Protector Protection Quotes

And Harry saw very clearly as he sat there under the hot sun how people who cared about him had stood in front of him one by one, his mother, his father, his godfather, and finally Dumbledore, all determined to protect him; but now that was over. He could not let anybody else stand between him and Voldemort; he must abandon forever the illusion he ought to have lost at the age of one, that the shelter of a parent’s arms meant that nothing could hurt him. There was no waking from this nightmare, no comforting whisper in the dark that he was safe really, that it was all in his imagination; the last and greatest of his protectors had died, and he was more alone than he had ever been.

VAMPIRES I see things you can't see WEREWOLVES I find things that hunt you FAERIES I am your protector SHAPESHIFTERS But even I can't protect you now.

Don't let the rain drive you to the wrong shelter; the shade can turn out to be your protector and also your destroyer, and sometimes the rain is the perfect protector from the rain.

Beneath the surface of the protective parts of trauma survivors there exists an undamaged essence, a Self that is confident, curious, and calm, a Self that has been sheltered from destruction by the various protectors that have emerged in their efforts to ensure survival. Once those protectors trust that it is safe to separate, the Self will spontaneously emerge, and the parts can be enlisted in the healing process

There is nothing more heartbreaking than to see the woman you love, the one woman you would do anything to protect, is the woman who is afraid of you. It broke his heart.

And Harry remembered his first nightmarish trip into the forest, the first time he had ever encountered the thing that was then Voldemort, and how he had faced him, and how he and Dumbledore had discussed fighting a losing battle not long thereafter. It was important, Dumbledore said, to fight, and fight again, and keep fighting, for only then could evil be kept at bay, though never quite eradicated. . . . And Harry saw very clearly as he sat there under the hot sun how people who cared about him had stood in front of him one by one, his mother, his father, his godfather, and finally Dumbledore, all determined to protect him; but now that was over. He could not let anybody else stand between him and Voldemort; he must abandon forever the illusion he ought to have lost at the age of one, that the shelter of a parent’s arms meant that nothing could hurt him. There was no waking from his nightmare, no comforting whisper in the dark that he was safe really, that it was all in his imagination; the last and greatest of his protectors had died, and he was more alone than he had ever been before.

I did not want to hear the pain of my male partner because hearing it required that I surrender my investment in the patriarchal ideal of the male as protector of the wounded. If he was wounded, then how could he protect me? As

Gratitude ...here at home our faith dwindles political division causes tensions to kindle - we should never forget who stands at the door - who shields us with armor and shall forever more...

Sir, people never wanted me to make it to squire. They won't like it any better if I become a knight. I doubt I'll ever get to command a force larger than, well, just me.' Raoul shook his head. 'You're wrong.' As she started to protest, he raised a hand. 'Hear me out. I have some idea of what you've had to bear to get this far, and it won't get easier. But there are larger issues than your fitness for knighthood, issues that involve lives and livelihoods. Attend,' he said, so much like Yayin, one of her Mithran teachers, that Kel had to smile. 'At our level, there are four kids of warrior,' he told Kel. He raised a fist and held up one large finger. 'Heroes, like Alanna the Lioness. Warriors who find dark places and fight in them alone. This is wonderful, but we live in the real world. There aren't many places without any hope or light.' He raised a second finger. 'We have knights- plain, everyday knights, like your brothers. They patrol their borders and protect their tenants, or they go into troubled areas at the king's command and sort them out. They fight in battles, usually against other knights. A hero will work like an everyday knight for a time- it's expected. And most knights must be clever enough to manage alone.' Kel nodded. 'We have soldiers,' Raoul continued, raising a third finger. 'Those warriors, including knights, who can manage so long as they're told what to do. These are more common, thank Mithros, and you'll find them in charge of companies in the army, under the eye of a general. Without people who can take orders, we'd be in real trouble. 'Commanders.' He raised his little finger. 'Good ones, people with a knack for it, like, say, the queen, or Buri, or young Dom, they're as rare as heroes. Commanders have an eye not just for what they do, but for what those around them do. Commanders size up people's strengths and weaknesses. They know where someone will shine and where they will collapse. Other warriors will obey a true commander because they can tell that the commander knows what he- or she- is doing.' Raoul picked up a quill and toyed with it. 'You've shown flashes of being a commander. I've seen it. So has Qasim, your friend Neal, even Wyldon, though it would be like pulling teeth to get him to admit it. My job is to see if you will do more than flash, with the right training. The realm needs commanders. Tortall is big. We have too many still-untamed pockets, too curse many hideyholes for rogues, and plenty of hungry enemies to nibble at our borders and our seafaring trade. If you have what it takes, the Crown will use you. We're too desperate for good commanders to let one slip away, even a female one. Now, finish that'- he pointed to the slate- 'and you can stop for tonight.

He'd gone from being just my tormentor to being my tormentor and protector, though I needed protection from nothing but him.

I love being with my family, feeling that I’m both protector and protected.

Growing up? Gavriel, that was last week watching her recover from crashing out of that office window. She fell out of her wheelchair and broke her other arm." Caspian laughed along with his mate. Gavriel pulled the phone back and stared at it in horror.

The only proper purpose of a government is to protect man's rights, which means: to protect him from physical violence. A proper government is only a policeman, acting as an agent of man's self-defense, and, as such, may resort to force only against those who start the use of force. The only proper functions of a government are: the police, to protect you from criminals; the army, to protect you from foreign invaders; and the courts, to protect your property and contracts from breaches or fraud by the others, to settle disputes by rational rules, according to objective law. But a government that initiates the employment of force against men who had forced no one, the employment of armed compulsion against disarmed victims, is a nightmare infernal machine designed to annihilate morality: such a government reverses its only moral purpose and switches from the role of protector to the role of man's deadliest enemy, from the role of of policeman to the role of a criminal vested with the right to the wielding of violence against the victims deprived of the right of self-defense. Such a government substitutes for morality the following rule of social conduct: you may do whatever you please to your neighbor, provided your gang is bigger than his.

Whether one is dealing with the state, the Mafia, parents, pimps, police, or husbands, the heavy price of institutionalised protection is always a measure of dependence and agreement to abide by the protector's rules

She took a tumble down the stairs and I almost swallowed my tongue. I was hoping Broderick could provide some insight on how he was able to raise her to adulthood in one piece.

You think that you’re a bad thing, but you’re not. You protect the rest of us from bad things. You’re badass and lethal and scary, and you’re as far from weak as you can get. You’re a protector, Gabe. My protector.

Last night they hadn’t even fucked. What the hell was the point of protective custody if you weren’t at least going to get to have sex with your protector?

I walked towards her. Jean-Claude grabbed my arm. "Do not harm her, Anita. She is under our protection." "I swear to you that I will not lay a finger on her tonight. I just want to tell her something." He released my arm, slowly, like he wasn't sure it was a good idea. I stepped next to Monica, until our bodies almost touched. I whispered into her face, "If anything happens to Catherine, I will see you dead." She smirked at me, confident in her protectors. "They will bring me back as one of them." I felt my head shake, a little to the right, a little to the left, a slow precise movement. "I will cut out your heart." I was still smiling, I couldn'tseem to stop. "Then I will burn it and scatter the ashes in the river. Do you understand me?" She swallowed audibly. Her health-club tan looked a little green. She nodded, staring at me like I was the bogey man. I think she believed I'd do it. Peachy keen. I hate to waste a really good threat

I'm mad for her. I need to keep her. I need to protect her.

This effort [to establish racism, sexism and homophobia as morally heinous in law] also casts the law in particular and the state more generally as neutral arbiters of injury rather than as themselves invested with the power to injure. Thus, the effort to "outlaw" social injury powerfully legitimizes law and the state as appropriate protectors against injury and casts injured individuals as needing such protection by such protectors.

Allow me to present myself, milady. I am Simon of Ravenswood, brother to the ogre, and your most fervent protector for this journey. (Simon) Wonderful. And pray tell who will protect her from your drooling? Should I have my squire fetch rags now, or should I wait until she starts to drown? (Draven)

under the gold standard, a free banking system stands as the protector of an economy's stability and balanced growth... The abandonment of the gold standard made it possible for the welfare statists to use the banking system as a means to an unlimited expansion of credit... In the absence of the gold standard, there is no way to protect savings from confiscation through inflation

He rolled his eyes. "I will never not be worried about you! That's close to impossible." He ran a hand over his face in frustration. "I wish for one moment you could feel what its like to be a Protector. I can't think of anything else, Raina, not even myself. It's what I am...it's all I am at the moment." ~Thanatos

The tradition of men as guardians and protectors had quite died out. These stalwart virgins had no men to fear and therefore no need of protection.

My guardian served as my protector, but I had no one to protect me from him.

The government enforces a monopoly over the production and distribution of its alleged 'services' and brings violence to bear against would-be competitors. In so doing, it reveals the fraud at the heart of its impudent claims and gives sufficient proof that it is not a genuine protector, but a mere protection racket.

I know you don't love me that way. Don't you think I know that by now? But you don't know how I feel about you. No one does." "Tell me, then." "Day, you mean more to me than some crush. When the entire world turned its back on me and left me to die, you took me in. You were the person that cared about what might happen to me. You were everything. Everything. You became my entire family - you were my parents and my siblings and my caretaker, my only friend and companion, you were both my protector and someone who needed protecting. You see? I didn't love you in the way you might've thought I did, although I can't deny that was part of it. But the way I feel goes beyond that.

Despite my strange desire to shield Stella from danger, I wasn’t a protector by nature. My version of protection always came wrapped in the pieces of a snuffed-out life and tied with a bloody bow.

Nothing can be more demoralizing than a clinging and abject dependance upon another human being. This often amounts to the demand for a degree of protection and love that no one could possibly satisfy. So our hoped-for protectors finally flee, and once more we are left alone - either to grow up or to disintegrate.

He was too explosive for her to touch him so intimately. It would lead to the wrong things. And places he'd banned himself from. As her protector, he had to stay away from her. That was how it worked. This, he could not stray from. Not again. Even if it killed him.

a park ranger is a protector. You protect the land from the people, the people from the land, the people from each other, and the people from themselves. It's what you are trained to do without even thinking, a reflexive and unconditional act. If you're lucky, you get assigned to people who seem worth saving and land and waters whose situation is not hopeless. If not, you save them anyway. And maybe in time, saving them will make them worth it.

Maybe when we face a tragedy, someone, somewhere is preventing a bigger tragedy from happening.

I'm not your knight in shining armor. I'm just a man who stands between you and hell.

Remember you are the voice for those who cannot talk; you are the protector of those who cannot protect themselves.

There is too much evil in this world for there to be peace and safety without someone actively fighting and protecting others. God has called some to peaceful lives, but He has called others like us to be the protectors.

