Free Hostage Quotes

Once I asked Mina why she danced so smoothly while most of the other women made abrupt, jerky movements, and she said that many of the women confused liberation with agitation. 'Some ladies are angry with their lives,' she said 'and so even their dance becomes an expression of that.' Angry women are hostages of their anger. They cannot escape it and set themselves free, which is indeed a sad fate. The worst of prisons is a self-created one. (p.162)

My past takes no hostages, no prisoners. I've let go of yesterday and am free to receive the beautiful gift of the present.

Change is the sum of the universe, and what is of nature ought not to be feared. But one gives it hostages, and lays one's grief upon the gods. Sokrates is free, and would have taught me freedom. But I have yoked the immortal horse that draws the chariot with a horse of earth; and when the one falls, both are entangled in the traces.

Consciousness is a pitiful hostage of its flesh-envelope, whose surges, circuits, and secret murmurings it cannot stay or speed. This is the chthonian drama that has no climax but only an enedless round, cycle upon cycle. Microcosm mirrors macrocosm. Free will is stillborn in the red cells of our body, for there is no free will in nature. Our choices come to us prepackaged and special delivery, molded by hands not our own.

I know. But I hate weddings.” “Because of Darcy?” “Because a wedding is a ceremony where a symbolic virgin surrounded by women in ugly dresses marries a hungover groom accompanied by friends he hasn’t seen in years but made them show up anyway. After that, there’s a reception where the guests are held hostage for two hours with nothing to eat except lukewarm chicken winglets or those weird coated almonds, and the DJ tries to brainwash everyone into doing the electric slide and the Macarena, which some drunk idiots always go for. The only good part about a wedding is the free booze.” “Can you say that again?” Sam asked. “Because I might want to write it down and use it as part of my speech.

I guess you could pay off the management to let you bring in a SecUnit and weapons and do a hostage exchange, but they drew the line at giving you free feed access.

She put her tongue out and felt the raw edges of the torn silk. She looped her tongue around them and drew them into her teeth. Just a little bit, she thought, that's all I need to free my eyelids. She pulled the tasteless web between her teeth and ground, pulling her jaw down in a grimace - it felt as it she was eating the very skin off her face. But the silk over her eyelids shifted.

The lessons we learn from our parents are profound, but the lessons we learn from our children are even greater.

Geometric shapes with their dangerously sharp angles seemed the mortal enemies of words, and formulas were written in a hostage-taking language that made me despair of ever freeing the words from their captors.

She pulled her arm free from his grasp and stood back, her arms crossed. "So, what then? You're holding me hostage? Are you even really a sheriff?" "I am," he said, highly amused at her attempt at bravado. "You wanna see my badge?

However, Dorian's acceptance of Andrew only went so far. And it was nowhere near enough to allow him this close to Ashaya. "What are you doing here?" Though SnowDancer and DarkRiver had free range over each other's territory, the wolves preferred to stick to the higher elevations. Andrew's eyes shifted over Dorian's shoulder. "I can smell her." "Don't." The younger male grinned. "She's all over you, too. Is she as sexy as she smells?" Dorian knew Andrew was deliberately jerking his chain. "Why don't you come closer and find out?" "Do I look stupid?" "You look like a wolf." Andrew bared his teeth. "I thought we were friends." "And I thought you got posted back to San Diego." The other man shrugged. "I came back to visit my baby sister, check up on that mate of hers." "She's fine," Dorian said, relaxing a little at Andrew's deliberately nonaggressive stance. "I've been keeping an eye on her." "Yeah, I know. She's always muttering about how she has three over protective morons for brothers now. Andrew snorted. "Wait till she has a baby girl. I can't exactly see Judd being any less feral.

