you up.” He was silent for a moment as though trying to grasp the meaning of her words in his beer-fogged brain. Finally he stepped out of her reach and said, “You’ll regret turning me down, princess,” and his voice rumbled low with menace. “Never.” “You just wait and see. I’ll make sure that next time you’re not here when I want one of your sisters.” Elise fought back panic and forced herself to remain calm. She drew in a steadying breath. “Okay, Friedric. You’re right. You’re my best option. I’ll consider being your girl so long as you promise to get Uncle to let me and my sisters stay.” Her words must have taken Friedric by surprise because he was speechless for a minute before giving a triumphant laugh. “You have a deal. You’ll have to get rid of the two snot-nosed babies. But I won’t have any trouble convincing your uncle to let you and your sisters stay.” He fumbled for her again. She stopped him with her knife. “You said you’d be my girl,” he whined, backing away again. “Only after I have proof that Uncle won’t throw us out. If you touch me before that, I’ll hack off your fingers.” He grumbled under his breath before finally muttering, “Fine.

A repetitive strain injury of the mind. How to exist in the 21st century and not have a panic attack Keep an eye on yourself. Be your own friend. Be your own parent. Be kind to yourself. Check on what you are doing. Do you need to watch the last episode of the series when it is after midnight? Do you need that third or fourth glass of wine? Is that really in your best interests? Declutter your mind. Panic is the product of overload. In an overloaded world we need to have a filter. We need to simplify things. We need to disconnect sometimes. We need to stop staring at our phones. To have moments of not thinking about work. A kind of mental feng shui. Listen to calm noise. Things that aren’t as stimulating as music. Waves, your own breath, a breeze through the leaves, the purr of a cat, and best of all: rain. Let it happen. If you feel panic rising the instinctive reaction is to panic some more. To panic about the panic. To metapanic. The trick is to try to feel panic without panicking about it. This is nearly—but not quite—impossible. I had panic disorder—a condition defined not by the occasional panic attack but by frequent panic attacks and the continuous hellish fear of the next one. By the time I’d had hundreds of panic attacks I began to tell myself I wanted it. I didn’t, obviously. But I used to work hard at trying to invite the panic—as a test, to see how I could cope. The more I invited it, the less it wanted to stay around. Accept feelings. And accept that they are just that: feelings. Don’t grab life by the throat. “Life should be touched, not strangled,” said the writer Ray Bradbury. It is okay to release fear. The fear tries to tell you it is necessary, and that it is protecting you. Try to accept it as a feeling, rather than valid information. Bradbury also said: “Learning to let go should be learned before learning to get.” Be aware of where you are. Are your surroundings overstimulating? Is there somewhere you can go that is calmer? Is there some nature you can look at? Look up. In city centers, the

You can’t go.” “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.” “Because what was the point in anything if you just disappear forever?” she hissed, splaying her arms. “The point in what, Celaena?” How could he be so calm when she was so frantic? “The point in Skull’s Bay, and the point in getting me that music, and the point in… the point in telling Arobynn that you’d forgive him if he never hurt me again.” “You said you didn’t care what I thought. Or what I did. Or if I died, If I’m not mistaken.” “I lied! And you know I lied, you stupid bastard!” He laughed quietly. “You want to know how I spent this summer?” She went still. He ran a hand through his brown hair. “I spent every single day fighting the urge to slit Arobynn’s throat. And he knew I wanted to kill him. The moment I woke up after he beat me, I realized I had to leave. Because I was going to kill him if I didn’t. But I couldn’t.” He studied her face. “Not until you came back. Not until I knew you were all right—until I saw that you were safe.” Breathing became very, very hard. “He knew that, too,” Sam went on. “So he decided to exploit it. He didn’t recommend me for missions. Instead, he made me help Lysandra and Clarisse. He made me escort them around the city on picnics and parties. It became a game between the two of us—how much of his horseshit I could take before I snapped. But we both knew he’d always have the winning hand. He’d always have you. Still. I spent every day this summer hoping you’d come back in one piece. More than that—I hoped you’d come back and take revenge for what he’d done to you.” But she hadn’t. She’d come back and let Arobynn shower her with gifts. “And now that you’re fine, Celaena, now that you’ve paid off your debt, I can’t stay in Rifthold. Not after all the things he’s done to us.” “Please don’t go.” “You’ll be fine without me. You always have been.” Maybe once, but not now. “How can I convince you to stay?” “You can’t.” She threw down the torch. “Do you want me to beg, is that it?” “No—never.” “Then tell me—” “What more can I say?” he exploded, his whisper rough and harsh. “I’ve already told you everything—I’ve already told you that if I stay here, if I have to live with Arobynn, I’ll snap his damned neck.” “But why? Why can’t you let it go?” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Because I love you!” Her mouth fell open. “I love you,” he repeated, shaking her again. “I have for years. And he hurt you and made me watch because he’s always known how I felt, too. But if I asked you to pick, you’d choose Arobynn, and I. Can’t. Take. It.” The only sounds were their breathing, an uneven beat against the rushing of the sewer water. “You’re a damned idiot,” she breathed. “You’re a moron and an ass and a damned idiot.” He looked like she had hit him. But she went on, and grasped both sides of his face, “Because I’d pick you.” And then she kissed him.

