I Travelled Safely Meaning Quotes

She and I have the same way of looking at things. It’s what brought us together, and I think it’s also the reason we split up. We met in the middle of the journey and we fell in love. But that doesn’t mean we’ll always be traveling together. At some point, everyone has to find their safe harbor. I’d always thought we’d make it to the end together. Unfortunately, that’s not how it turned out.

It is not safe for a woman to be traveling on her own." "I was perfectly safe until you crossed my path." "Well may you see it that way,but if I hadn't come along,someone else would have and you could be in great difficulty right now." If she hadn't known it would hurt, she might have laughed. As it was, she had to content herself with a grimace. "Oh, you mean I could have been chased over a cliff?

We are all travelers crossing from this bank to that bank, from this world to nirvana. But the waters are rough. We must rely on something in order to make it over. That something could be the art or literature that you aspire to create. You will think that the thing you choose will serve as your boat or raft to carry you to that other bank. But if you think deeply about it, you may find that it does not carry you but rather you carry it. Perhaps only the student who truly savors this paradox will make it safely across. Literature and art are not simply what will carry you; they are also what you must lay down your life for, what you must labor over and shoulder for the rest of your life.

HE WAS KNOWN As DJANGO, a Gypsy name meaning "I awake." His legal name-the name the gendarmes and border officials entered into their journals as his family crisscrossed Europe in their horsedrawn caravan-was jean Reinhardt. But when the family brought their travels to a halt alongside a hidden stream or within a safe wood to light their cookfire, they called him only by his Romany name. Even among his fellow Gypsies, "Django" was a strange name, a strong, telegraphic sentence due to its first-person verb construction. It was a name of which Django was exceedingly proud. It bore an immediacy, a sense of life, and a vision of destiny.

Security ... what does this word mean in relation to life as we know it today? For the most part, it means safety and freedom from worry. It is said to be the end that all men strive for; but is security a utopian goal or is it another word for rut? Let us visualize the secure man; and by this term, I mean a man who has settled for financial and personal security for his goal in life. In general, he is a man who has pushed ambition and initiative aside and settled down, so to speak, in a boring, but safe and comfortable rut for the rest of his life. His future is but an extension of his present, and he accepts it as such with a complacent shrug of his shoulders. His ideas and ideals are those of society in general and he is accepted as a respectable, but average and prosaic man. But is he a man? has he any self-respect or pride in himself? How could he, when he has risked nothing and gained nothing? What does he think when he sees his youthful dreams of adventure, accomplishment, travel and romance buried under the cloak of conformity? How does he feel when he realizes that he has barely tasted the meal of life; when he sees the prison he has made for himself in pursuit of the almighty dollar? If he thinks this is all well and good, fine, but think of the tragedy of a man who has sacrificed his freedom on the altar of security, and wishes he could turn back the hands of time. A man is to be pitied who lacked the courage to accept the challenge of freedom and depart from the cushion of security and see life as it is instead of living it second-hand. Life has by-passed this man and he has watched from a secure place, afraid to seek anything better What has he done except to sit and wait for the tomorrow which never comes? Turn back the pages of history and see the men who have shaped the destiny of the world. Security was never theirs, but they lived rather than existed. Where would the world be if all men had sought security and not taken risks or gambled with their lives on the chance that, if they won, life would be different and richer? It is from the bystanders (who are in the vast majority) that we receive the propaganda that life is not worth living, that life is drudgery, that the ambitions of youth must he laid aside for a life which is but a painful wait for death. These are the ones who squeeze what excitement they can from life out of the imaginations and experiences of others through books and movies. These are the insignificant and forgotten men who preach conformity because it is all they know. These are the men who dream at night of what could have been, but who wake at dawn to take their places at the now-familiar rut and to merely exist through another day. For them, the romance of life is long dead and they are forced to go through the years on a treadmill, cursing their existence, yet afraid to die because of the unknown which faces them after death. They lacked the only true courage: the kind which enables men to face the unknown regardless of the consequences. As an afterthought, it seems hardly proper to write of life without once mentioning happiness; so we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?