An awfulness was deep inside me, and I couldn't fight it; forced into submission and taken hostage by it, I could only just lie there, let it wash over me, and let myself be consumed by it. If I cooperate, maybe it won't stay too long; maybe it'll let me go free. But if I fight it, it might stay longer just to spite me. So I decided to let The Feeling inhabit me as long as it desired, while I lay still, cautious not to incite me, secretly hoping it would leave me soon and bother someone else, but outwardly, pretending to be its gracious host. The most discouraging element of what I felt was my inability to understand it. Usually when I was filled with an unpleasant feeling, I could make it go away, or at least tame it, by watching a light-hearted film or reading a good book or listening to a feel good album. But this feeling was different. I knew non of those distractions could rid me of it. But I knew nothing else. I couldn't even describe it. Is this depression? Maybe once you ask someone to describe depression, he can't find the words. Maybe I'm part of the official club now. I imagined myself in a room full of people where someone in the crowd, also suffering from depression, immediately noticed me-as if he detected the scent of his own kind-walked over, and looked into my eyes. He knew that I had The Feeling inside me because he, too, da The Feeling inside him. He didn't ask me to talk about it, because he understood that our type of suffering was ineffable. He only nodded at me, and I nodded back; and then, during our moment of silence, we both shared a sad smile of recognition, knowing that we only had each other in a room filled with people who would never understand us, because they didn't have The Feeling inside them.

He couldn’t understand how I could be so bright in my other classes and a total failure in his. I must not be trying hard enough, he told me. In truth, I didn’t care, and I didn’t want to care. Geometric shapes with their dangerously sharp angles seemed the mortal enemies of words, and formulas were written in a hostage-taking language that made me despair of ever freeing the words from their captors. The best I could do was to avoid the enemy and save myself.

If we give in to the hijackers’ demands and release terrorists,” I said during one of the heated government meetings over the coming week, “everyone will understand us, but no one will respect us.” Yet the opposite—however grim the results—held: “If, on the other hand, we conduct a military operation to free hostages, it is possible that no one will understand us—but everyone will respect us.

I whispered into his ear, “Erik...” There was no response from him. “Erik.” My voice was a little bit firmer. I pushed at his shoulders making sure that my hands were well away from his re-opened wound. He weighed more than I did. I couldn’t get out from under him. God, I’m stuck inside of him ...like a dog. “Erik.” I tried to wriggle out from under him. I grew hard. I stilled horrified as my body took pleasure in this situation. I tried to shift his leg over. I thrust into him. Oh... I thrust again. I was hovering around the panic state but lust was driving all thoughts out of my mind. The more I struggled to free myself... I fucked him. I screwed an unconscious man. What kind of man was I? I couldn’t stop. The thwap, thwap sound of me burying my full length inside him hammered at my head. Don’t do this... don’t do.... nnnngghgghhh. I came deep within him.

The men and women who continue to hold Lynn's mind hostage against her will believe the future will be tilled with terrorism, death, destruction and a challenge to the survival of America. They believe Lynn and the other lab rats must still respond to their programming for they are the second line of defence against enemies from within and without and the first line of offence in a catastrophe which would require the recreation of America's constitutional government. They are still intent on preparing Lynn for the day when she will he necessary for battle. One summer day, all these dark realisations came flooding upon Lynn and she knew if she was ever to free herself, she needed to get immediate help.

An autotelic experience is very different from the feelings we typically have in the course of life. So much of what we ordinarily do has no value in itself, and we do it only because we have to do it, or because we expect some future benefit from it. Many people feel that the time they spend at work is essentially wasted—they are alienated from it, and the psychic energy invested in the job does nothing to strengthen their self. For quite a few people free time is also wasted. Leisure provides a relaxing respite from work, but it generally consists of passively absorbing information, without using any skills or exploring new opportunities for action. As a result life passes in a sequence of boring and anxious experiences over which a person has little control. The autotelic experience, or flow, lifts the course of life to a different level. Alienation gives way to involvement, enjoyment replaces boredom, helplessness turns into a feeling of control, and psychic energy works to reinforce the sense of self, instead of being lost in the service of external goals. When experience is intrinsically rewarding life is justified in the present, instead of being held hostage to a hypothetical future gain.