The sign above the door to the Hypocras Club read PROTEGO RES PUBLICA, engraved into white Italian marble. Miss Alexia Tarabotti, gagged, trussed, bound, and carried by two men—one holding her shoulders, the other her feet—read the words upside down. She had a screaming headache, and it took her a moment to translate the phrase through the nauseating aftereffects of chloroform exposure. Finally she deduced its meaning: to protect the commonwealth. Huh, she thought. / do not buy it. I definitely do not feel protected.

Once, the worlds called Cassius the Morning Knight, protector of the Society, slayer of Ares. Then he murdered his Sovereign, my grandmother, and let the Rising tear down the very Society he swore to protect. He let Darrow destroy my world and bring chaos to the Society. I can never forgive him for that, but neither can I repay the debt I owe him. He kept Sevro au Barca from killing me.

A watershed moment exists in every man's life...sometimes it's profound, sometimes it's barely a blip. But every man has the moment when he stops being his mother's son and becomes another woman's man. When he goes from protected to protector.

That’s who he was at heart. A protector. I don’t think he would’ve ever won the Games, because he’d have died trying to protect Lucy Gray.” “Oh, like a dog or something.” Lepidus nodded. “A really good one.” “No, not like a dog. Like a human being.” said Lysistrata

Without the Protector, there is no protection.

To be a protector, you can't think like a protector. You must always think like a conqueror first.

I’m thinking of the protector who wants to be protected and a fighter who loves the right battle but will lay down her arms to go on a quest.

When a protector leaves you, it looks like the end of the world. But you gradually learn to walk by your own feet

If we don't protect what we have, it will be destroyed.

We were the Bechuanaland Protectorate then, and the British ran our country, to protect us from the Boers (or that is what they said). There was a Commissioner down in Mafikeng, over the border into South Africa, and he would come up the road and speak to the chiefs. He would say: "You do this thing; you do that thing." And the chiefs all obeyed him because they knew that if they did not he would have them deposed. But some of them were clever, and while the British said "You do this," they would say "Yes, yes, sir, I will do that" and all the time, behind their backs, they did the other thing or they just pretended to do something. So for many years, nothing at all happened. It was a good system of government, because most people want nothing to happen. That is the problem with governments these days. They want to do things all the time; they are always very busy thinking of what things they can do next. That is not what people want. People want to be left alone to look after their cattle.

A warm feeling fell over the boy. A mix of security and comfort, as if a blanket were wrapping its soft layers around his heart and nuzzling him snuggly. Gavin loved his mother, and he would be forever grateful to his father for protecting her. The whole mystery behind it made him itch with curiosity, however.

You're Marten Clan, like me. We protect and provide for our community. You notice things that others don't. You fight for people who can't fight for themselves. If you need to be fierce, you can get there in a heartbeat. But at heart, you are a gentle soul who wants tranquility. It's why we make the best protectors.

Of Dragon born, a conqueror prevails. The chosen one fated to protect the dying race. Third of three deemed protector to the progeny. The other marked for revenge. The book of life pages turn yet unwritten. The canvas to your mortal soul. The connection to your immortal enemy. A death will come to He that breaks the barrier." Mr. Creepy/Sooth

Your world view is colored by right and wrong, black and white, but that is not the real world, Benny. The real world is shades of grey and sometimes, to survive and protect the people we love, we have to lie our asses off. Do you understand?

Only problem is, we the people are not asked to choose liberty or security. In fact, we the people are often misled to believe that the only way to protect the homeland is by acquiescing, by placing our freedoms at the feet of our protectors.

A child needs to feel safe and protected, which means that their body, psyche, and belongings are safe and secure from violation. Because a child is helpless and dependent on their caregiver, they need a guardian in this predominantly unknown and sometimes scary and dangerous world. A child’s caregiver is responsible to fit the roles of safe haven and protector.

The Warrior function is…unmistakable in Scripture…Within the epistles, the mature believing man is often described in militant terms–a warrior equipped to battle mighty enemies and shatter satanic strongholds. The heart of the Warrior is a protective heart. The Warrior shields, defends, stands between, and guards…He invests himself in “the energy of self-disciplined, aggressive action.” By Warrior I do not mean one who loves war or draws sadistic pleasure from fighting or bloodshed. There is a difference between a warrior and a brute. A warrior is a protector…Men stand tallest when they are protecting and defending.

The general is the protector of the state. If this protection is all-embracing, the state will surely be strong; if defective, the state will certainly be weak. A sovereign who obtains the right person prospers. One who fails to do so will be ruined.

It is a sad truth, but one acknowledged by any person who can bother to read the law, that the inferior legal status of a woman in Europa means she is best protected by having a powerful family or, lacking that, by finding the strongest protector and marrying him.

See, that’s a huge part of our problem right there, Joe, because I’ve never needed your protection,” I croaked out. “I’m not your mother or your sister. I’m not another girl who needs something from you. I’m the girl who wholeheartedly wants you. I’m the girl who wholeheartedly loves you. The hurler. The mechanic. The boy. The protector. The asshole. The lover. The addict.” Sniffling, I added, “All of your versions. All of your shapes and colors. I accept them all. So, I don’t care how fucked up in the head you get, or how bad of an idea you decide you are for me. If you can’t be with me, warts and all, then walk away now, because I won’t go through this again with you.

Originally, governments had very limited functions. Their purpose was simply to “preserve and protect.” Then someone added “provide.” When governments began to be the people’s provider as well as the people’s protector, governments started creating society, rather than preserving it.

It should be dangerous to attack a warrior, but when we turn our protectors into cowed puppies, they sometimes do not even have the spirit to defend themselves from the kicks of an ungrateful public. And in the end, they may not be able to protect us and our loved ones at the moment of truth. It

I was her protector. That she was flighty and irresponsible and frivolous. That it was my job to protect her. That I was the strong one, counterbalancing her weakness, her whimsy. But I was wrong. I wasn’t the strong one, she was. Because this is what it feels like—to take a risk, to step out of line, to make decisions not based on fact but on feeling. And it hurts. It feels like a tornado raging inside my soul. It feels like I may not survive it.

With whatever I had inside of me, I would protect and defend them from harm. They would never have to sit behind a barricaded bedroom door with a hurley in hand. I would be here to do it for them. I knew what it felt like to have my protector abandon me, and I would never allow that to happen to them.

If people have harmed us, that part is usually a protector whose need to cause injury comes from desperate attempts to not feel destroyed by the pain and fear they are carrying. Generally they are not conscious of this process, but it likely mirrors what has been passed down through the generations in the family.

What I’d like people to know about Jessup is that he was a good person. He threw his body over mine to protect me when the bombs started going off in the arena. It wasn’t even conscious. He did it reflexively. That’s who he was at heart. A protector. I don’t think he would’ve ever won the Games, because he’d have died trying to protect Lucy Gray.” “Oh, like a dog or something.” Lepidus nodded. “A really good one.” “No, not like a dog. Like a human being,” said Lysistrata.

The Constitution is a limitation of the government, not on private individuals--that it does not prescribe the conduct of private individuals, only the conduct of the government--that it is not a charter for government power, but a charter of the citizens' protection against the government. Instead of being a protector of man's rights, the government is becoming their most dangerous violator; instead of guarding freedom, the government is establishing slavery; instead of protecting men from the initiators of physical force, the government is initiating physical force and coercion in any manner and issue it pleases; instead of serving as the instrument of objectivity in human relationships, the government is creating a deadly, subterranean reign of uncertainty and fear, by means of nonobjective laws whose interpretation is left to the arbitrary decisions of random bureaucrats; instead of protecting men from injury by whim, the government is arrogating to itself the power of unlimited whim--so that we are fast approaching the stage of ultimate inversion; the stage where the government is "free" to do anything it pleases, while the citizens may only act by permission; which is the stage of the darkest periods of humanity, the stage of rule by brute force.

I was the last person who would ever stand as a protector for Isabella Swan. She would never need protection from anything more than she needed it from me.

Duty is what I do for others. Devotion is all of me that I faithfully give to you.

I learned something today." "Oh?" "Yeah, in one of your books. Jupiter is the protector planet, so I guess my job is to always protect you.

Why do I fail to protect those I love?" "To show you who is the true protector.” -Keyel and Melchizedek

A good leader protects his own, if you ask me.

God is my shield. God is my defender. God is my protector.

Together these stars gave me the name, Stardog, keeper of stars and protector of dreams.

Why wasn’t she cooperating? He stood to his full height. “I am Ronan Kayrs of the Kayrs ruling family. Obey me, woman.” She snorted. He gaped. What had happened to the world he’d protected?

I think,” Favian said after a beat, “that you are perfectly capable of being your own protector. But I fully intend to be the person who proves to you that you are deserving of protection.” She

The only relationship which Cecil conceived was feudal: that of protector and protected.... He daren't let a woman decide. He's the type who's kept Europe back for a thousand years. Every moment of his life he's forming you, telling you what's charming or amusing or ladylike, telling you what a man thinks womanly; and you, you all all women, listen to his voice instead of to your own.

I don’t think little boys are raised right. We are raised to not show our fear. We are raised to be the protector, and not to be protected. The emotional landscape of most men is a minefield of fear and shame.

She cupped her hands around the remnant flame of spirit inside me, protecting the flickering light until it grew stronger, and then placed my own hands around the flame and made me the protector of this growing force.

The male victims were born in the forties and fifties, a generation for whom therapy was mostly an alien concept. In the police files, gender roles are rigid and unambiguous. Detectives ask the women where they shop and the men about the locking mechanisms on the doors and windows. They drape blankets over the women's shoulders and ferry them to the hospital. The men are asked what they saw, not what they felt. Many of the male victims had military experience. They had toolsheds. They were doers and protectors who'd been robbed of their ability to do and protect. Their rage is in the details: one husband chewed the bindings off his wife's feet.

From now on, try to look at the world as if it were a gigantic ice cream store. What makes it so great is that it contains a combination of so many unique flavors, and this is why people love it so much. If you want to keep enjoying all the ice cream, we all have to take part in preserving and maintaining 'the store'. United, we have to make sure that it never gets robbed or destroyed, and to protect it from greedy crooks who want to brand and monopolize certain flavors, and eliminate those that compete with them. Our job as devoted protectors of our universal ice cream store is to make sure that no one group tries to control it, and that there is always enough cream for everybody all around. There is no such thing as 'cream only for the cream', or 'the best cream only for this or that team'. We have to stick together and melt together. Or else, there will be no peace.