Everywhere I traveled I saw this death space in action, and I felt what it means to be held. At Ruriden columbarium in Japan, I was held by a sphere of Buddhas glowing soft blue and purple. At the cemetery in Mexico, I was held by a single wrought-iron fence in the light of tens of thousands of flickering amber candles. At the open-air pyre in Colorado, I was held within the elegant bamboo walls, which kept mourners safe as the flames shot high. There was magic to each of these places. There was grief, unimaginable grief. But in that grief there was no shame. These were places to meet despair face to face and say, 'I see you waiting there. And I feel you, strongly. But you do not demean me.

When people speak of the tragedies in my life, they ordinarily mean the deaths. Not only Jacob. But all those around me who have perished. Whether in direct consequence of danger or simple misfortune and the passage of time after our friendships have formed. At times though I think these partings should be accounted as highly, if only in the ledger of my own sorrow. Akinimanbi did not die on a Lebane spear, but I never saw her again after leaving for the Great Cataract. In that sense I lost her as thoroughly as if she had died. So it was with Yeyuama as well. I only saw Faj Rawango once more, years later. And although Galinke corresponded with me, we could not be friends the way we might have been had we dwelt in the same land. So it has been, again and again throughout my life, as I form connections with people and then lose them to distance and time. I mourn those losses, even when I know my erstwhile friends are safe and happy among their own kin. But the only way for me to avoid such losses, would be to stay home. To never journey beyond the range of easy visitation. As my life will attest, that is not a measure I am willing to take. Nor would I forgo the pleasures of my transient friendships if I could. So we made our farewells, packed our things, and boarded a steamship in the harbor of Nsebu. Much browner, thinner and more worn than it had been when we arrived, we made our way back to Scirland.

I might not know the first thing about love, but I know that I shall rip anyone to shreds if they look at you the wrong way. You think if I don’t love you, that means I don’t think about you? Worry about you? Oh, I do. “I think about you all the damn time. I wonder if you slept well and if you are warm enough. Whether you are safe or have gotten yourself into mischief. Being separated from you is like torture, and not because I cannot kiss you, although it is definitely on the list, but because I constantly worry if you’ve had enough to eat and if you’ve taken the ginger root with you on your travels. Every time it rains, I pray it doesn’t storm because I know you’re alone….

Jay came over as soon as Violet called him; she didn’t even have to give him a reason. He was there in less than ten minutes. Of course, he’d heard about what had happened to Hailey. Everyone had. Buckley was a small town, and news traveled fast . . . especially bad news. When he got there she told him what she was thinking about doing. It was nothing dangerous, at least as far as she was concerned, and she hadn’t expected Jay to disagree with her about it. So when he did, she was more than a little bit surprised by his stubborn reaction. “No way,” he insisted, and his voice left little room for argument. “There is no way you’re going to go around looking for this guy.” Violet was shocked by the tone of his voice, and by the harsh look he shot at her. She thought maybe he misunderstood her plan, so she tried to explain it to him again. “Jay, I’m only going to public places, like malls and parks, to see if I can get a feeling for who this guy is. Who knows, maybe he goes to places like that to find them, maybe he hands out there waiting to pick out a girl to . . . you know, kidnap.” She tried to make her argument sound logical, but there was a desperate edge to her voice. “I’m not going out alone . . . you can go with me. We’ll just hang out at different places to see if we can find him. And if we do, we’ll call my uncle. It’s not like we’d do anything stupid.” “’Anything stupid’ would be going out to look for a killer. I won’t let you go looking for trouble, Violet. This guy is dangerous, and you need to leave it to the cops. They know what they’re doing. And they’re armed.” He sounded like he thought she’d lost her mind, and maybe she had, but she had already made her decision. “Look, I’m doing this. I was just asking you to come along with me.” “You’re not,” he insisted. “Even if I have to tell your uncle and your parents what you’re planning. I promise you, you’re not doing it.” She could feel her temper flaring. “You can’t stop me, Jay. If you tell on me, then I’ll lie. I’ll bat my eyes innocently and promise not to go looking for this guy. But I swear to you that every chance I get, even if I have to sneak out of the house to do it, I will be trying to find him.” She stood up, meaning to glare back at him, but instead found herself craning her neck just so she could see his face. The awkward position didn’t steal nay of her thunder. She refused to back down. “I mean it, Jay. You can’t stop me.” Jay glared incredulously back at her. Emotions ranging from disbelief to frustration and back to disbelief again flashed darkly across his face. He seemed to be fighting with himself now. But when she heard him sigh, and then saw him raking his hand restlessly through his hair, she knew she’d won. His icy determination seemed to melt right before her eyes. “Damn it, Violet.” He sighed brusquely, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly. “What choice do I have?” he asked as he practically squeezed the life out of her. She wasn’t sure how to react to him now. It definitely wasn’t a tender hug, but the close contact made her undisclosed desires stir all the same. She couldn’t help wondering if he felt even a fraction of what she did. His arms were strong, and she felt safe in the circle of them. She’d never imaged that she could feel so comfortable and so uncomfortable at the same time. She waited within the space of his embrace to see where this was going. “So, how is this going to work?” he demanded roughly against the top of her head.