On behalf of those you killed, imprisoned, tortured, you are not welcome, Erdogan! No, Erdogan, you’re not welcome in Algeria. We are a country which has already paid its price of blood and tears to those who wanted to impose their caliphate on us, those who put their ideas before our bodies, those who took our children hostage and who attempted to kill our hopes for a better future. The notorious family that claims to act in the name of the God and religion—you’re a member of it—you fund it, you support it, you desire to become its international leader. Islamism is your livelihood Islamism, which is your livelihood, is our misfortune. We will not forget about it, and you are a reminder of it today. You offer your shadow and your wings to those who work to make our country kneel down before your “Sublime Door.” You embody and represent what we loathe. You hate freedom, the free spirit. But you love parades. You use religion for business. You dream of a caliphate and hope to return to our lands. But you do it behind the closed doors, by supporting Islamist parties, by offering gifts through your companies, by infiltrating the life of the community, by controlling the mosques. These are the old methods of your “Muslim Brothers” in this country, who used to show us God’s Heaven with one hand while digging our graves with the other. No, Mr. Erdogan, you are not a man of help; you do not fight for freedom or principles; you do not defend the right of peoples to self-determination. You know only how to subject the Kurds to the fires of death; you know only how to subject your opponents to your dictatorship. You cry with the victims in the Middle East, yet sign contracts with their executioners. You do not dream of a dignified future for us, but of a caliphate for yourself. We are aware of your institutionalized persecution, your list of Turks to track down, your sinister prisons filled with the innocent, your dictatorial justice palaces, your insolence and boastful nature. You do not dream of a humanity that shares common values and principles, but are interested only in the remaking of the Ottoman Empire and its bloodthirsty warlords. Islam, for you, is a footstool; God is a business sign; modernity is an enemy; Palestine is a showcase; and local Islamists are your stunned courtesans. Humanity will not remember you with good deeds Humanity will remember you for your machinations, your secret coups d’état, and your manhunts. History will remember you for your bombings, your vengeful wars, and your inability to engage in constructive dialogue with others. The UN vote for Al-Quds is only an instrument in your service. Let us laugh at this with the Palestinians. We know that the Palestinian issue is your political capital, as it is for many others. You know well how to make a political fortune by exploiting others’ emotions. In Algeria, we suffered, and still suffer, from those who pretend to be God and act as takers and givers of life. They applaud your coming, but not us. You are the idol of Algerian Islamists and Populists, those who are unable to imagine a political structure beyond a caliphate for Muslim-majority societies. We aspire to become a country of freedom and dignity. This is not your ambition, nor your virtue. You are an illusion You have made beautiful Turkey an open prison and a bazaar for your business and loved ones. I hope that this beautiful nation rises above your ambitions. I hope that justice will be restored and flourish there once again, at least for those who have been imprisoned, tortured, bombed, and killed. You are an illusion, Erdogan—you know it and we know it. You play on the history of our humiliation, on our emotions, on our beliefs, and introduce yourself as a savior. However, you are a gravedigger, both for your own country and for your neighbors. Turkey is a political miracle, but it owes you nothing. The best thing you can do

The title for this story comes from the Dutch philosopher Spinoza, who gave Part IV of his work Ethics the title Of Human Bondage, or the Strength of the Emotions. Spinoza makes the point that humans are held hostage by their emotions and that to free oneself from this captivity, one has to know one’s aims in life and follow them. It is an apt title, as the novel is centred on the unconscious search of the main character, Philip Carey, for his path in life and the tribulations he faces in trying to find peace.

Work has set me free. I survived so that I could do my work. Not the work the Nazis meant—the hard labor of sacrifice and hunger, of exhaustion and enslavement. It was the inner work. Of learning to survive and thrive, of learning to forgive myself, of helping others to do the same. And when I do this work, then I am no longer the hostage or the prisoner of anything. I am free.

Yes, my eyes are shut to your light. I’m an animal, a nigger. But I can be saved. You’re all fake niggers, you brutal, greedy maniacs. Merchant? No: nigger. Magistrate? Nigger. General? Nigger. Emperor—you itchy old scab—nigger. You drank Satan’s duty-free booze. —Fever and cancer thrill you. Cripples and codgers are so decent they ask to be boiled. —The wisest move would be to leave this continent, creeping with madness, a madness that seeks hostages for lost souls. I set out in search of the true kingdom of the children of Ham.