I am, for certain, a powerful force. I've stood outside on a winter day, for years an unending winter, without batting an eye. While you... even when you go out on a sunny day, you bring a sweater just in case. You can never be on the outskirts, you can never be in the cold, you can never be at the losing end. You need your blankets. You make me think twice about what it means to be a protector; you protected me so well only because I was beside you. It wasn't about me. It was still about you. But I have learned... that even in the winter the summer lasts within me. Flowers grow and sunbeams exit the palms of my hands. And that I can grow feathers and lots of fur.

we sat down; not wishing to part in the tumult and blaze of Piccadilly. I had told her again that she should share in my good fortune, if I met with any; and that I would never forsake her, as soon as I had power to protect her.

The World as an Ice Cream Store From now on, try to look at the world as if it were a gigantic ice cream store. What makes it so great is that it contains a combination of so many unique flavors, and this is why people love it so much. If you want to keep enjoying all the ice cream, we all have to take part in preserving and maintaining 'the store'. United, we have to make sure that it never gets robbed or destroyed, and to protect it from greedy crooks who want to brand and monopolize certain flavors, and eliminate those that compete with them. Our job as devoted protectors of our universal ice cream store is to make sure that no one group tries to control it, and that there is always enough cream for everybody all around. There is no such thing as 'cream only for the cream', or 'the best cream only for this or that team'. We have to stick together and melt together. Or else, there will be no peace.

The Tower of the Spirit The Spirit has an impregnable tower Which no danger can disturb As long as the tower is guarded By the invisible Protector Who acts unconsciously, and whose actions Go astray when they become deliberate, Reflexive, and intentional. The unconscious And entire sincerity of Tao Are disturbed by any effort At self-conscious demonstration. All such demonstrations Are lies. When one displays himself In this ambiguous way The world storms in and imprisons him. He is no longer protected by the sincerity of Tao. Each new act Is a new failure. If his acts are done in public, In broad daylight, He will be punished by men. If they are done in private And in secret, He will be punished By spirits. Let each one understand The meaning of sincerity and guard against display. He will be at peace with men and spirits and will act rightly, unseen, in his own solitude, in the tower of his spirit.

My thoughts shift to my friends. I'd been so angry with them for grabbing my pain from me in the wake of the News. But maybe my friends were loving me the best way they knew how, just like I was trying to love Amma. We think our job as humans is to avoid pain, our job as parents is to protect our children from pain, and our job as friends is to fix each other's pain. Maybe that's why we all feel like failures so often--because we all have the wrong job description for love. What my friends didn't know about me and I didn't know about Amma is that people who are hurting don't need Avoiders, Protectors, or Fixers. What we need are patient, loving witnesses. People to sit quietly and hold space for us. People to stand in helpless vigil to our pain. There on the floor, I promise myself that I'll be that kind of mother, that kind of friend. I'll show up and stand humble in the face of a loved one's pain. I'll admit I'm as empty-handed, dumbstruck, and out of ideas as she is. I won't try to make sense of things or require more than she can offer. I won't let my discomfort with her pain keep me from witnessing it for her. I'l never try to grab or fix her pain, because I know that for as long as it takes, he pain will also be her comfort. It will be all she has left. Grief is love's souvenir. It's our proof that we once loved. Grief is the receipt we wave in the air that says to the world: Look! Love was once mine. I loved well. Here is my proof that I paid the price. So I'll just show up and sit quietly and practice not being God with her. I'm so sorry, I'll say. Thank you for trusting me enough to invite me close. I see your pain and it's real. I'm so sorry.

Women don’t lead. Men do. They’re the hunters. We’re the gatherers. They’re our protectors. We gotta let them protect us.” “Who do we need them to protect us from?” “What’s that?” Emmy summoned her best Myrna. “From whom do women need protection

For a vivid and entertaining description of the lack of protection for the individual against incursion of his liberty by his “protectors,” see H.L. Mencken, “The Nature of Liberty,” in Prejudices: A Selection (New York: Vintage Books, 1958), pp. 138–43.

The king is one of the weakest pieces. Needs all the others to protect him, as his skills are limited.” I fixed my gaze on Cheska. “He especially needs the queen.” I gritted my teeth but let myself say, “She’s his most important piece. His protector. His strength.

We think our job as humans is to avoid pain, our job as parents is to protect our children from pain, and our job as friends is to fix each other’s pain. Maybe that’s why we all feel like failures so often—because we all have the wrong job description for love. What my friends didn’t know about me and I didn’t know about Amma is that people who are hurting don’t need Avoiders, Protectors, or Fixers. What we need are patient, loving witnesses. People to sit quietly and hold space for us. People to stand in helpless vigil to our pain.

In Letters to a Young Poe, Rilke says, 'The highest form of love is to be the protector of another person's solitude.' That's what I want. For other people to love each other without having to partake in them, to possess them, to allow them to be their own inside their solitude, to protect that. I wish people respected each other's aloneness. I wish I could write something very beautiful and erotic without worrying about people wanting to use me to fulfill some fantasy--which I have no control over, and often, has nothing to do with me--inside themselves.

I pulled and pulled and pulled and saved my soul from being rotten. I dug my hands and feet in the sand—the moon controlled the tides. The moon is watching over me. The moon is my protector. I was protected because I am here. I guess I should be grateful. I am breaking. When will enough be enough?

To preemptively protect the child so that the child may anticipate the abuse rather than be surprised by it, protector parts become persecutors modeled on the abusers. Thus, parts who were protectors when the person was a young child may become persecutors in time, holding anger and rage and meting out punishments to other parts of the self.

It’s suffocating—until I see you and can breathe. It’s darkness—until your light breaks through. It’s the lowest low—until you make me feel the highest high. It makes me want to walk through fire and fight for you. Save you and protect you. It allows me to feel you in my bones, in every crevice of my heart, and in every breath I take.” Without

At that moment I heard the steps of my younger protectors. I had not a moment to lose, but, seizing the hand of the old man, I cried, "Now is the time! Save and protect me! You and your family are the friends whom I seek. Do not desert me in the hour of trial!" '"Great God!" exclaimed the old man, "who are you?" 'At that instant the cottage door opened...

(From Danielle Raver's short story THE ENCHANTRESS) Thick chains attached to the wall hold a metal collar and belt, restraining most of the tiger's movements. Open, bloody slashes cover his face and back, but he shows no loss of strength as he pulls on the chains and tries to rip the flesh of the surrounding humans with his deadly claws. Out of his reach, I kneel down before him, and his lightning-blue eyes cross my space for a moment. “Get her out of there!” I hear from behind me. “Numnerai,” I speak urgently to the tiger. “They will kill you!” He growls and gnashes his teeth, but I sense he is responding to me. “Great white tiger, your duty is to protect the prince. But how can you do that if they sink the end of a spear into your heart?” He looks at me for a longer moment. The fighters respond to this by growing still. In their desperation, they are overlooking my foolishness for a chance to save their fellows' lives. I crouch on my feet and begin to nudge closer to him. The tiger growls a warning, but does not slash out at me. “Think of the prince, protector of the palace. Right now he prays for you to live.

is for his nurse, or his mother. During that dreadful night these two children had no comfort to seek anywhere in the whole wide universe but in each other. She, in a sense of his protection, he, in a sense of being her protector. The manliness in him greater and more beautiful than physical strength, developed in those dark hours just as a plant under extraordinary circumstances is hurried into bloom.

Do not show favouritism Remember that it is very important to treat all parts with equal kindness; do not pick favourites. Every part is there for a purpose, and is an important part of the system. So, for instance, do not be afraid of hostile parts. It has been said that every persecutor is a misguided protector. Its protector job was important and necessary when it first developed, but it can be a handicap later in life when your needs are different. Most hostile insiders are using anger to protect vulnerable parts inside, usually younger children. If they seem dangerous, talk with them at first through another alter. But if you act scared, you will create a self-fulfilling prophecy. Watch outfor good kid–bad kid dichotomies. You need to appreciate all your parts, just as they all need to accept one another.

He said before they had the twins he thought of himself as a provider and protector, as somebody who was responsible to protect the physical world around the people he loved. But after having kids he realized that was 10 percent of the battle. What he really had to protect was the twins’ identity. He said there was a primal thing in him that wanted to stand between his children and the world and fight back all the lies.

Every single day is a game of tug-of-war; I have to fight, push, and pull for something. Every single day it is double or nothing. I pulled and pulled and pulled and saved my soul from being rotten. I dug my hands and feet in the sand—the moon controlled the tides. The moon is watching over me. The moon is my protector. I was protected because I am here. I guess I should be grateful. I am breaking. When will enough be enough?

At each of the meetings, I was struck that there seemed to be two kinds of reviewers: some who would look for flaws in the papers, and then pounce to kill them; and others who started from a place of seeking and promoting good ideas. When the “idea protectors” saw flaws, they pointed them out gently, in the spirit of improving the paper—not eviscerating it. Interestingly, the “paper killers” were not aware that they were serving some other agenda (which was often, in my estimation, to show their colleagues how high their standards were). Both groups thought they were protecting the proceedings, but only one group understood that by looking for something new and surprising, they were offering the most valuable kind of protection. Negative feedback may be fun, but it is far less brave than endorsing something unproven and providing room for it to grow.

secular people cherish responsibility. They don’t believe in any higher power that takes care of the world, punishes the wicked, rewards the just, and protects us from famine, plague, or war. Therefore we flesh-and-blood mortals must take full responsibility for whatever we do—or don’t do. If the world is full of misery, it is our duty to find solutions. Secular people take pride in the immense achievements of modern societies, such as curing epidemics, feeding the hungry, and bringing peace to large parts of the world. We need not credit any divine protector with these achievements—they resulted from humans developing their own knowledge and compassion. Yet for exactly the same reason, we need to take full responsibility for the crimes and failings of modernity, from genocides to ecological degradation. Instead of praying for miracles, we need to ask what we can do to help.

Once a woman has opted for the role of the child (instead of lover) the next step is predetermined. A child must not show too great an interest in sex, on pain of losing both credibility and a child's privileges. A woman who values her status as protegee, therefore, must keep her sex drive under control. She must be in a position to make conscious use of her sexuality for her purposes i.e. to win a man who appears suited to play her father, rather than a man who excites and confuses her senses and her mind. And she must be able to refuse herself to her intended protector until he adopts her or at least commits himself clearly to such an intention. To see primarily the sex partner in a man is the end of her power over him. It means losing the motive of making him her protector - what good is a lover restrained by protective feelings ? - and being quite as dependent on him, sexually, as he is on her.