We saw sundials built 300 years ago that are more accurate than any watch or calendar developed electronically today. We got cold feet when it came to crossing the road in Jaipur and decided whatever was on the other side wasn’t worth attempting to cross even on a zebra crossing. We ate in a restaurant that clearly indicated ‘No firearms or guns permitted,’ which made us feel safe. We saw a street fight in Agra over a traffic situation, the only one in the whole ten days. And we learned that when a car driver honks his horn it means, “I’m turning left,” or “I’m turning right,” or “I’m going straight ahead,” or “I’m overtaking on the inside,” or “I’m overtaking on the outside,” or “I just feel like honking my horn for absolutely no reason whatsoever other than I haven’t done it in a while.

How to Apologize Ellen Bass Cook a large fish—choose one with many bones, a skeleton you will need skill to expose, maybe the flying silver carp that's invaded the Great Lakes, tumbling the others into oblivion. If you don't live near a lake, you'll have to travel. Walking is best and shows you mean it, but you could take a train and let yourself be soothed by the rocking on the rails. It's permitted to receive solace for whatever you did or didn't do, pitiful, beautiful human. When my mother was in the hospital, my daughter and I had to clear out the home she wouldn't return to. Then she recovered and asked, incredulous, How could you have thrown out all my shoes? So you'll need a boat. You could rent or buy, but, for the sake of repairing the world, build your own. Thin strips of Western red cedar are perfect, but don't cut a tree. There'll be a demolished barn or downed trunk if you venture further. And someone will have a mill. And someone will loan you tools. The perfume of sawdust and the curls that fall from your plane will sweeten the hours. Each night we dream thirty-six billion dreams. In one night we could dream back everything lost. So grill the pale flesh. Unharness yourself from your weary stories. Then carry the oily, succulent fish to the one you hurt. There is much to fear as a creature caught in time, but this is safe. You need no defense. This is just another way to know you are alive. “How to Apologize” originally appeared in The New Yorker (March 15, 2021).