Just as thoughts of love and endearment float like fireflies beneath the surface of my skin, they drop from my being entirely when I see a black figure pass the window adjacent to him. Before I can even alert him to the sight, I see his head turn ever so slightly, somehow hearing the footsteps outside the window. He turns to face me, shirtless, wearing only his black jeans as his direct eye contact demands mine. He stares with a wild, protective nature while holding a single finger to his lips, silencing me. My pulse pounds in my neck, a cyclone of terror hitting me in the gut, and yet he looks entirely too calm. The rest of his fingers raise as he holds out a palm, telling me to stay put. I curse beneath my breath, closing my eyes tightly as the door to the bedroom bursts open. Aero rests in the shadows behind the door while I stand near the wall of the bathroom, holding my breath as my eyes slowly open to the mirror, seeing the reflection of the intruder in our private space. As if knowing to clear the room, the masked man grips the edge of the door, about to peer behind it where Aero’s standing. I throw my wooden brush against the glass of the mirror, causing it to shatter entirely, stealing his attention, if only for a second. The man turns, seeing my form standing in the bathroom’s light. Taking quick strides towards me, I squint my eyes, expecting to be knocked off my ass by the approaching man. Aero emerges from the shadows without a sound. With a belt he grabbed from somewhere, he wraps it around the intruder’s neck, jetting the man back against his solid bare chest. The man’s eyes bulge beneath the cutout of the mask, his fingers clawing at the flesh of Aero’s flexed forearms as his grip tightens. Legs splay and kick out as the man slowly sinks to the ground, the seconds ticking away like minutes as I watch the life drain from him.

Soulful Pause In the stillness, I find my way To a place within, where love stays A soulful pause, a moment's grace To breathe, to be, in a peaceful space The world outside recedes from sight As I step into the quiet light My heart and mind, no longer astray Find solace in this soulful day In this pause, I let go of fear And embrace the love that's always near My soul awakens, free and clear A sense of calm, my heart holds dear The world may rush, but I'll take my time To savor this soulful pause, sublime For in the silence, I find my strength A sense of peace, that forever will length.

Honus took out his healing kit, and set a pot of water to boil. “When the water’s ready,” he said, “I’ll tend your wound.”   Yim touched the cut on her chin. “Is it bad?”   Honus peered at it in the firelight. “No, but you’ll have a scar.”   Yim smiled wryly. “I’m catching up with your collection.”   “I’m keeping apace with you,” replied Honus.   For the first time, Yim noticed that Honus’s shirtsleeve was torn and blood-soaked. She gasped. “Honus! Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”   “I didn’t wish to trouble you. Besides, it’s not deep.” He rolled up his right sleeve to reveal a bloody gash on his forearm.   When the water boiled, Honus poured some into a wooden bowl and added powder from a vial in his healing kit. After cleaning the blood from Yim’s face, he wetted a cloth with the solution in the bowl. “This will sting,” he said.   “I remember,” replied Yim. She winced as the solution foamed inside her cut. Glimpsing the concern in Honus’s eyes, she tried to hide her pain. She took a deep breath and said, “I’m glad that’s over.”   Honus cleaned the gash on his arm with the same solution, then asked, “Would you stitch my wound closed? I’d rather not do it left-handed.”   “I’ll try,” said Yim, “but I’ve never done the like before.”   “It’s not hard, and I’m certain your dainty fingers will do finer work than Theodus’s thick ones ever managed.”   “Before you malign his stitching, you should compare it to mine,” said Yim. “As a girl, I was more adept with goats than needlework.”   “Then pretend I’m a goat.”   Honus took out a curved needle and a strand of gut from his kit and dipped them in the cleansin g solution. He declined Yim’s suggestion to prepare a brew for his pain, stating he wanted to stay alert. When Yim nervously sewed his wound, he was absolutely stoic. He guided her stitching calmly, tensing only slightly each time the needle pierced his flesh. The only evidence of his pain was the deep breath he took when Yim was done. Honus gazed at his stitches and smiled. “You underestimate your skill.”   “I’m glad you’re so easily pleased,” Yim replied. “The woman who raised me would’ve made me tear out the seam and restitch it.”   Honus winced. “Let’s talk of food, instead,” he said quickly. “Perhaps this would be a good night to have that cheese we were saving.”   “To celebrate our new scars?’   “To celebrate we’re both alive.