You were such a sensitive child. So easily wounded. So I told you those things. I didn’t want you to feel defenseless in the face of life. Life can be harsh. I wanted you to feel protected, and to know that there was a greater power watching over you. That the Universe was taking a personal interest.” I kissed her forehead, a skull with a very thin covering of skin. The protector was her, the greater power was her, the Universe that took an interest was

Tess . . . ,” I say slowly, trying to figure out the best way to express what I’m feeling. Hell, I’ve said so many stupid things to her in the past. “I love you. No matter what happens between us.” Tess wraps her arms around her knees. “I know.” I swallow hard and look down. “But I don’t love you the way you want me to. I’m sorry if I ever gave you the wrong impression. I don’t think I’ve ever treated you as well as you deserve.” My heart twists painfully as the words leave my mouth, striking her as they go. “So don’t be sorry. It’s my fault, not yours.”“Tess shakes her head. “I know you don’t love me that way. Don’t you think I know that by now?” A note of bitterness enters her voice. “But you don’t know how I feel about you. No one does.” I give her a level look. “Tell me, then.” “Day, you mean more to me than some crush.” Her brows furrow as she tries to explain herself. “When the entire world turned its back on me and left me to die, you took me in. You were the one person who cared about what might happen to me. You were everything. Everything. You became my entire family—you were my parents and my siblings and my caretaker, my only friend and companion, you were both my protector and someone who needed protecting. You see? I didn’t love you in the way you might’ve thought I did, although I can’t deny that was part of it. But the way I feel goes beyond that.

The first collection which he published, intituled PAMELA, exhibited the beauty and superiority of virtue in an innocent and unpolished mind, with the reward which often, even in this life, a protecting Providence bestows on goodness. A young woman of low degree, relating to her honest parents the severe trials she met with from a master who ought to have been the protector, not the assailer of her honour, shews the character of a libertine in its truly contemptible light.

She trusted him to break them out, and he trusted her to pick up a gun and fight by his side. They’d break free, and then they’d have an entire lifetime of adventures ahead of them. It was everything she’d ever wanted, except that even in her wildest dreams, she’d failed to imagine a man as cool and sexy and brave as Shane. You’re a bunch of losers, she informed her imaginary boyfriends— imaginary ex-boyfriends, now. It never even occurred to me to have any of you turn into a panther.

The She-Wolf was, and is, a fierce protector, and as She-Wolf she embodies this protective role with maternal care-giving and unconditional love. She is ready and willing to be YOUR great protector and guardian. She will keep you safe and guard you as her own pup. She saved the lives of Romulus and Remus, not only through rescuing them from the water, but also in feeding them and letting them suckle. No matter how lost or threatened you feel, she is there." Lupa. She-Wolf of Rome, Mother of Destiny by Rachel S Roberts

She stared at him, at his face. Simply stared as the scales fell from her eyes. "Oh, my God," she whispered, the exclamation so quiet not even he would hear. She suddenly saw-saw it all-all that she'd simply taken for granted. Men like him protected those they loved, selflessly, unswervingly, even unto death. The realization rocked her. Pieces of the jigsaw of her understanding of him fell into place. He was hanging to consciousness by a thread. She had to be sure-and his shields, his defenses were at their weakest now. Looking down at her hands, pressed over the nearly saturated pad, she hunted for the words, the right tone. Softly said, "My death, even my serious injury, would have freed you from any obligation to marry me. Society would have accepted that outcome, too." He shifted, clearly in pain. She sucked in a breath-feeling his pain as her own-then he clamped the long fingers of his right hand about her wrist, held tight. So tight she felt he was using her as an anchor to consciousness, to the world. His tone, when he spoke, was harsh. "Oh, yes-after I'd expended so much effort keeping you safe all these years, safe even from me, I was suddenly going to stand by and let you be gored by some mangy bull." He snorted, soft, low. Weakly. He drew in a slow, shallow breath, lips thin with pain, but determined, went on, "You think I'd let you get injured when finally after all these long years I at last understand that the reason you've always made me itch is because you are the only woman I actually want to marry? And you think I would stand back and let you be harmed?" A peevish frown crossed his face. "I ask you, is that likely? Is it even vaguely rational?" He went on, his words increasingly slurred, his tongue tripping over some, his voice fading. She listened, strained to catch every word as he slid into semi delirium, into rambling, disjointed sentences that she drank in, held to her heart. He gave her dreams back to her, reshaped and refined. "Not French Imperial-good, sound, English oak. You can use whatever colors you like, but no gilt-I forbid it." Eventually he ventured further than she had. "And I want at least three children-not just an heir and a spare. At least three-if you're agreeable. We'll have to have two boys, of course-my evil ugly sisters will found us to make good on that. But thereafter...as many girls as you like...as long as they look like you. Or perhaps Cordelia-she's the handsomer of the two uglies." He loved his sisters, his evil ugly sisters. Heather listened with tears in her eyes as his mind drifted and his voice gradually faded, weakened. She'd finally got her declaration, not in anything like the words she'd expected, but in a stronger, impossible-to-doubt exposition. He'd been her protector, unswerving, unflinching, always there; from a man like him, focused on a lady like her, such actions were tantamount to a declaration from the rooftops. The love she'd wanted him to admit to had been there all along, demonstrated daily right before her eyes, but she hadn't seen. Hadn't seen because she'd been focusing elsewhere, and because, conditioned as she was to resisting the same style of possessive protectiveness from her brothers, from her cousins, she hadn't appreciated his, hadn't realized that that quality had to be an expression of his feelings for her. Until now. Until now that he'd all but given his life for hers. He loved her-he'd always loved her. She saw that now, looking back down the years. He'd loved her from the time she'd fallen in love with him-the instant they'd laid eyes on each other at Michael and Caro's wedding in Hampshire four years ago. He'd held aloof, held away-held her at bay, too-believing, wrongly, that he wasn't an appropriate husband for her. In that, he'd been wrong, too. She saw it all. And as the tears overflowed and tracked down her cheeks, she knew to her soul how right he was for her. Knew, embraced, and rejoiced.

Men don’t open up because they are prideful and self-protective. The lonely, isolated man is that way because he won’t make himself known to others. Disclosure of self is the currency of intimacy. It’s what our wives want and what true friendship demands. You don’t have to spill your guts to everybody or anybody, but God will get you to the place where you know you need to do it with somebody. The temptation to keep it all inside is the downside of being wired as a protector. He loves us too much to leave us alone. You will never fulfill your potential as a man of God going it alone.

Every wise man is ransom for the fool, who would not last an hour did not the wise preserve him by compassion and forethought. The wise are like physicians, fighting the infirmities of the sick…. So when I hear that a wise man has died, my heart is sorrowful. Not for him, of course, for he lived in joy and died in honour. No–it is for the survivors that I mourn. Without the strong protecting arm which brought them safety, they are abandoned to the miseries which are their desert, and which they will soon feel, unless Providence should raise up some new protector to replace the old one.

That girl who had needed to be protected, who had craved stability and comfort... she had died Under the Mountain. I had died, and there had been no one to protect me from those horrors before my neck snapped. So I had done it myself. And I would not, could not, yield that part of me that had awoken and transformed Under the Mountain. Tamlin had gotten his powers back, had become whole again- become that protector and provider her wished to be. I was not the human girl who needed coddling and pampering, who wanted luxury and easiness. I didn't know how to go back to craving those things. To being docile.

This burden makes them toxic—parts of ourselves that we need to deny at all costs. Because they are locked away inside, IFS calls them the exiles. At this point other parts organize to protect the internal family from the exiles. These protectors keep the toxic parts away, but in so doing they take on some of the energy of the abuser. Critical and perfectionistic managers can make sure we never get close to anyone or drive us to be relentlessly productive. Another group of protectors, which IFS calls firefighters, are emergency responders, acting impulsively whenever an experience triggers an exiled emotion.

I'm pleased-very pleased-that you've finally made your choice. It's about time you came to your senses." He arched a brow. "Even if it took a kidnapping to do it?" She nodded sagely. "Even so." She paused, then more gently asked, "She's the right one for you, isn't she?" He held her gaze, then nodded. "Yes. Definitely." He hesitated, then added, "I couldn't live without her." Caro's smile widened until she was beaming. "Wonderful. That's how it should be." He wasn't so sure he needed to hear that; the sense of vulnerability and dependency took some getting used to; he wasn't yet sure he'd mastered the knack. "Sadly, it seems that whenever I get close to a prospective wedding, I end up wounded. With you and Michael, I got shot and nearly died. This time, with me and Heather, I got gored and nearly died. I suppose I should be happy that Constance and Cordelia are already married." Caro laughed. "You probably escaped them because they're so much older that you-you were only a lad when they wed." She paused, head tilting as she studied him. Still smiling, she went on, "You're a protector, you know. That's what you are-that's what you do. And now you've found the lady you're supposed to protect for the rest of your life." Her smile deepened. "Once you marry her, you'll be safe." He humphed, but continued to smile, and didn't attempt to argue. Because she was right. Heather was the lady he would protect for the rest of his life.

In the United States all Christian denominations and sects are placed on a basis of equality before the law, and alike protected by the government in their property and right of public worship, yet self-supporting and self-governing; and, in turn, they strengthen the moral foundations of society by training loyal and virtuous citizens. Freedom of religion must be recognized as one of the inalienable rights of man, which lies in the sacred domain of conscience, beyond the restraint and control of politics, and which the government is bound to protect as much as any other fundamental right. Freedom is liable to abuse, and abuse may be punished. But Christianity is itself the parent of true freedom from the bondage of sin and error, and is the best protector and regulator of freedom.

The point at which Pinocchio goes from being a child to an adult. He is no longer someone in need of protection, but rather a protector. What follows casts his earlier misadventures in a comparatively positive light, because they have given him the resources and the courage to deal with a perilous situation. Collodi was a strong believer in the value of the "university of life" - of acting according to one's own judgement and learning from one's own mistakes. In a note found among his papers... he wrote: "The best practical education that a boy can have is what he learns by himself... It cannot be learned from books." But while Pinocchio is now brave and capable of making important decisions, he still needs to acquire an education in order to become a fully rounded human being.

Balancing the ethical-tactical continuum is the best way to increase our ability because it’s when we can (or cannot) ethically protect everyone and resolve conflict that tactics become vividly clear. The tactical itself, on its own, is devoid of meaning without orientation—a sword-cutting technique is simply that, a procedure to cut with a sword. The technique gains priority and consequence only when used in fulfilling our protector ethic, which is always moral-physical. A Moral-Physical Philosophy Some believe the ethical and tactical are mutually exclusive, even incompatible. The tactical is about survival, they’ll say—“Kill or be killed.” The ethical is for Sunday school or philosophers, who rarely, if ever, get punched in the face. But this is hardly true—I get punched all the time.