In short the only fully rational world would be the world of wishing-caps, the world of telepathy, where every desire is fulfilled instanter, without having to consider or placate surrounding or intermediate powers. This is the Absolute's own world. He calls upon the phenomenal world to be, and it IS, exactly as he calls for it, no other condition being required. In our world, the wishes of the individual are only one condition. Other individuals are there with other wishes and they must be propitiated first. So Being grows under all sorts of resistances in this world of the many, and, from compromise to compromise, only gets organized gradually into what may be called secondarily rational shape. We approach the wishing-cap type of organization only in a few departments of life. We want water and we turn a faucet. We want a kodak-picture and we press a button. We want information and we telephone. We want to travel and we buy a ticket. In these and similar cases, we hardly need to do more than the wishing—the world is rationally organized to do the rest. But this talk of rationality is a parenthesis and a digression. What we were discussing was the idea of a world growing not integrally but piecemeal by the contributions of its several parts. Take the hypothesis seriously and as a live one. Suppose that the world's author put the case to you before creation, saying: "I am going to make a world not certain to be saved, a world the perfection of which shall be conditional merely, the condition being that each several agent does its own 'level best.' I offer you the chance of taking part in such a world. Its safety, you see, is unwarranted. It is a real adventure, with real danger, yet it may win through. It is a social scheme of co-operative work genuinely to be done. Will you join the procession? Will you trust yourself and trust the other agents enough to face the risk?" Should you in all seriousness, if participation in such a world were proposed to you, feel bound to reject it as not safe enough? Would you say that, rather than be part and parcel of so fundamentally pluralistic and irrational a universe, you preferred to relapse into the slumber of nonentity from which you had been momentarily aroused by the tempter's voice? Of course if you are normally constituted, you would do nothing of the sort. There is a healthy- minded buoyancy in most of us which such a universe would exactly fit. We would therefore accept the offer—"Top! und schlag auf schlag!" It would be just like the world we practically live in; and loyalty to our old nurse Nature would forbid us to say no. The world proposed would seem 'rational' to us in the most living way. Most of us, I say, would therefore welcome the proposition and add our fiat to the fiat of the creator. Yet perhaps some would not; for there are morbid minds in every human collection, and to them the prospect of a universe with only a fighting chance of safety would probably make no appeal. There are moments of discouragement in us all, when we are sick of self and tired of vainly striving. Our own life breaks down, and we fall into the attitude of the prodigal son. We mistrust the chances of things. We want a universe where we can just give up, fall on our father's neck, and be absorbed into the absolute life as a drop of water melts into the river or the sea. The peace and rest, the security desiderated at such moments is security against the bewildering accidents of so much finite experience. Nirvana means safety from this everlasting round of adventures of which the world of sense consists. The hindoo and the buddhist, for this is essentially their attitude, are simply afraid, afraid of more experience, afraid of life. And to men of this complexion, religious monism comes with its consoling words: "All is needed and essential—even you with your sick soul and heart. All are one

When sitting in an armchair isn't enough… I write. What I mean is that when it no longer suffices to sit and dream about travelling to other times, other places, I write about them instead. A most economical and safe form of time travel.

A couple of last thoughts –I am always amazed at how people look for the cheapest (least expensive) option –why would we do that with people that we care about so much. Usually the least expensive means you get the older vehicles and the least experienced drivers. I know like you I don’t want either of those when I want to have a great fun and safe trip. A little extra on this part of your budget can help your trip be a lot better

We both landed on the ground.   Daisy was standing nearby, greeting the villagers. She saw what happened and said, “OMG! Are you guys okay?”   “Ughhhh… owww…” I stumbled as I tried to get up. I was super dizzy from all that tumbling.   Bob got up fine, he didn’t take as bad of a fall as I did. “Well, that’s a quick way to get down the mound. What’s going on?” he asked me.   “Uhhh… we… w-we gotta get home fast!” I said.   “What do you mean?”   “The Sage… he told me… something is gonna happen back at home.”   Bob gasped. “Is our town in trouble?”   “It sounds like it may be.”   “I’ll round everyone up and we’ll head back right now.”   “Thanks, I’m gonna sit here for a second. My brain feels like it has been scrambled from that fall.”   A few minutes later, my party was in front of me. I explained to them the situation.   “We should get back on the double,” said Arceus.   I nodded. “I got some speed potions from Cindy. We can feed them to the horses to make them run extra fast.”   “Good idea,” said Bob.   “How many speed potions do you have?” asked the ranger.   “Only four,” I replied.   “What about your pet?”   “Oh…” I thought for a moment. “I’ll just carry him.”   “Okay, let’s mount up.”   We all got on our horses.   Daisy came over to us. “Are you leaving already?” she asked.   “Yeah, sorry. We would love to stay longer, but something just came up,” I answered.   “I understand. We’ll be here if you ever decide to come back to visit.”   “Thank you, Daisy.”   “Safe travels to you all,” she said and waved.   We waved and turned toward the west and our horses took us to the horizon.