The Yeerks must not be allowed to think that they can use hostages against us." "Aren't you kind of missing the point?" Cassie said quietly. "I thought the point was to save Bek." "No," Toby said. "The point is to defeat the Yeerks. We must be strong. Once we free a Hork-Bajir, he must never be taken again." "Do you think the Yeerks will respect you? They won't. They'll come after you harder," Cassie pointed out. Toby nodded. "That is true. But the Hork-Bajir will respect themselves. A fool is strong so that others will see. A wise person is strong for himself. The Hork-Bajir will be strong for the Hork-Bajir. That way, when the Yeerks are all gone, we will still be strong.

You might suppose that this would merely inject a note of pietism and make us then avoid the real issues—or, indeed, to attempt a theocratic takeover bid. But to think in either of those ways would only show how deeply we have been conditioned by the Enlightenment split between religion and politics. What happens if we reintegrate them? As with specifically Christian work, so with political work done in Jesus’s name: confessing Jesus as the ascended and coming Lord frees us up from needing to pretend that this or that program or leader has the key to utopia (if only we would elect him or her). Equally, it frees up our corporate life from the despair that comes when we realize that once again our political systems let us down. The ascension and appearing of Jesus constitute a radical challenge to the entire thought structure of the Enlightenment (and of course several other movements). And since our present Western politics is very much the creation of the Enlightenment, we should think seriously about the ways in which, as thinking Christians, we can and should bring that challenge to bear. I know this is giving a huge hostage to fortune, raising questions to which I certainly don’t know the answers, but I do know that unless I point all this out one might easily get the impression that these ancient doctrines are of theoretical or abstract interest only. They aren’t. People who believe that Jesus is already Lord and that he will appear again as judge of the world are called and equipped (to put it mildly) to think and act quite differently in the world from those who don’t.

I threw the carving of my goddess as high and far as I could, into the sky above the waves, and watched its arcing path through the air. As it fell, I saw a golden shape come diving toward the plummeting image, a huge eagle that seized the monster’s tooth in his talons. The feathers on his breast skimmed the sea before he soared back into the sky and flew away. “Did you see that, La--Glaucus?” Milo’s voice sounded in my ear. He’d woken from his nap and come up behind me unexpectedly. I almost jumped overboard with surprise. “It’s a good sign, isn’t it? Or is it predicting that something’s waiting to snatch us away? If that’s so, I swear I won’t let it touch you. But is it a good sign after all? Ah, what does it mean?” “You worry too much, Milo,” I said as if I had no such worries of my own. “If every hero stopped to think about all the what-ifs in his path, none of us would ever take one step beyond our own doorways.” “But you saw what it did,” Milo protested. “The eagle is Lord Zeus’s bird. We can’t just ignore it. Ah, what does it mean?” “What it means,” I said, smiling, “is that you and I have just seen either the world’s most unmistakable omen or the world’s most nearsighted eagle.” May the gods stand by us, I thought as I laughed and Milo stared at me in dismay. May they favor and guide us, but may they never hold us hostage through our fears. “Don’t look at me like that,” I told him, wiping sea spray from my eyes. “I haven’t said anything wrong. I love the gods and honor them, but I’m not their slave. Neither are you. From now on we’re going to make our own omens.” I took his hand, and when he pulled it away, I took it again. This time he let me. We were free.