Bank-friendly writers and lobbyists fostered a myth that the economy needed its investment banks to remain solvent to keep the economy functioning. But many former officials, including Bair, SIGTARP‘s Neil Barofsky, and Reagan Administration budget director David Stockman, rejected the claims that public guarantees for reckless bank loans was needed to protect insured depositors. Retail savings and checking accounts were never threatened by the bad gambles that banks made. But this myth had to be promoted in order for Paulson, Geithner Bernanke and other bank protectors to persuade Congress to overrule Bair and make government (“taxpayers”) pay. Their aim was to save the banks from being nationalized, and to protect bankers from being prosecuted for fraud or reining in the exorbitant salaries and bonuses they had given themselves. No attempt was made to change the system that had led to the crash. If

One of the reasons for this cataclysmic change of destinies was the inherent weakness of a decaying agricultural empire of the Mughals which after more than two hundred years of rule over vast areas of India, was at its terminal stage and needed a small push to crumble like a house of cards.That push was given by six East India Companies of different European countries which had extracted rights to trade with India from the Mughals but transformed themselves as the arbiters and protectors of several Indian states. In this process they not only became rich but also militarily strong because in the twilight years of the Mughal empire, deteriorating security environment necessitated to arm themselves to protect their economic interests. Because of their inherent superiority as representatives of rising industrial powers, they had access to modern techniques and technology of warfare, which turned out to be the decisive factor in capturing vast territories in India.

Progressives today are quick to fault “America” for slavery and a host of other outrages. America did this, America did that. As we will see in this book, America didn’t do those things, the Democrats did. So the Democrats have cleverly foisted their sins on America, and then presented themselves as the messiahs offering redemption for those sins. It’s crazy, but it’s also ingenious. We have to give them credit for ingenuity. The second whitewash is to portray the Civil War entirely in terms of the North versus the South. The North is supposedly the anti-slavery side and the South is the pro-slavery side. A recent example is Ta-Nehisi Coates’s article about the Confederate battle flag in The Atlantic.3 Now of course there is an element of truth in this, in that the Civil War was fought between northern states and southern states. But this neat and convenient division ignores several important details. First, the defenders of the Confederate cause were, almost without exception, Democrats. Coates cites many malefactors from Senator Jefferson Davis to Senator James Henry Hammond to Georgia Governor Joseph Brown. Yet while identifying these men as southerners and Confederates, Coates omits to identify them as Democrats. Second, Coates and other progressives conveniently ignore the fact that northern Democrats were also protectors of slavery. We will see in this chapter how Stephen Douglas and other northern Democrats fought to protect slavery in the South and in the new territories. Moreover, the southerners who fought for the Confederacy cannot be said to have fought merely to protect slavery on their plantations. Indeed, fewer than one-third of white families in the South on the eve of the Civil War had slaves. Thus the rigid North-South interpretation of the Civil War conceals—and is intended to conceal—the active complicity of Democrats across the country to save, protect, and even extend the “peculiar institution.” As the Charleston Mercury editorialized during the secession debate, the duty of the South was to “rally under the banner of the Democratic Party which has recognized and supported . . . the rights of the South.”4 The real divide was between the Democratic Party as the upholder of slavery and the Republican Party as the adversary of slavery. All the figures who upheld and defended American slavery—Senators John C. Calhoun and Stephen Douglas, President James Buchanan, Supreme Court Chief Justice Roger Taney, architect of the Dred Scott decision, and the main leaders of the Confederacy—were Democrats. All the heroes of black emancipation—from the black abolitionists Sojourner Truth and Frederick Douglass, to the woman who organized the Underground Railroad, Harriet Tubman, to the leader whose actions finally destroyed American slavery, Abraham Lincoln—were Republicans. It is of the utmost importance to progressive propagandists to conceal or at least ignore this essential historical truth.

By nature and by training this woman was all for conservation of life. She had been brought up in rather a strict and narrow school. In her day although no one, certainly no woman, was expected to save humanity, every female was confidently expected to produce it. More than that, she was earnestly enjoined to guard and protect it. So Mary Ball and her successor Mary Washington, early imbibed not only a sense of the woman's responsibility for the family but a sense of her authority over it....At any rate, in this particular crisi she was merely obeying a law of nature as old as womanhood--to protect the creature she had brought into the world. There was no subtlety in her. She could not see the finer shadings of ths situation, the fact that in holding him back from the frontier she might be putting him into even greater peril. Her course was prompted by instinct and impulse, and she never thought of questioning the right or wrong of it. So, armed with the most primitive of all weapons, she faced her son for a hard fight. But she was pitted here against a temendous paradox. With her whole might she was resisting the demands of war, and yet it had been that very strength that had produced the warrior. Her opponent was remarkably like her--in strength of mind and body, in resolution, in force of will. Now, it is one of the ironies of life that sameness creates opposition. In the conflict that day at Mount Vernon, therefore, the contestants were fighting with identical weapons, even though from different spheres... George Washington must have been a very patient man. And if he had patience, that, too, came from her by that same theory of heredity that makes a firstborn son peculiarly like his mother. So this must be written in to her credity when for the third time she has to be recorded as trying to interrupt his destiny. As a last resort he used a weapon that she herself had put into his hand. Madam," he is said to have remarked with respectful finality, "the God to whom you commended me when first I went to war will be my protector stil.

there is nothing to prevent us from considering other options." "But ondines don't need to learn how to fight!" Marquisa LeVeq interjected with an ugly sneer. A hot, dangerous anger flared inside me. "We accomplish important and great things with our magic. That's why we have the gardinels and chevaliers to protect us!" My stomach clenched and the words flew out of my mouth before I knew what I was doing. "How much of a coward are you, Marquisa?" I taunted. Marcella shot me a warning look and Aubrey whispered, "What are you doing?" I ignored them both. Marquisa LeVeq stared at me, indignation on her arrogant face. "You're so willing to let others fight and die for you while you do nothing. You say ondines are magic users and protectors. So, tell me. What do you protect?" My voice rose in disgust. "It sounds to me like you don't protect anything except yourself. You want the gardinels and chevaliers to do all the work for you." Raveling, Emma (2011-09-16). Whirl (Ondine Quartet Book 1) (pp. 160-161). Mandorla Publishing. Kindle Edition.

The traditional Islamic worldview is totally opposed to the prevalent modern paradigm of the relation between human beings and nature, which has caused unprecedented harm to the natural environment, has led to the loss of many species, and now threatens the very future of human life on earth. Islam sees men and women as God’s vicegerents on earth. Therefore, in the same way that God has power over His creation but is also its sustainer and protector, human beings must also combine power over nature with responsibility for its protection and sustenance. The Quran is replete with references to nature, and the phenomena of nature are referred to as God’s signs and are therefore sacred. In traditional Islamic society human beings lived in remarkable harmony with their natural environment, as can be seen in the urban design of traditional Islamic cities and also in the life in the villages, which, as in other premodern parts of the world, is still based on remarkable harmony with the rhythms of nature and makes full use of what is now called recycling.

To heal, men must learn to feel again. They must learn to break the silence, to speak the pain. Often men, to speak the pain, first turn to the women in their lives and are refused a hearing. In many ways women have bought into the patriarchal masculine mystique. Asked to witness a male expressing feelings, to listen to those feelings and respond, they may simply turn away. There was a time when I would often ask the man in my life to tell me his feelings. And yet when he began to speak, I would either interrupt or silence him by crying, sending him the message that his feelings were too heavy for anyone to bear, so it was best if he kept them to himself. As the Sylvia cartoon I have previously mentioned reminds us, women are fearful of hearing men voice feelings. I did not want to hear the pain of my male partner because hearing it required that I surrender my investment in the patriarchal ideal of the male as protector of the wounded. If he was wounded, then how could he protect me? As I matured, as my feminist consciousness developed to include the recognition of patriarchal abuse of men, I could hear male pain. I could see men as comrades and fellow travelers on the journey of life and not as existing merely to provide instrumental support. Since men have yet to organize a feminist men’s movement that would proclaim the rights of men to emotional awareness and expression, we will not know how many men have indeed tried to express feelings, only to have the women in their lives tune out or be turned off. Talking with men, I have been stunned when individual males would confess to sharing intense feelings with a male buddy, only to have that buddy either interrupt to silence the sharing, offer no response, or distance himself. Men of all ages who want to talk about feelings usually learn not to go to other men. And if they are heterosexual, they are far more likely to try sharing with women they have been sexually intimate with. Women talk about the fact that intimate conversation with males often takes place in the brief moments before and after sex. And of course our mass media provide the image again and again of the man who goes to a sex worker to share his feelings because there is no intimacy in that relationship and therefore no real emotional risk.

Our marriage wouldn’t protect me,” she said. “Randa wouldn’t pardon me simply because I married.” “But he would be more lenient,” Giddon said. “Our engagement would offer him an alternative. It would be dangerous for him to try to punish you, and he knows that. If we say we’re to be married, then he can send us away from court; he can send us here, and he’ll be out of your reach, and you out of his. And there will be some pretense of good feeling between you.” And she would be married, and to Giddon. She would be his wife, the lady of his house. She’d be charged with entertaining his wretched guests. Expected to hire and dismiss his servants, based on their skill with a pastry, or some such nonsense. Expected to bear him children, and stay at home to love them. She would go to his bed at night, Giddon’s bed, and lie with a man who considered a scratch to her face an affront to his person. A man who thought himself her protector—her protector when she could outduel him if she used a toothpick to his sword. She breathed it away, breathed away the fury. He was a friend, and loyal to the Council. She wouldn’t speak what she thought. She would speak what Raffin had told her to speak.

FOR MANY YEARS, I was on a committee that read and selected papers to be published at SIGGRAPH, the annual computer graphics conference I mentioned in chapter 2. These papers were supposed to present ideas that advanced the field. The committee was composed of many of the field’s most prominent players, all of whom I knew; it was a group that took the task of selecting papers very seriously. At each of the meetings, I was struck that there seemed to be two kinds of reviewers: some who would look for flaws in the papers, and then pounce to kill them; and others who started from a place of seeking and promoting good ideas. When the “idea protectors” saw flaws, they pointed them out gently, in the spirit of improving the paper—not eviscerating it. Interestingly, the “paper killers” were not aware that they were serving some other agenda (which was often, in my estimation, to show their colleagues how high their standards were). Both groups thought they were protecting the proceedings, but only one group understood that by looking for something new and surprising, they were offering the most valuable kind of protection. Negative feedback may be fun, but it is far less brave than endorsing something unproven and providing room for it to grow.