When she finally grew still, a taut silence settled over them. From the corner of his eye he could see her worrying her lip, her small white teeth sinking into the soft pink flesh. Remembering how those lips felt beneath his, another surge of longing knotted his guts, making him recall the plans he had made for the evening--plans that were now drifting away on the wind. He wanted her, yes, but not if it meant forcing her. “I suppose that…” Her voice trailed off. She plucked nervously at her skirt, then ran her fingertips up the line of buttons on her bodice. She glanced around nervously, still nibbling her lip. “I, um, haven’t forgotten my promises to you.” “This is good.” Hunter watched her with gentle amusement. “A promise is a promise, even when given under unusual circumstances. You kept up your part, and--” She seemed unable to meet his gaze. “I’m sure you expect me to keep up mine.” A dark flush crept up her neck. “I, um, guess you had Amy taken to your mother’s so we could--so we could…” She looked so distressed that Hunter took pity on her. “Ah, yes, we have a bargain, do we not?” He forced a long and very loud yawn. “My heart is heavy to say these words, Blue Eyes, but I am sure enough weary after traveling so far, eh?” Her expression brightened so visibly that he nearly chuckled. “Oh, but of course!” she exclaimed in a shaky little voice. “You’ve ridden a very long way. You must be exhausted.” He yawned again and patted the fur beside him. “You will lie beside me.” “But what about Amy?” “Your Aye-mee is with my mother, yes? The woman who is mean like a buffalo. She is safe. You will be easy about her until the sun shows its face.” His voice turned husky. “Keemah, come.

The protagonist imagines her life before her like a fig tree, the tip of every branch representing a wonderful future that beckons and winks—relationships, family, careers, travel, athletic pursuits, and many more figs that can’t quite be made out from the position she’s in. We can find ourselves wanting each and every one of these futures, and when society tells us we can have it all—through advertisements, media, or upbringing—perhaps we expect it. Yet in spite of the messaging, we sense that making a decision to pursue one life means forgoing other options. As Plath wrote, “I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest.” The Latin root of the verb decide literally means “to cut off”—and in the metaphorical sense “to kill.” No wonder we hesitate—it can bring a sense of comfort to keep our options alive. We can make a cosy nook out of our indecision where no wrong turn can be made, where all our futures can exist safely, and we can rest our head on diaphanous pillows of possibility. But as Plath’s fig tree metaphor shows, we might find out too late that indecision isn’t all that comforting— it’s stifling and we risk never reaching for any opportunity: “I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death,” wrote Plath, “just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose.

Never Doubt His Plan A cargo helicopter flying over Alaska had some engine trouble. The pilot did excellent work to get the aircraft down, but electrics had been damaged, meaning he couldn't radio for help. He knew a search party would be looking for him, but there was such a vast area to cover. Being from a family of deep faith, he started to pray for God to send the rescuers in the right direction. Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse. One day while out getting freshwater, there was an electrical fire in the helicopter. He stood at a safe distance and watched it going up in flames. Then the gas tank exploded. He fell to his knees as it did. Watching his pride and joy go up in smoke felt like pouring salt on his wounds. He cried out to God, "I give up, I ask you to help me, and this happens. A few hours later he heard a distance sound, he perked up, he couldn't see anything, but it kept getting closer. Next thing he saw a helicopter in the distance, it was the coast guard coming to rescue him. When they landed, he ran over and gave them a big hug—asking how in the world did they find him. It turned out the smoke from the wreckage had travelled over 300 miles with the wind. The rescue team had followed the smoke. Sometimes what looks like a disappointment is God positioning us for a new level. If your helicopter is on fire today, so to speak, instead of being bitter, complaining, being upset. Have a new perspective, trust in God's plan. It may not make sense now. Being stranded is tough; being in the pits of life will feel uncomfortable. The setbacks, the closed doors can be discouraging, but you have to remind yourself. It's not working against you; it's working for you. Now you only see in part, but one day you will see in full.

Maybe we’ve gone soft. Gotten used to the relative safety of the farms in the past week. But Mack slows down immediately, and I jump off without hesitation so I can run over to help. I should know better. We both should. But things have felt settled and secure since we got together for real, like the worst of the danger should be over. But we still live in the world. And The Wild has never been safe. And this is undoubtedly a trap for the most gullible of travelers. Evidently today that’s us. Before I can reach the prostrate woman, a man steps out from behind a thick tree. The woman isn’t armed, but he is. And he lifts his pistol, aiming it unwaveringly at the largest threat. That’s Mack, of course. I can’t even take a breath before he’s pulled the trigger, firing directly at Mack. I act on pure instinct. Not because I’ve thought it through in even the slightest of ways. This stranger is shooting a gun at Mack, and Mack will always—always, always—be mine. So I jump right at the man, blocking Mack from the bullet that would have killed him. Unfortunately that means the bullet hits me instead.