Women are reclaiming the divine feminine today. Surrounded by women from every age and inspired by their courage, we are committing the forbidden acts of naming and imagining the gods of our understanding as Goddess, Woman God, and God the Mother. Although we are not all devotees of the goddess, it was essential for us to extend our historical and theological vision to include the divine feminine. Some find “her” within traditional religion in the images and stories of Eve and Mary, Sophia and Shekinah, Miriam and Esther, Naomi and Ruth, Tamar and Susanna, and of countless unnamed women. They are incorporating these women's stories into their liturgies and prayers. Others find her on the margins of patriarchal history in the images and stories of the Goddess. They’re incorporating her images into their paintings and songs, altars and prayers, and they’re weaving her ancient festivals and beliefs into their unfolding spirituality. Inspired by a view of history that reaches beyond the beginning defined by men, women are assuming theological equality with religious traditions and reclaiming the richness of their own imaginations. We have come to believe that the theological tasks performed by men throughout the ages were not inspired by a god out there somewhere. Rather they were prompted by a very human inclination to answer existential questions and order disparate experiences into a coherent whole through religious imagination. Humankind's religious imagination has always given birth to goddesses and gods, and to stories that attempt to make sense of our beginnings and endings. No longer held hostage by a truncated view of history or by the dominance of the Genesis account of creation, our imaginations are once again free.

In 1786, Jefferson, then the American ambassador to France, and Adams, then the American ambassador to Britain, met in London with Sidi Haji Abdul Rahman Adja, the ambassador to Britain. The Americans wanted to negotiate a peace treaty based on Congress’ vote to appease. During the meeting Jefferson and Adams asked the ambassador why Muslims held so much hostility towards America, a nation with which they had no previous contacts. In a later meeting with the American Congress, the two future presidents reported that Ambassador Sidi Haji Abdul Rahman Adja had answered that Islam “was founded on the Laws of their Prophet, that it was written in their Qur’an that all nations who should not have acknowledged their authority were sinners, that it was their right and duty to make war upon them wherever they could be found, and to make slaves of all they could take as Prisoners, and that every Musselman (Muslim) who should be slain in Battle was sure to go to Paradise.” For the following 15 years, the American government paid the Muslims millions of dollars for the safe passage of American ships or the return of American hostages. Most Americans do not know that the payments in ransom and Jizyah tribute amounted to 20 percent of United States government annual revenues in 1800. Not long after Jefferson’s inauguration as president in 1801, he dispatched a group of frigates to defend American interests in the Mediterranean, and informed Congress. Declaring that America was going to spend “millions for defense but not one cent for tribute,” Jefferson pressed the issue by deploying American Marines and many of America’s best warships to the Muslim Barbary Coast. The USS Constitution, USS Constellation, USS Philadelphia, USS Chesapeake, USS Argus, USS Syren and USS Intrepid all fought. In 1805, American Marines marched across the dessert from Egypt into Tripolitania, forcing the surrender of Tripoli and the freeing of all American slaves. During the Jefferson administration, the Muslim Barbary States, crumbled as a result of intense American naval bombardment and on shore raids by Marines. They finally agreed officially to abandon slavery and piracy. Jefferson’s victory over the Muslims lives on today in the Marine Hymn with the line “From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli, we will fight our country’s battles on the land as on the sea.” It wasn’t until 1815 that the problem was fully settled by the total defeat of all the Muslim slave trading pirates.

Nothing should be worth more to you than its value in helping you live your life. If you are willing to slough off the past, even at a loss, you are keeping yourself free, and your world continues to grow. If you insist on holding to some abstract valuation, you are being held hostage by that possession, and you are trapped in a prison of your own devising.

while he filled her in on the investigation over the phone via her car’s hands free device.

From the moment we are born our environment is working on us from every level...Who we are is a result of a constant feedback loop between our body and our environment. But we are not entirely hostage to the brain our childhood and parents built; we do have free will, we can make choices, and we can change who we are. Just remember, some people have to work a lot harder and against both biological and environmental obstacles to do so.

driveway! A life-saving mechanism that could be used on their troops to help save their lives if they got separated from their squad or taken hostage. Well, I’ll be damned. And his boyfriend had made it. “It has a waterproof adhesive backing that gets placed in the shell of the ear, not in the canal like other devices. And when it senses the pulse, it automatically activates, and transmits data to your designated outside source…in your case…that’d be me.” Hart didn’t know what to say. Free nibbled on his bottom lip. “At least while doing the trial run. Then you can transmit directly to your own command center.” “I can’t believe you invented

(The Iran-Contra Affair was a secret US arms deal in 1985 that traded missiles and other arms to Iran. Officially, the deal was struck to free Americans hostages held by terrorists in Lebanon. Secretly, however, the American government had sold the weapons and used the proceeds to support armed conflict in Nicaragua. The controversial scheme—and the ensuing political scandal—threatened to bring down the presidency of Ronald Reagan. The hub of much of the Contra activity was in Arkansas, while Bill Clinton was governor.)