She is also the power behind spiritual awakening, the inner force that unleashes spiritual power within the human body in the form of kundalini. And she is a guardian: beautiful, queenly, and fierce. Paintings of Durga show her with flowing hair, a red sari, bangles, necklaces, a crown—and eight arms bristling with weapons. Durga carries a spear, a mace, a discus, a bow, and a sword—as well as a conch (representing creative sound), a lotus (symbolizing fertility), and a rosary (symbolizing prayer). In one version of her origin, she appears as a divine female warrior, brought into manifestation by the male gods to save them from the buffalo demon, Mahisha. The assembled gods, furious and powerless over a demon who couldn’t be conquered, sent forth their anger as a mass of light and power. Their combined strength coalesced into the form of a radiantly beautiful woman who filled every direction with her light. Her face was formed by Shiva; her hair came from Yama, the god of death; her arms were given by Vishnu. Shiva gave her his trident, Vishnu his discus, Vayu—the wind god—offered his bow and arrow. The mountain god, Himalaya, gave her the lion for her mount. Durga set forth to battle the demon for the sake of the world, armed and protected by all the powers of the divine masculine.1 As a world protector, Durga’s fierceness arises out of her uniquely potent compassion. She is the deity to call on when you’re

Angels are active and involved in our lives on a regular basis and in amazing ways. They “work” directly for God as messengers, protectors, rescuers, and interceders. There are many types of angels, though none have ever lived on earth the way our guides have (more on them later). They’re Spirit, not physical beings, so they don’t have bodies like we do. I’m told they can take on the appearance of animals or people. There’s an order, or ranking, to the population of angels that include archangels, guardian angels, cherubim, seraphim, basic angels, and others (that’s not the ranking, that’s just a list of angels). I know there are high-ranking angels, or archangels, who have various jobs and missions, and they are above other angels that inspire and intercede for us as well. Pat has regular experiences with Archangels Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael. Michael, for example, is a protector and adept at performing acts of justice and power. She calls on him for assistance when she has difficult clients or people with something very dark attached to them, like when she worked with a young woman who played with a Ouija board. Pat also tells clients who are fearful to call on Michael when they’re nervous or anxious about something. Gabriel is connected to kindness. Raphael is in charge of healing, so Pat calls on him for her clients since she’s a healer. Spirit tells me that angels are powerful and seriously busy. They offer protection, guidance, deliver messages, encourage us, strengthen us, and help to answer our prayers.

Monday, January 26 Be Strong and Courageous “So be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid and do not panic before them! For the LORD your God will personally go ahead of you. He will neither fail you nor abandon you.” DEUTERONOMY 31:6 NLT In The Horse and His Boy, one of the books in the Narnia series by C. S. Lewis, we see a beautiful picture of how the Lord gives us strength and courage to do His will. The boy, Shasta, runs away from home. Along the way he meets up with a talking horse from Narnia and a nobly born girl, Aravis, with her talking horse. They decide to take their horses to Narnia, but their plans fall apart when they have to go through the Calormene capitol city, Tashbaan. Several times as they travel, they are chased by lions, harassed by cats, and generally persecuted by various members of the cat family. Finally, on one particularly dark night, Shasta crosses over a mountain pass alone. In the dark and fog Shasta senses rather than sees a creature walking along beside him. And he’s terrified. Later, when he meets Aslan, Shasta learns that all the cats were Aslan, guiding them, pushing them, and yes, terrifying them into doing what they needed to do. Aslan was also his protector as he crossed the steep and dangerous mountain pass in the dark. Shasta is angry until he realizes that Aslan did everything out of love, even hurting Aravis when her pride was keeping them from the mission they’d been given. Father, thank You for the beautiful picture of Your protection and courage to those who are Yours.

The entire pre-Columbian literature of Mexico, a vast library of tens of thousands of codices, was carefully and systematically destroyed by the priests and friars who followed in the wake of the conquistadors. In November 1530, for example, Bishop Juan de Zumárraga, who had shortly before been apointed 'Protector of the Indians' by the Spanish crown, proceeded to 'protect' his flock by burning at the stake a Mexican aristocrat, the lord of the city of Texcoco, whom he accused of having worshipped the rain god. In the city's marketplace Zumárraga 'had a pyramid formed of the documents of Aztec history, knowledge and literature, their paintings, manuscripts, and hieroglyphic writings, all of which he committed to the flames while the natives cried and prayed.' More than 30 years later, the holocaust of documents was still under way. In July 1562, in the main square of Mani (just south of modern Merida in the Yucatan), Bishop Diego de Landa burned thousands of Maya codices, story paintings, and hieroglyphs inscribed on rolled-up deer skins. He boasted of destroying countless 'idols' and 'altars,' all of which he described as 'works of the devil, designed by the evil one to delude the Indians and to prevent them from accepting Christianity.' Noting that the Maya 'used certain characters or letters, which they wrote in their books about the antiquities and their sciences' he informs us: 'We found a great number of books in these letters, and since they contained nothing but superstitions and falsehoods of the devil we burned them all, which they took most grievously and which gave them great pain.

The very concept of fathers as protectors is so politically incorrect that researchers must hedge their findings with politically acceptable weasel words: “The protective effect from the father’s presence in most households was sufficiently strong to offset the risk incurred by the few paternal perpetrators.” In fact, the risk of “paternal perpetrators” is miniscule. While men are assumed more likely to commit sexual than physical abuse,333 sexual abuse is much less common than severe physical abuse and is almost entirely perpetrated by boyfriends and stepfathers (who are falsely classified as “fathers” in most statistical studies). Yet feminists would have us believe that father-daughter incest is rampant, and feminist child protection agents implement this propaganda as policy, rationalizing the forced removal of fathers and creating the very problem they claim to be solving. “An anti-male attitude is often found in documents, statements, and in the writings of those claiming to be experts in cases of child sexual abuse.” These scholars document techniques by social service agencies to systematically teach children to hate their fathers, including inculcating in the children a message that the father has sexually molested them. “The professionals use techniques that teach children a negative and critical view of men in general and fathers in particular,” they write. “The child is repeatedly reinforced for fantasizing throwing Daddy in jail and is trained to hate and fear him.” From the father’s perspective, the real child abusers have thrown him out of the family so they can abuse his children with impunity.

I have started listening to Bob Dylan. Andy Animal comes from the same town as him. Woodstock. I understand Bob Dylan because I understand Andy Animal.  The river cleanses us. Fireside warms us. I will protect you. I understand you. Andy Animal. I understand you. I will be your protector and you will be mine. Horror eliminates when your eyes enter my mind. I will feed you. I will protect you. I will take care of you. Andy Animal. Take me to Stewart’s.

The Hawaii Police Department gave me a citation for sleeping in my car. I went to the courthouse wearing a NASA tee-shirt and checked out the courtroom where I was supposed to go to for my future citation hearing. Much to my surprise, I walked in on the Mauna Kea protectors court hearing that I had no idea was taking place! I could see everyone looking at the NASA tee-shirt I was wearing and I was asked to leave by the court attendant. I told him it was public hearing and I was staying! I am a Mauna Kea protector also and I had only wore the NASA tee-shirt that day because it was the only clean shirt I had. I never bought the NASA tee-shirt, it was a gift from my daughter. Most of my tee-shirts say protect Mauna Kea!

Out there, I’ll be the first to face danger for you. In here, you come first.

Shantideva prayer arrived at the surface: May I be a protector for those without protection. A leader for those who journey. And a boat, a bridge, a passage For those desiring the further shore. May the pain of every living creature Be completely cleared away. May I be the doctor, and the medicine, And may I be the nurse For all the sick beings in the world. Until everyone is healed.

When Bond was born he personified an aspect of male identity that was prevalent after the war that of the protector. Man saw their role as being the one to protect their families from external threats. An ability to resort to violence when necessary was part of this. Meaning that emotionally men had to harden and reduce their empathy. The role of protector is an aspect of male identity that is now less necessary. The great majority of men go through their lives without ever having to fight and those who use violence against others are no longer admired or tolerated. It is the lack of love, particularly in childhood, that can lead to the toxic behaviour and violence that we need to protect ourselves against. Craig’s Bond gradually learned that his armour hurt and isolated him as much as it protected. He came at the end of five film arc to open himself up, leave himself vulnerable and accept the consequences. This was necessary he finally understood, even though it will lead to his death.

I drink in the pure, unshakeable essence of Kade. Our protector and leader, the man who secured our family’s freedom from those who tore us apart. As long as we have him by our side, I know we’ll always be safe. I can’t protect those I love from the demons of this world alone.

The UN is not the protector of Syrians in Syria—they are under the protection of the state,” said El Hillo, who worked from a suite at the Four Seasons

Jaw clenched, he disregards all who watch, only acting as the protector of his other half.

He often told me that our work was not limited to vanquishing demons; that if we had the strength to help those broken or demoralized by their assaults, we had an obligation as protectors to help rebuild that which was lost. Else, why protect something if we mean to leave it broken?

When ‘my lady’ called, could her oath sworn protector tarry? I thought the knightly answer should be: ‘Nay,’ or perhaps even: ‘Heck Nay.

But when he’d learned of a human female traveling through this sector, he had experienced a profound knowing in his soul. A psychic pull toward Annika, though at the time he hadn’t known her name or even what she looked like. All he had known was that he must find her, protect her, and bring her back to New Vaxx as his beloved mate.

Musonius Rufus, some forty-odd years before Marcus was born, had been approached by a Syrian king. “Do not imagine,” he had told the man, that it is more appropriate for anyone to study philosophy than for you, nor for any other reason than because you are a king. For the first duty of a king is to be able to protect and benefit his people, and a protector and benefactor must know what is good for a man and what is bad, what is helpful and what harmful, what advantageous and what disadvantageous, inasmuch as it is plain that those who ally themselves with evil come to harm, while those who cleave to good enjoy protection, and those who are deemed worthy of help and advantage enjoy benefits, while those who involve themselves in things disadvantageous and harmful suffer punishment.

Beneath the surface of the protective parts of trauma survivors there exists an undamaged essence, a Self that is confident, curious, and calm, a Self that has been sheltered from destruction by the various protectors that have emerged in their efforts to ensure survival.

Got it. Here's the thing. Kenzi here got a big heart. But that big heart happens to be in a small body. Now, I don't know about you, but I would hate for that heart to be broken because that body was knocked around. That would be a tragesty." "Travesty," Kenzi corrected him. "Travesty," Simeon repeated. "And so because I love Kenzi, I protect him. I make sure he can maneuver down these busy hallways without worrying about anything. I'm basically his bodyguard.

There is something about sibling love that is greatly overlooked due to the talk of sibling rivalry, a phenomenon characterized by competition, jealousy and fighting between brothers, between sisters, and even between a brother and a sister. An older sibling’s love for the younger sibling starts when the younger brother or sister is in the crib. That love evolves into a rivalry that can be silent or overt as the siblings grow older. But do not be mistaken by all the appearances. The older sibling subconsciously retains his or her protective instinct whenever the younger sibling pursues a dangerous path in life, just like in the old days when the younger sibling was a helpless baby and the older sibling assumed the role of a protector even without being asked to. It is that protective instinct of the older sibling that eventually overcomes his misgivings about the ways of his younger sibling.