Uncle?” I thought that this might be my opportunity to ask the question I’d been wanting to ask him all along. “Yeah?” “Why did Aunt Momoko leave?” “Hmmm . . . She and I have the same way of looking at things. It’s what brought us together, and I think it’s also the reason we split up. We met in the middle of the journey and we fell in love. But that doesn’t mean we’ll always be traveling together. At some point, everyone has to find their safe harbor. I’d always thought we’d make it to the end together. Unfortunately, that’s not how it turned out.

Call Me “Call on me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you will honor me.” PSALM 50:15 NIV “Call me and we’ll do lunch.” “Call me and we’ll talk more.” “Call if you need anything.” How many times have we said those words or heard them in return? Those two little words, call me, which hold such significance, have become so commonplace we barely think about them. But when God says He wants us to call Him, He means it. He must lean closer, bending His ear, waiting, longing for the sound of His name coming from our lips. He stands ready to deliver us from our troubles or at least carry us through them safely. David called on God in his troubles. Some of those troubles were of David’s own making, while others were out of his control. It’s a good thing God doesn’t distinguish between the troubles we deserve and those we don’t deserve. As far as He’s concerned, we’re His children. He loves us, and He wants to help us any way He can. While He doesn’t always choose to fix things with a snap of His fingers, we can be assured that He will see us through to the other side of our troubles by a smoother path than we’d travel without Him. He’s waiting to help us. All we have to do is call. Dear Father, I’m so glad I can call on You anytime, with any kind of trouble. Amen.

Well,“ I said, attempting a smile, “at least we know Frank is safe, after all.” Jamie glowered down at me, ruddy brows nearly touching each other. “Damn Frank!” he said ferociously. “Damn all Randalls! Damn Jack Randall, and damn Mary Hawkins Randall, and damn Alex Randall—er, God rest his soul, I mean,” he amended hastily, crossing himself. “I thought you didn’t begrudge—” I started. He glared at me. “I lied.” He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me slightly, holding me at arm’s length. “And damn you, too, Claire Randall Fraser, while I’m at it!” he said. “Damn right I begrudge! I grudge every memory of yours that doesna hold me, and every tear ye’ve shed for another, and every second you’ve spent in another’s man bed! Damn you!” He knocked the brandy glass from my hand—accidentally, I think—pulled me to him and kissed me hard. He drew back enough to shake me again. “You’re mine, damn ye, Claire Fraser! Mine, and I wilna share ye, with a man or a memory, or anything whatever, so long as we both shall live. You’ll no mention the man’s name to me again. D'ye hear?” He kissed me fiercely to emphasize the point. “Did ye hear me?” he asked, breaking off. “Yes,” I said, with some difficulty. “If you’d ….stop…shaking me, I might…answer you.” Rather sheepishly, he released his grip on my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Sassenach. It’s only…God, why did ye….well, aye, I see why…but did you have to—" I interrupted this incoherent sputtering by putting my hand behind his head and drawing him down to me. "Yes,” I said firmly, releasing him. “I had to. But it’s over now.” I loosened the ties of my cloak and let it fall back off my shoulders to the floor. He bent to pick it up, but I stopped him. “Jamie,” I said. “I’m tired. Will you take me to bed?