As therapists, we are in the business of listening to people's stories, and listening for their feelings. We somehow know intuitively, or are taught along the way, that the medium of "the talking cure" involves having people move awareness along a gradient within them from unthought/unknown, to barely detectable, to feelable, to speakable, to elaborate-able, linkable, and ultimately transformable; from unconscious to conscious, if you will. We are taught and probably know from our own experience that there is something powerfully freeing about birthing a formerly unworded feeling into words. When we're truly scared, or aggrieved, or angered or even surprised, it helps to name the thing. It helps because an emotional experience seems to hold part of our being hostage in some kind of way until we've been able to move it into worded symbols for ourselves, usually by talking to another human being about the experience.

Anyone forced to accept a worldview which they entirely rejected was not part of a democracy but, rather, a tyranny. They were being held hostage by their ideological opponents. They were not free citizens. They inevitably saw the elected government as an enemy, not as the body sworn to represent and uphold their interests. When the one-nation democratic ideal – with the government serving the entire nation – was replaced by a two-nation democracy, whereby a government did not serve the nation but only its own supporters and own base, thus alienating those that didn’t support it and rendering them the enemy, it had ceased to be a democracy. Partisan government was a dictatorship by one part of the nation over the other part, not a reflection of democracy, and not any kind of consensual system. Everyone not represented by the government had the right to seek its overthrow. Such a government did not represent the general will of the people, the only means for it to be regarded as legitimate, but instead represented the particular will of one partisan group of the people, committed to an extremist ideology abhorrent to its opponents. To save America from dictatorship, to save democracy, AOC said that it was necessary to divide America into two houses, liberal and conservative, and each would then go its own way, free forever of the oppression of the other. She stressed over and over again that if the gap between liberals and conservatives were small, if it were easy to switch between the two positions, then democracy could function. However, once conservatives and liberals became fanatical ideological enemies, with virtually no one ever likely to swap sides, then democracy was unworkable.

The year I turned thirty a relationship ended. I was very sad but my sadness bored everyone, including me. Having been through such dejection before, I thought I might get out of it quickly. I went on Internet dates but found it difficult to generate sexual desire for strangers. Instead I would run into friends at a party, or in a subway station, men I had thought about before. That fall and winter I had sex with three people, and kissed one or two more. The numbers seemed measured and reasonable to me. All of them were people I had known for some time. I felt happier in the presence of unmediated humans, but sometimes a nonboyfriend brought with him a dark echo, which lived in my phone. It was a longing with no hope of satisfaction, without a clear object. I stared at rippling ellipses on screens. I forensically analyzed social media photographs. I expressed levity with exclamation points, spelled-out laughs, and emoticons. I artificially delayed my responses. There was a great posturing of busyness, of not having noticed your text until just now. It annoyed me that my phone could hold me hostage to its clichés. My goals were serenity and good humor. I went to all the Christmas parties.

MAN IN THE WATER   Her eyes doubt and yet bear a curiosity. She wonders in her mind even when thinking of what she wonders is already known. Cautious and shy she dances around the shining water that calls for her lips to taste and her feet to feel. The man in the water tempts her lusts and still she walks by, still smiling and still staring. Only in her dreams can she imagine what the man in the water would have given. What he would’ve shared with her. Only in her dreams will she imagine the feeling when spring has sprung. Where life is filled with the gift of color and a light that changes all of them at once. A taste that satisfies the soul. That feeling of floating in space. There is only the memory of her haunting eyes that yearn but do not touch. Her angelic stride that shifts above the reflection in the water. Her soul trapped in her body as if careful to damage her skin that expires under the duress of time, holding her soul hostage in hopes that her skin, her image, will glow just as vibrant for one more day. And so the man calls for her once again, hoping that her being able to trust will free her from death. Hoping to love her. Hoping to taste the nectar of her soul. The part of her that hides behind the her that is visible. The part reflecting the depth in her eyes. The part that powers the heart. And losing myself to all of her.