In 1920 Hans Reiter was born. He seemed less like a child than like a strand of seaweed. Canetti, and Borges, too, I think—two very different men—said that just as the sea was the symbol or mirror of the English, the forest was the metaphor the Germans inhabited. Hans Reiter defied this rule from the moment he was born. He didn’t like the earth, much less forests. He didn’t like the sea either, or what ordinary mortals call the sea, which is really only the surface of the sea, waves kicked up by the wind that have gradually become the metaphor for defeat and madness. What he liked was the seabed, that other earth, with its plains that weren’t plains and valleys that weren’t valleys and cliffs that weren’t cliffs. • When his one-eyed mother bathed him in a washtub, the child Hans Reiter always slipped from her soapy hands and sank to the bottom, with his eyes open, and if her hands hadn’t lifted him back up to the surface he would have stayed there, contemplating the black wood and the black water where little particles of his own filth floated, tiny bits of skin that traveled like submarines toward an inlet the size of an eye, a calm, dark cove, although there was no calm, and all that existed was movement, which is the mask of many things, calm among them. • Once, his one-legged father, who sometimes watched as his one-eyed mother bathed him, told her not to lift him out, to see what he would do. From the bottom of the washtub Hans Reiter’s blue eyes gazed up at his mother’s blue eye, and then he turned on his side and remained very still, watching the fragments of his body drift away in all directions, like space probes launched at random across the universe. When he ran out of breath he stopped watching the tiny particles as they were lost in the distance and set out after them. He turned red and understood that he was passing through a region very like hell. But he didn’t open his mouth or make the slightest attempt to come up, although his head was only four inches below the surface and the seas of oxygen. Finally his mother’s arms lifted him out and he began to cry. His father, wrapped in an old military cloak, looked down at the floor and spat into the center of the hearth.

Physical effects, both long and short term, include: Racing heart, headache, nausea, muscle tension, fatigue, dry mouth, dizzy feelings, increase in breathing rate, aching muscles, trembling and twitching, sweating, disturbed digestion, immune system suppression and memory issues. Your body was designed to endure brief moments of acute stress, but chronic stress (stress that is ongoing) can start to cause chronic health conditions, like cardiovascular disease, insomnia, hormonal dysregulation and so on. If the ordinary physical experience of stress is prolonged, the physical effects can have consequences in the rest of your life… Mental and psychological effects include: Exhaustion and fatigue, feeling on edge, nervousness, irritability, inability to concentrate, lack of motivation, changes to libido and appetite, nightmares, depression, feeling out of control, apathy and so on. Stress can reinforce negative thinking patterns and harmful self-talk, lower our confidence, and kill our motivation. More alarming than this, overthinking can completely warp your perception of events in time, shaping your personality in ways that mean you are more risk averse, more negatively focused and less resilient. When you’re constantly tuned into Stress FM you are not actually consciously aware and available in the present moment to experience life as it is. You miss out on countless potential feelings of joy, gratitude, connection and creativity because of your relentless focus on what could go wrong, or what has gone wrong. This means you’re less likely to recognize creative solutions to problems, see new opportunities and capitalize on them, or truly appreciate all the things that are going right for you. If you are constantly in a low-level state of fear and worry, every new encounter is going to be interpreted through that filter, and interpreted not for what it is, but for what you’re worried it could be.  Broader social and environmental effects include: Damage to close relationships, poor performance at work, impatience and irritability with others, retreating socially, and engaging in addictive or harmful behaviors. A person who is constantly stressed and anxious starts to lose all meaning and joy in life, stops making plans, cannot act with charity or compassion to others, and loses their passion for life. There is very little spontaneity, humor or irreverence when someone’s mind is too busy catastrophizing, right? As you can imagine, the physical, mental and environmental aspects all interact to create one, unified experience of overthinking and anxiety. For example, if you overthink consistently, your body will be flooded with cortisol and other stress hormones. This can leave you on edge, and in fact cause you to overthink even more, adding to the stress, changing the way you feel about yourself and your life. You might then make bad choices for yourself (staying up late, eating bad food, shutting people out) which reinforce the stress cycle you’re in. You may perform worse at work, procrastinating and inevitably giving yourself more to worry about, and so on…