You aren’t going to die,” Kiernan whispered through the darkness. We sat in one of the bedchambers for pilgrims, me on the cot and Kiernan on the floor. He was sitting with his knees bent, elbows resting on them. If I looked at him, I knew I would see his eyes flash even in the dark. So I leaned my head back against the stone wall and said nothing. “She might not have meant you,” he continued. “It could be Orianne, or even the real Nalia.” That did make me look at him. “Great,” I said sarcastically. “So we find the real Nalia and then somehow get her killed. That would certainly be doing the kingdom a favor.” Kiernan huffed in irritation, then took a breath. “I didn’t mean it that way. And besides, not all of those visions come true. The one that started this whole mess didn’t.” I didn’t answer. I felt numb, had felt that way since stumbling out of the temple. Even the key hidden inside my fist hadn’t been enough to bring me back to myself. I had allowed Kiernan to lead me to the pilgrims’ quarters, overheard him tell Brother Paxson that I was too weary with study to leave that night. I had eaten the food brought to us, nodding mechanically in thanks, then sat down on the cot and let my mind wander. A triangle. One side crumbled away, leaving only two. Try as I might, I could think of nothing else it could mean. Only that if I found the real princess, one of us--Nalia, Orianne, or me--would die. “And even if it was a true prophecy, we can fight it. We know about it now, so we can be…alert, careful. We can keep them safe. We’ll keep you safe--I’ll keep you safe.” Kiernan pushed himself up off the bed and came to sit next to me. “Come on,” he said, reaching out a tentative arm and putting it around my shoulders. “I just got you back. I’m not going to let you die.” Closing my eyes, I let myself lean against him. He smelled nice, even after days of travel on horseback. And he was warm and solid, and my friend. We stayed like that long enough that I felt a little of the numbness leave, melted away by Kiernan’s warmth. “Sorry,” I said finally. My voice sounded a little choked, which made me pull away from him in embarrassment. “It’s a strange thing to hear, that’s all.” Kiernan had let his arm drop from my shoulders, but his fingers now brushed my arm nearest to him. “I’m sure it is,” he said. He was gazing into my eyes as he said it, though more deeply than seemed necessary. My heart was suddenly hammering in my ears, and I was overly aware of how close we were. “It must be near midnight,” I stuttered. “We should…We should probably try the, uh, library.” Kiernan blinked, then pushed himself up, one corner of his mouth pulled in. “Of course,” he said. Then a mischievous grin broke across his face. “Now, this should be fun.

Shh,” I murmur, taking care to keep my voice low. “It is only a dream. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” [...] "A dream,” she repeats, pupils dilated as she stares up at me. She licks her lips, and I follow the movement with my eyes, a heat pulsing low at the base of my spine. “It was just a dream.” I nod, trying to angle my hips away from her in a futile attempt to hide my thickening cock. But her body is pressed close to mine, tucked beside me under my and Jadi’s wool traveling blankets. I see the moment she realizes, my preternatural vision able to take in the details of her shock. I see the way her pale eyes go wide, cheeks flushing pink. Hear her breath hitch in surprise. I feel my own cheeks heat in response, a flush of shame tightening in my chest. Shame at how much I want her. At how I’ve treated her. Shame at how jealously I guarded Jadi’s affections. At the way I cruelly tried to drive him away from her. “Asterion?” My name is barely a whisper on her lips, but she doesn’t pull away from me. Instead, her thigh presses against my hardening length. Almost like she’s seeking me out. But of course, that can’t be right. No woman would seek me out. Not after the way I’ve treated her. “Yes?” My voice catches in my throat, but I don’t dare look away. “Do you – are you…” her voice trails off, but she keeps her eyes locked on mine. Guilt tightens its hold behind my ribs, but I nod. There’s no point in denying it. No point in lying to her. Not when she can feel the proof of my attraction to her pressing against her. “I’m sorry,” I grit out, pulling my hand away from her face. “I don’t mean to… Please, just ignore it.” I roll away until I’m lying on my back, my erection almost painful as it pushes against the weight of the blankets. “Because of Jadi?” she asks, her voice thready and uncertain. I furrow my brow, glaring with irritation into the darkness. “Jadi? What does Jadi have to do with it?” “I mean – just that you and Jadi are together. Lovers? I not know word,” she babbles. “And I know that. Respect that. I not want come between you and Jadi. At party, he asked if he could court me,” she confesses. “I sorry if I…” I cut her off with a frustrated hiss, hating myself even more for this proof of how I’ve hurt Jadi. How successfully I have pushed her away from him. “You have nothing to apologize for,” I grind out. “Jadi has every right to court you. Every right. The only one who could deny him that is you.” “But you and Jadi…” “Are lovers? Intertwined as closely as two threads woven into the same cloth? Yes.” I bark out a bitter, mirthless laugh. “Which makes my treatment of him – of you – even worse.” The words are spilling out now, like water into the hull of a ship once the wood has cracked. Now that I’ve started, there is no stopping it. “I’ve known for moon cycles that he cares for you, and I hurt him for it. I was cruel to him and tried to chase you away. Because I was afraid you would steal him away from me, and he’s all I have. He’s everything to me. He’s my heart. My heart.” I clutch my fist against my chest in emphasis, still staring at the ceiling, not daring to turn and meet her eyes with my own. “I was jealous, and it was wrong, and now the gods are probably laughing at me. Because I want you. I want you. After trying to drive Jadi away from you, now I want you for myself. But I don’t deserve you. Not after the way I’ve treated you. And even then, even if I hadn’t…” [...] “I want you too.” Her words are no more than a whisper, and I tense, my first instinct to dismiss them the moment I register what she’s said. “I want you. And Jadi,” she admits, and there’s a raw vulnerability in those simple words that I don’t understand. “I shouldn’t, should I? Want you both, I mean? Like that?” I roll to my side to stare at her in disbelief.