We kept mankind alive, yet we allowed men to despise us and to worship our destroyers. We allowed them to worship incompetence and brutality, the recipients and the dispensers of the unearned. By accepting punishment, not for any sins, but for our virtues, we betrayed our code and made theirs possible. Dagny, theirs is the morality of kidnappers. They use your love of virtue as a hostage. They know that you’ll bear anything in order to work and produce, because you know that achievement is man’s highest moral purpose, that he can’t exist without it, and your love of virtue is your love of life. They count on you to assume any burden. They count on you to feel that no effort is too great in the service of your love. Dagny, your enemies are destroying you by means of your own power. Your generosity and your endurance are their only tools. Your unrequited rectitude is the only hold they have upon you. They know it. You don’t. The day when you’ll discover it is the only thing they dread. You must learn to understand them. You won’t be free of them, until you do.

You get out,” Foley said, “you’re free, they can’t deport you?” “Fidel won’t take us back.” “You glad you came to America?” “I’m grateful for the ways they are to improve myself since I come to La Yuma. I respect how justice wears a blindfold, like a fucking hostage.

I was once held hostage by a patient in the hospital. I was fortunate I knew the department layout and I was able to free myself by darting out of a door while my terrorist was distracted.

When you let go of all that is causing you pain and distress, you let go of your unhappiness too. Sometimes, it may be people who make you unhappy. So move away from such people. At other times, it may be the choices that you have made that make you unhappy. So let go of the past – it is over, you can’t undo it. There may also be situations where you cannot fix the core issue that is causing all your pain and agony. When you can’t fix a problem yourself, let go of your desire to fix it. When you let go, when you uncling from whatever it is that is holding you hostage, you set yourself free. When you let go, you actually let Happiness in!

The Enforcement Directorate (ED) in India is currently seen as an establishment that is unleashing draconian measures to penalize people and companies. Resultantly, the very mention of the ED’s name appears to evoke fear in many. But when we look at Life in a spiritual context, we will realize that there is a more tyrannical ED that resides within each of us. Be wary of this inner ED. It is made up of twin oppressors – Ego and Desire! Importantly, ego and desire, as long as they are in control, hold us hostage. The ego cripples us by ceaselessly whipping up the deafening ‘I-me-mine’ frenzy. And desire suffocates us through stoking an endless wanting in us: for Life to be different from what it is. Both these forces constantly make us feel on edge. That’s why we often feel miserable, unfulfilled and very, very unhappy. There is a way to get out of the stranglehold of this inner ED. That way is to learn to dissolve our ego and our desires through diligently training the mind, through embracing a meditative practice. Only then can we be truly free. And happy!

Externalizers also have needs for emotional comforting, but they tend to force such needs on other people, taking others emotionally hostage with their reactivity. They often use their behavior to coerce certain responses from other people, but because they achieve these responses through manipulation, the attention they receive is never as satisfying as a free and genuine exchange of emotional intimacy. Externalizers also demand attention by blaming or guilt-tripping others. As a result, people may end up feeling that they have to help, whether they want to or not, creating resentment over the long run.

Now normally,” the man said, cradling his weapon in one arm while scratching the blond beard covering the lower half of his face with his free hand, “me and Mad Dog”—he dipped his chin toward the soldier holding Umar hostage—“and the rest of the boys wouldn’t hesitate to just go ahead and let you eat a bullet.” And, as if on cue, four more soldiers emerged from the undergrowth, quiet as ghosts. “But as it happens, there are some folks back in the States who are just itchin’ to ask you a few questions.

If you love someone...tell them often. If you haven't had time for loved ones... make it. If you've been holding someone hostage through anger...free them & yourself. If someone crosses your mind...reach out. Time waits for no one. Most of us have more time behind us than we do in front of us so live, love, laugh every chance you get. Create memories that outlive you!