A KIDNEY PAD ON MY PENIS IS NOT TO FUCK ANYONE BUT TO PROTECT MY LIFE JUST LIKE A WEAPON IN THE HANDS OF A DOCTOR

Feminism will help my son be in a rational fellowship. To this reasonable mother, that means that he will be given permission to be wrong sometimes, to fail, to fall, to cry, to be protected rather than always being the protector, to be provided for rather than always be provider, to seek and receive wise counsel, to be chastised as much as he is cheered, to be led to wild fun, to be held and to be held responsible, to get schooled and to get laid.

Paternalism lies at the center of the oppression of people with disabilities. Paternalism starts with the notion of superiority: We must and can take control of these “subjects” in spite of themselves, in spite of their individual will, or culture and tradition, or their sovereignty. The savages need to be civilized (for their own good). The cripples need to be cared for (for their own good). The pagans need to be saved (for their own good). Paternalism is often subtle in that it casts the oppressor as benign, as protector. The relation between ideology and power is expressed as natural to justify relations of oppression. In Roll, Jordan Roll, possibly the best-known exposition of paternalism, Eugene Genovese writes, The Old South, black and white, created a historically unique kind of paternalist society. . . . Southern paternalism, like every other kind of paternalism, had little to do with Ole Massa’s ostensible benevolence, kindness, and good cheer. It grew out of the necessity to discipline and morally justify a system of exploitation. . . . For the slaveholders, paternalism represented an attempt to overcome the fundamental contradiction in slavery: the impossibility of the slaves ever becoming the things they were supposed to be. Paternalism defined the involuntary labor of the slaves as a legitimate return to their masters for protection and direction. (1976:4–5)

He was my protector, and my kidnapper. He made me feel safe and scared the hell out of me. But if I was being honest, today wasn’t the first time he scared me. It was last night, on the couch, when his touch sent shivers down my spine.

Are you jackasses going to let me finish or no?” “Fine, go,” Nazem says, waving his hand in permission. “We get a pet tiger. A nameless pet tiger.” I snicker under my breath. “Anyway,” Beckett continues, “this tiger is great. Round the clock protection, top-notch wingman because all the chicks want to rub his ears or whatever. Basically, he’s a net positive in your life.” “But…?” Shane asks, because there’s always a but in these things. “But for three hours every day, you have to hear him bitch,” Beckett finishes. “About what?” Rand asks curiously, pulling his jersey over his chest protector. “About everything. I’m talking the most mundane, trivial, petty stuff.” Beckett nods. “Basically, for three hours every day, he turns into Micah’s girlfriend.

Holden makes me feel loved; Zane makes me feel protected. I’ve never felt that before. I’m the protector. I never had anyone do that for me in this way.

Sometimes the person who’s supposed to protect you is the one who hurts you, so perhaps the opposite can be true.” She shrugged. “Maybe the bad guy can be the protector.

Do you know what this is?” Evangeline shook her head. “This is the symbol of the Protectorate.” The Protectorate. She had heard the name before. But where? Her heart quickened as she tried to think. Then her heart stopped altogether as she remembered. Apollo had told her about the Protectorate the night he’d shared the stories of the Valory Arch. They’d been in the first version of the story, where the Valors had made something horrible. Apollo had said the Protectorate was some sort of secret society responsible for protecting the broken pieces of the Valory Arch and making sure it would never be opened again. Evangeline looked again at Tiberius’s broken key tattoo. The Fortuna matriarch had worn a chain with a similar key around her neck. She must have been a member of the Protectorate as well, and as soon as she’d suspected that Evangeline was the girl mentioned in the prophecy that kept the Valory Arch locked, the matriarch had tried to kill her.

It is my solemn duty to protect and nurture the love and trust you have bestowed upon me, as I am the custodian of your affection.

Blended parts give us the projections, transferences, and other twisted views that are the bread and butter of psychotherapy. The Self’s view is unfiltered by those distortions. When we’re in Self, we see the pain that drives our enemies rather than only seeing their protective parts. Your protectors only see the protectors of others. The clarity of Self gives you a kind of X-ray vision, so you see behind the other person’s protectors to their vulnerability, and in turn your heart opens to them.

The Native activism to protect land and watersheds galvanized not only physical sit-ins in front of earth-moving machines but also efforts that reached far beyond these machines. They looked past the pipeline and earthmovers to the companies that owned the machines. They then looked further again to find the financial institutions that provide those companies with working capital. In doing so, the water protectors of North Dakota sparked a national protest against banks that fund pipelines and other parts of the extractive fuels industry. They connected the immediate threat of one pipeline to the larger threat of climate change, bringing new allies to their fight and joining themselves to a global movement.

it's Really okay, If you fall in love with the person you want to protect.

With God as your protector, the dangers and insecurities of life are not so threatening. All a believer has to do is “trust and obey,” as the song goes. “Lead me on,” says another hymn. Followers are called little sheep or children, needing and deserving protection.

Was it possible, I began to wonder, that somebody had overpainted the portrait to protect it? We’ve already delved into the notion that Shakespeare might have fallen out of favor while alive or recently dead, but we know for a fact that he fell into disgrace when the Puritans gained power in 1653 under Lord Protector Cromwell and declared Shakespeare and his ilk spawn of Satan. After nailing shut the Globe and other such lairs, the Puritans started torching art. Did some Clopton hero disguise the family portrait to protect the poet from these buzzkill iconoclasts? In an 1883 lecture, the collector John Rabone stated as much: “It was suggested that the [Hunt] painting had been obscured in Puritanical times, as many portraits had been, to conceal it, as players then were in ill odour.

1. The LORD is my guide, my protector and my provider, There isn’t anything that I need, except Him. 2. He makes me rest in the midst of abundance; He takes me by the hand and leads me by a rippling brook. 3. My mind and spirit are renewed as He leads me on the road less traveled, the road of righteousness; He does this to protect His reputation. 4. Even though I sometimes face dark shadows, I am not afraid of any evil thing because I know that the LORD is with me. I find comfort in His guidance and discipline, even when I am corrected. 5. The LORD prepares an extravagant table for me, even when enemies are all around. The LORD heals my diseases; I am filled up and running over with His blessings. 6. His goodness, love and forgiveness pursue me every day of my life; and when life is over, I will be at home with Him in His house, forever.

When each partner has courageous love for the other, many of the chronic struggles most couples face melt away because each partner is released from being primarily responsible for making the other feel good. Instead, each knows how to care for their own vulnerability, so neither has to force the other into a preconceived mold or control the other’s journey. Courageous love involves accepting all parts of the other because there is no longer a need to keep the other in the confining roles of parent/redeemer/ego booster/protector. The other senses that acceptance and freedom, which feel wonderful and unusual to them. They come to trust that they don’t have to protect themselves from you and can keep their heart open.

and other twisted views that are the bread and butter of psychotherapy. The Self’s view is unfiltered by those distortions. When we’re in Self, we see the pain that drives our enemies rather than only seeing their protective parts. Your protectors only see the protectors of others.

Blended parts give us the projections, transferences, and other twisted views that are the bread and butter of psychotherapy. The Self’s view is unfiltered by those distortions. When we’re in Self, we see the pain that drives our enemies rather than only seeing their protective parts. Your protectors only see the protectors of others.

The police aren't hired to protect you. They're hired to keep an eye on you to see what you did that was wrong so that they can book you. That's their function. They are not protectors. They are not hired to be protectors. They are hired to keep an eye on all of us as potential criminals. Now, do you think they're going to make you safe? They weren't hired to make you safe.

Who are you? Go back with the others until you are judged.” He met Hest’s stare eye to eye. Hest responded with wide-eyed shock. “But… but I’m Hest Finbok! I’ve come all this way to find my wife, Alise! I hired passage on the newest and swiftest ships I could find to come in search of her. When treachery by the captain let it fall to Chalcedean pirates, I thought all was lost. But here I am! Sweet Sa, your miracles never cease! I am here, and alive, and so is my darling wife! Alise, don’t you know me? Has your mind been turned by this harsh place? I am here now, and you need no other protector than your loving husband.” His words, she thought, danced all through the truth, never touching it. Reyn, startled, stayed as he was as Hest stepped around him. “No.” It was the only word she could manage. Her throat was dry, her heart pounding. She could not find breath to say more than that, but she clung to Leftrin’s arm as if it were her only lifeline in a wild sea storm. And he did not let go of her. He stood firm at her side. Leftrin spoke in a low growl. “The lady says no.” “Take your hands off my wife!” Hest ignored Reyn’s challenge of him as he stepped around the Elderling to glare menacingly at Leftrin. “She is obviously not right in her mind! Look how she stares! She does not recognize me, poor thing! And you, you scoundrel, have taken advantage of her! Oh, my Alise, my darling, what has he done to you? How can you not recognize your own loving husband?” She felt a low rumbling from Leftrin as if he snarled like a beast. His arm in her clutch had become hard as iron. He would protect her, he would save her. All she had to do was let him. “No,” she said again, this time to Leftrin. She squeezed his arm reassuringly and then stepped out of his shelter. She stood free of him, and the wind off the river blew past her. Her unbound hair lifted in wild red snakes, and she knew a moment of dismay as she wondered how ridiculous she looked, her skin weathered, her woman’s body garbed in the bright colors of an Elderling as if she did not know her age or place in the world. Her place in the world. She squared her shoulders. As she walked forward, Reyn stepped toward her as if to offer his arm and support. She waved him off without meeting his eyes. She advanced on Hest, hoping to see some flicker of doubt in his eyes. Instead his smile only widened as if he were truly welcoming her. He actually believed that she would resume that role, would pretend to be his loving, dutiful wife. That thought touched fire in her soul. She halted before him and looked up at him. “Oh, my dear! How harshly the world has treated you!” he exclaimed. He tried to put his arms around her. She set both hands to his chest and pushed him firmly away. As he staggered backward, it pleased her that he had not expected her to be so strong. “You are not my husband,” she said in a low voice. He teetered a moment, then caught his balance. He tried to recover his aplomb. But she had seen the sparks of anger flare in his dark eyes. He tipped his head, solicitous, his voice striken. “My dear, you are so confused!” he began. She lifted her voice, pitched it for all to hear. “I am NOT confused. You are NOT my husband. You broke the terms of our marriage contract, rendering it void. From the earliest days of our marriage, you were unfaithful to me. You entered into the contract with no intent of keeping yourself to me. You have deceived me and made me an object of mockery. You are not my husband, and by the terms of our marriage contract, all that is mine comes back to me. You are not my husband, and I am not your wife. You are nothing to me.