Once you’re having the experience, feel it as fully as possible and take a little time—a breath or two or ten—to stay with it. The more often you do this, the more you will tend to hardwire psychological resources into yourself.

Tune into your breathing while talking with others or doing tasks. This will help you stay grounded in yourself and in the present moment

sighed with bliss. She’d always known he had beautiful hands and she needed that human touch for healing her frightened heart. ‘I’ll never sleep, but I will have to move. My legs have gone numb under Harley.’ ‘Here. Let me lift him. Would you like to sleep with him tonight in your bed?’ ‘Put him in his own bed and we’ll leave the door open. I’ll hear him if he wants me. I need your arms around me tonight, Iain. He won’t mind me sleeping with you – though he might come in in the morning.’ Iain laughed softly, dropped a tender kiss on her lips and lifted the boy easily out of her lap to carry him up the stairs. Chapter Fifty-two Noni Half an hour later, Noni had showered and was sipping the hot chocolate Iain had insisted she needed. He came back into the room, sat down and slid his arm around her. ‘This wasn’t quite the situation and setting I’d planned, but I do have something to say.’ Noni put down the cup and tried to calm the sudden thumping in her heart. She looked into the face of the man she’d come to love and knew, without a doubt, that she had to stay with him despite the dilemmas they hadn’t resolved. It wasn’t just Harley who’d been heartbroken that he’d left. ‘First of all, I’m sorry for accusing you of knowing Jacinta was planning on staying with you. On Saturday, it took me until about fifty kilometers south of Burra to realize that of course you hadn’t known she planned to stay behind. I think I always knew you’d never stoop to underhanded methods to arrange that change of plan.’ He sighed. ‘It was all Jacinta’s idea, although for the life of me I couldn’t understand why she left telling me until the last minute.’ He grimaced and squeezed her shoulder. ‘I was so disappointed in her lack of loyalty, I blamed you. And I was over the top about it. I’m sorry.’ Noni ran her finger along his jaw. ‘I understand that. Before she went to bed, Jacinta told me she wanted to make sure we still saw each other. That she could see we were good for each other if we could hang in there. She stayed so we would still keep in contact.’ ‘She’s a stubborn young woman.’ ‘Just like her father.’ Noni took a deep breath and hoped the offer was still open. ‘But I can see what she means. I will take you on your terms, Iain. I think we should try to make a life together, and it’s no good Harley and me staying in Burra if our hearts are down in Sydney with you.’ She expelled her breath. There. She’d said it and she meant it. He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently. ‘Ah, Noni. You’re too much for me. Thank you for your typically brave offer, but let me finish. Where was I? Oh, yes. I’m not stubborn, by the way! ‘It only took another five kilometers to realize I didn’t want to leave Burra, either. The challenges of a country practice might be the answer to rejuvenating my interest in obstetrics. But it’s you, not the town, which is drawing me back. If you’ll have me.’ Noni was lost now. ‘What are you saying, Iain?’ ‘I’m saying … I love you. I want to marry you. I want to live with you, be a part of your family and you be a part of mine, in Burra if you want to, for the rest of our lives.’ He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers. ‘Say that again,’ Noni whispered. She couldn’t believe it. ‘I love you. The first time I saw you it was as if I’d been searching for you my whole life. Or maybe we’ve connected before in

You want me to stay?' 'Honestly? Yeah. I do.' 'Why?' 'Because I feel calm around you. There's so much shit going down, and I... I like being here. With you.' 'I don't think most females would be flattered to be called 'calming' by a handsome male.' 'Who says I'm handsome?' 'You talk like someone who's well aware of his good looks.' 'Like an arrogant asshole, then.' 'Your words, not mine.