A Department of Defense program known as “1033”, begun in the 1990s and authorized by the National Defense Authorization Act, and federal homeland security grants to the states have provided a total of $4.3 billion in military equipment to local police forces, either for free or on permanent loan, the magazine Mother Jones reported. The militarization of the police, which includes outfitting police departments with heavy machine guns, magazines, night vision equipment, aircraft, and armored vehicles, has effectively turned urban police, and increasingly rural police as well, into quasi-military forces of occupation. “Police conduct up to 80,00 SWAT raids a year in the US, up from 3,000 a year in the early ‘80s”, writes Hanqing Chen, the magazine’s reporter. The American Civil Liberties Union, cited in the article, found that “almost 80 percent of SWAT team raids are linked to search warrants to investigate potential criminal suspects, not for high-stakes ‘hostage, barricade, or active shooter scenarios’. The ACLU also noted that SWAT tactics are used disproportionately against people of color”.

Science shows us that progress is beyond horizons, beyond the impossible; In a world full of possibilities, where the key lies in a source of clear water, the action to move them frees us from the cage of what keeps us hostage.

very soon, for two reasons. First, the Wessex fyrd could only be kept in the field for a short period. Soon their supplies would dwindle, and the need for the men of Wessex to return to their fields and shops would begin to sap away the strength of the Saxon shieldwall. Second, Alfred had a very ominous foreboding about Guthrum’s strategy. The Danish king had clearly chosen a position easily reached from the sea and well connected to the waterways of Wessex. Why would he choose what was clearly a naval base when he had come with land forces? Wareham was the perfect stronghold for a ship army. But where were the ships? Alfred knew that at any moment swarms of Viking longboats were likely to arrive, bringing thousands of Danish warriors, doubling or tripling Guthrum’s army and killing any possibility the men of Wessex had of repelling this attack. Guthrum must be driven from Warehem immediately. Alfred’s desperation showed in the approach he finally chose. Once more, he paid the danegeld. Of course this wasn’t the sort of tactic that could work over any extended period of time, but it was enough to extract Guthrum and his troop from Wareham. It should also be pointed out that, as disastrous as paying the danegeld had been for East Anglia and Mercia, Alfred’s previous payment had been temporarily successful. It had seemed to buy a few years of peace. Alfred clearly felt uneasy about this payment and made two extra demands as he negotiated the Viking withdrawal. First, the two armies exchanged hostages. A selection of Wessex men were taken into captivity by Guthrum, and Alfred chose an assortment of the most distinguished Danish noblemen to remain with him. These hostages were to ensure that the two kings honored their pledges to one another. If Guthrum failed to keep his end of the peace bargain, then Alfred would be free to exact his revenge on the Viking hostages, and vice versa. Second, Alfred insisted

Reagan, with the help of the CIA and Israel’s Mossad, went behind Jimmy Carter’s back and derailed his efforts to free the hostages in order to greatly improve his chances of becoming president. And, the seemingly miraculous timing of the freeing of the hostages within five minutes of Reagan’s inauguration turned out to be the product, not of Reagan’s greatness, but of his dirty deal with the hostage-takers to hold the hostages until after he was safely in office. In a very real way, then, Reagan himself became the captor of these hostages in their final months of captivity.

Daleric rushed in and braced Arram's free side. "Arram, what's this?" He asked with concern. "You were fine when we left. " "Apparently Kottrun and his pack took Arram and the wounded as hostages," the captain explained. "They must have run mad to think Master Ramasu could walk them out of here. Our mages put sleep on them, but before it took, the boy made a fountain that smacked Kottrun silly and then dropped him." "Kottrun hit me in the head, too," Arram said cheerfully. His knees turned to water, and he sagged in the mages' grips. "But I'm fine. " Daleric raised his eyebrows. "No wonder you're wrung out, then," he told Arram. "Three days of serious healing, a clout on the head, and whatever you just did on top of it. Don't tell me you're fine." "I am," Arram protested. "Mm-hmm," Daleric said dubiously.