There is no old age like anxiety,” said one of the monks I met in India. “And there is no freedom from old age like the freedom from anxiety.” In desperate love, we always invent the characters of our partners, demanding that they be what we need of them, and then feeling devastated when they refuse to perform the role we created in the first place. Generally speaking, though, Americans have an inability to relax into sheer pleasure. Ours is an entertainment-seeking nation, but not necessarily a pleasure-seeking one. Americans spend billions to keep themselves amused with everything from porn to theme parks to wars, but that’s not exactly the same thing as quiet enjoyment. The beauty of doing nothing is the goal of all your work, the final accomplishment for which you are most highly congratulated. The more exquisitely and delightfully you can do nothing, the higher your life’s achievement. You don’t necessarily need to be rich in order to experience this, either. I am having a relationship with this pizza, almost an affair. Without seeing Sicily one cannot get a clear idea of what Italy is. “No town can live peacefully, whatever its laws,” Plato wrote, “when its citizens…do nothing but feast and drink and tire themselves out in the cares of love.” In a world of disorder and disaster and fraud, sometimes only beauty can be trusted. Only artistic excellence is incorruptible. Pleasure cannot be bargained down. And sometimes the meal is the only currency that is real. The idea that the appreciation of pleasure can be an anchor of one’s humanity. You should never give yourself a chance to fall apart because, when you do, it becomes a tendency and it happens over and over again. You must practice staying strong, instead. People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave. They break your heart open so new light could get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you had to transform your life. The Zen masters always say that you cannot see your reflection in running water, only in still water. Your treasure—your perfection—is within you already. But to claim it, you must leave the busy commotion of the mind and abandon the desires of the ego and enter into the silence of the heart. Balinese families are always allowed to eat their own donations to the gods, since the offering is more metaphysical than literal. The way the Balinese see it, God takes what belongs to God—the gesture—while man takes what belongs to man—the food itself.) To meditate, only you must smile. Smile with face, smile with mind, and good energy will come to you and clean away dirty energy. Even smile in your liver. Practice tonight at hotel. Not to hurry, not to try too hard. Too serious, you make you sick. You can calling the good energy with a smile. The word paradise, by the way, which comes to us from the Persian, means literally “a walled garden.” The four virtues a person needs in order to be safe and happy in life: intelligence, friendship, strength and (I love this one) poetry. Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. Once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it, you must make a mighty effort to keep swimming upward into that happiness forever, to stay afloat on top of it.

The weather, which we had learned and predicted for centuries, had become uggianaqtuq—a Nunavut term for behaving unexpectedly, or in an unfamiliar way. Our sea ice, which had allowed for safe travel for our hunters and provided a strong habitat for our marine mammals, was, and still is, deteriorating. I described what we had already so carefully documented in the petition: the human fatalities that had been caused by thinning ice, the animals that may face extinction, the crumbling coastlines, the communities that were having to relocate—in other words, the many ways that our rights to life, health, property and a means of subsistence were being violated by a dramatically changing climate.