Best Tips for a Stress-Free Pregnancy – Motherhood Chaitanya Hospital Bringing a new life into the world is an extraordinary journey, one filled with anticipation and joy. Yet, the path to motherhood can also be fraught with stress and anxiety. The good news is that there are ways to navigate this period with greater ease. From seeking support through childbirth and parenting classes in Chandigarh to embracing the serenity of Pre-Natal Yoga Classes for Pregnant Mothers in Chandigarh, let’s explore some of the best tips for a stress-free pregnancy. Understand Your Body Pregnancy is a unique and transformative experience, but it also brings a host of physical changes. Understanding these changes can alleviate anxiety. Remember, your body is doing something miraculous. It’s nurturing and growing a new life. Embrace the journey with wonder and gratitude. Stay Active with Pre-Natal Yoga Pre-Natal Yoga Classes in Chandigarh provide an exceptional avenue to connect with your body and your baby. Yoga helps maintain flexibility, ease discomfort, and reduce stress. The gentle stretches and mindful breathing techniques impart a sense of calm and inner peace. Educate Yourself Knowledge is power, and when it comes to pregnancy, it’s empowering. Enroll in childbirth and parenting classes in Chandigarh to gain insight into what to expect during labor, delivery, and early parenthood. Knowing what lies ahead can significantly reduce apprehension. Nurture Emotional Well-being Pregnancy is not just about physical health; emotional well-being is equally vital. Seek emotional support from your partner, friends, or a counselor if needed. Express your feelings and allow yourself to experience a range of emotions without judgment. Eat Mindfully Nutrition is crucial for both you and your baby. Consume a balanced diet rich in essential nutrients. Remember, you’re not eating for two adults; you’re providing the building blocks for a new life. Consult with a healthcare professional for dietary guidance. Stay Hydrated Hydration is key to a healthy pregnancy. It helps prevent common issues like constipation and urinary tract infections. Aim for at least eight glasses of water a day, and adjust your intake as needed to accommodate your changing body.

33. Don’t believe in good or bad, or winning and losing, or victory and defeat, or ups and down. At your lowest and your highest, whether you are happy or despairing or calm or angry, there is a kernel of you that stays the same. That is the you that matters. 34. Don’t worry about the time you lose to despair. The time you will have afterwards has just doubled its value. 35. Be transparent to yourself. Make a greenhouse for your mind. Observe. 36. Read Emily Dickinson. Read Graham Green. Read Italo Calvino. Read Maya Angelou. Read anything you want. Just read. Books are possibilities. They are escape routes. They give you options when you have none. Each one can be a home for an uprooted mind. 37. If the sun is shining, and you can be outside, be outside. 38. Remember that the key thing about life on earth is change. Cars rust. Paper yellows. Technology dates. Caterpillars become butterflies. Nights morph into days. Depression lifts. 39. Just when you feel you have no time to relax, know that this is the moment you most need to make time to relax. 40. Be brave. Be strong. Breathe, and keep going. You will thank yourself later.

Acting from instinct he angled his body so it would shield Lydia's, sweeping her back into the recession of a doorway that, while closed, would give her shelter. Pressing close, he wrapped himself around her so the blows would strike him first. They did. Repeatedly. A clump of mud and small stones that had missed its target struck and shattered on the doorframe and he felt her jump and start to tremble, so he bent his head and murmured words of reassurance, low and calm over the wailing of the injured man, and all the ugly shouts of his tormentors. Fear, he knew, was mostly in the mind, and he would spare her that. He'd long since learned to channel his own fear to action, so it was surprising to him now to feel it twist within his chest- a fear not for himself, his safety, but for hers. It lingered even when the mob had passed them by, the angry tumult growing fainter down the street, and there was no more danger. Stepping back, he gave them both the space to breathe. Her face was pale, and she appeared to still be shaking but she only drew her cloak a little tighter as though wanting him to think it was the cold, and he had seen enough cadets who did not wish to show him weakness that he recognized her brave attempt to seem more strong in front of him, and though he was not fooled by it he understood her need to make the effort. Having satisfied himself she was unharmed, he wanted for her to collect herself sufficiently to leave the sheltered doorway, then he offered her his arm again, and once again she took it, holding tighter to him this time, and they crossed the street in silence. But the feeling, strange and new, stayed firmly lodged beneath his ribs, as though once having taken hold it was now part of him, and he had no idea what to do with it. We always fear what we don't know, he'd told the young de Joncourt boy. And walking now with Lydia's gloved hand upon his arm, her warmth beside him, Jean-Philippe admitted there was truth in what he'd said. Because in all his twenty-seven years, with all that life had dealt him, he had not known anything like this.