Someone like Bella ought to have a protector, a guardian angel. She deserved that. And yet, clearly, she’d been left defenseless. I would love to believe an angel or anything else was watching over her, anything that would give her a measure of protection, but when I tried to imagine that champion, it was obvious such a thing was impossible. What guardian angel would have allowed Bella to come here? To cross my path, formed, as she was, in such a fashion that there was no way I could possibly overlook her? A ridiculously potent scent to demand my attention, a silent mind to enflame my curiosity, a quiet beauty to hold my eyes, a selfless soul to earn my awe. Factor in the total lack of self-preservation so she was not repelled by me, and then of course add the wide streak of appallingly bad luck that put her always in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The day I would marry my best friend, my protector, my Black Knight in shining armor.

He immediately closed the distance between them. He stopped right in front of her, trapping her between his body and the mirror behind her. Then he lifted one hand⁠— Is he going to touch me?

Whereas he had once made me feel protected, wrapped in his muscular arms, I was now the one doing the protecting. It left me feeling vulnerable, and I selfishly wished he would get better so I could curl into the safety of him again.

Passivity is one of the main enemies of biblical masculinity and it’s most obvious where it’s needed most. It’s a pattern of waiting on the sidelines until you’re specifically asked to step in. Even worse than that, it can be a pattern of trying to duck out of responsibilities or to run away from challenges. Men who think conflict should be avoided, or who refuse to engage with those who would harm the body of Christ or their family, not only model passivity but fail in their responsibilities as protectors. Running to the battle means routinely taking a step toward the challenge — not away from it. Instead of running and hiding, it means running into the burning building or into any other situation that requires courage and/or strength. It means having a burden of awareness and consistently asking yourself, “Is there any testosterone needed in this situation?” That doesn’t mean being a fool who just rushes in, but simply being a leader with the instinct to go where the need is. So show leadership, protection and provision in your family, work, church, and community by consistently moving toward the action. Demonstrate your availability by consistently asking those you encounter, “Do you need anything?” Watch for needs and challenges in whatever situation you’re in and cultivate a habit of running to the battle. Keep your head Whether it was a bear attacking his sheep, Goliath looming in the distance, Saul hurling a spear at him or any other crisis David faced, he moved toward the action with calm resolve. He didn’t panic. He was a man of action and engagement. When there is a crisis, leaders don’t panic. Crisis reveals character and capacity. This is the point when true leaders are distinguished from others. So keep your head. Be anxious for nothing (Phil 4:6-7). Time is wasted while you panic. Just step forward. Be unflappable and resilient.

So you can have your dear pets from this life or other lives and your animal totem that comes into life with you and protects you. We have spirit guides, angels, and loved ones who have passed over that also protect us and help guide us. That’s why we should never feel alone ever. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is lost that God creates and we have all existed with God since the beginning of time or like my guide says—always. They are here to be our loving helpers, companions, and protectors.

There is often much good in the type of boss, especially common in big cities, who fulfills towards the people of his district in rough and ready fashion the position of friend and protector. He uses his influence to get jobs for young men who need them. He goes into court for a wild young fellow who has gotten into trouble. He helps out with cash or credit the widow who is in straits, or the breadwinner who is crippled or for some other cause temporarily out of work. He organizes clambakes and chowder parties and picnics, and is consulted by the local labor leaders when a cut in wages is threatened. For some of his constituents he does proper favors, and for others wholly improper favors; but he preserves human relations with all. He may be a very bad and very corrupt man, a man whose action in blackmailing and protecting vice is of far-reaching damage to his constituents. But these constituents are for the most part men and women who struggle hard against poverty and with whom the problem of living is very real and very close. They would prefer clean and honest government, if this clean and honest government is accompanied by human sympathy, human understanding. But an appeal made to them for virtue in the abstract, an appeal made by good men who do not really understand their needs, will often pass quite unheeded, if on the other side stands the boss, the friend and benefactor, who may have been guilty of much wrong-doing in things that they are hardly aware concern them, but who appeals to them, not only for the sake of favors to come, but in the name of gratitude and loyalty, and above all of understanding and fellow-feeling.

A Protector can’t protect someone who does not wish to be protected.

Some souls . . . have learned everything from invisible guides, known only to themselves .... The ancient Sages ... taught that for each individual soul, or perhaps for a number of souls with the same nature and affinity, there is a being of the spiritual world who, throughout their existence, adopts a special solicitude and tenderness toward that soul or group of souls; it is he who initiates them into knowledge, protects, guides, defends, comforts them, brings them to final victory, and it is this being whom these Sages called the Perfect .Nature. And it is this friend, this defender and protector, who in religious language is called the .Angel. "9

People afraid of outsiders are easily manipulated. The warrior caste, supposedly society's protectors, often become protection racketeers. In times of war or crisis, power is easily stolen from the many by the few on a promise of security. The more elusive or imaginary the foe, the better for manufacturing consent. The Inquisition did a roaring trade against the Devil.

All the subjects of the world can be included in the kashays of anger-pride-deceit-greed. Anger and deceit are the ‘protectors’. They have indeed originated from greed. A proud person will have greed for self-validation and recognition from others. And deceit protects it.

It is very protective of me. But certain sorts of protection, even care, can shade into a sort of desire for ownership. Certainly into a feeling that what is being protected is an earned exclusivity of access for the protector, not the privacy of the protected.

Who am I? I am a warrior. My physical, emotional, and spiritual self revolves around being a warrior. I believe war is a gift from God. . . . I am not a patriot or mercenary. I fight to fight. . . . I believe if you want to kill, you must be willing to die. I am willing to do both, whichever the situation calls for. I am a student of war and warriors. There will be no blood on my hands because I or my men were not prepared for battle. I will prepare for battle every single day. I will love my men as I love my own children. I will take my men places and show them things that they never believed possible. . . . I will give my life for them as readily as I kiss my children at night and put them to bed. I will be their protector and their avenger if necessary. I will always expect the impossible from them. . . . I believe in God but I do not ask for his protection in battle. I ask that I will be given the courage to die like a warrior. I pray for the safety of my men. And I pray for my enemies. I pray for a worthy enemy. . . . I believe in the wrathful god of combat. I believe in Hecate. The gods of war have received their sacrifices from me. . . . I have a huge ego. It feeds my daimon,” he said, referring to a tutelary spirit. “It is me and I am it. But I know it is there. Passion is power. Passion feeds my soul. I will seek passion out in others. . . . I am my children, my parents, my friends, my tribal family, the men I have gone into battle with, and my enemies. They reside in me. It is for them that I do battle. I want, need, and long for their acceptance. I want them to be proud of me. I will be loyal to being a warrior for all time. I will prepare a place in Valhalla for the warriors whose paths I have been blessed to cross. I will be with them in this life and the next. I am a warrior.

Do not harm her, Anita. She is under our protection.” “I swear to you that I will not lay a finger on her tonight. I just want to tell her something.” He released my arm, slowly, like he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. I stepped next to Monica, until our bodies almost touched. I whispered into her face, “If anything happens to Catherine, I will see you dead.” She smirked at me, confident in her protectors. “They will bring me back as one of them.” I felt my head shake, a little to the right, a little to the left, a slow precise movement. “I will cut out your heart.” I was still smiling, I couldn’t seem to stop. “Then I will burn it and scatter the ashes in the river. Do you understand me?” She swallowed audibly. Her health-club tan looked a little green. She nodded, staring at me like I was the bogey man. I think she believed I’d do it. Peachy keen. I hate to waste a really good threat.

I beg to disagree.” I level a grave look at him. “Dane is my protector, joined to my lifeforce, bonded with me for eternity, and that means he’s my family, my everything. I protect my family, and I won’t stand by and have anyone treat any of my boys so horribly. Dane is the consummate professional, and he takes his role very seriously. If he messed up, it wasn’t on purpose, and he deserves more respect than you’re showing him right now.

In 2018 protectors will be tested. Starts at the top. Leadership, discipline, & training will be needed to succeed

beef industry, that was very good news. But a few Americans were not reassured. They weren’t convinced the USDA had done what it could to protect them. They knew that the agency’s image as a protector of consumers was part myth, because the

that sat at the base of Raven Mountain. Having shown himself capable of the duty, Baron Sinclair was now, in the eye of the King, to be the official protector of the Ravens. Over the years the tale has changed and grown as many do. There were rumors of strange occurrences when a Sinclair saved a Raven in the years that followed. Unexplained occurrences that caused many to wonder what it was that the Sinclairs were hiding, but one thing that never changed was their unwavering duty in the task King Edward III had bestowed upon them. To honor and protect

Although it features several characters from my other

those of you who are new to my books, there is a suggested series reading order and crossover chart (these can also be found on my website) at the end of this novella that will help you determine where to start if you end up enjoying Cruz and Elliot’s story. I’ve also

crossover chart (these can also be found on my website) at the end of this novella that

Gracious God, how precious it is to know that you are sovereign and that you protect your people. In the midst of confusion, you provide insight. When facing danger, you are my shield and protector. No evil words or plots to destroy your people can separate me from your love that has been demonstrated in Christ Jesus, my Lord. I do not understand the forces of evil in our world or the suffering your people endure. I acknowledge that many around the world are killed because of their witness to your Son, Jesus Christ. But I trust the truth your are God and there is no other. You know the future, and you see the evil attempts of evil people to accomplish your purposes for your glory and your good. May I stand firmly on what I know and not be distracted or discouraged by what is unclear. In the name of Jesus Christ my Lord and Savior. Amen

So here’s the dealio; I was trying to think of what I could get for your birthday that would mean something, not just the usual Barbie crap. And I was thinking—you and me are Indian. Your mom’s not, but we are. And I’ve always liked Indian symbols. Know what a symbol is?” She shook her head. “Shit that stands for shit. So let’s see if I remember this right.” Sitting on the bed, he plucked the bird card out of her hand, turning it around in his fingers. “Okay, this guy is magic. He’ll protect you from bad spells and other kinds of weirdness you might not even be aware of.” Carefully he unwound the wire ties that attached the small charm to its plastic card and placed the bird on her bedside table. Then he picked up the teddy bear. “This fierce animal is a protector.” She laughed. “No, really. It may not look like it, but appearances can be deceiving. This dude is a fearless spirit. And with that fearless spirit, he signals bravery to those who require it.” He freed the bear from the card and set it on the table next to the bird. “All right. Now the fish. This one might be the best of all. It gives you the power to resist other people’s magic. How cool is that?” She thought

Oneself, indeed, is one's own protector. What other protector could there be? With self-control One gains a protector hard to obtain.

Vinod’s father, Sharad Pandurang Panchal, or Sharad Kaka (Uncle), as he’s popularly called, is a fitter at a factory near his home. There are a number of shops in that neighbourhood, part of a fairly large and well-stocked market, and Sharad Kaka is used to frequenting those shops, and not the mall. Consider Sharad Kaka’s journey in the mall. As he enters, there’s a uniformed guard waiting to frisk him. Once he’s in, there’s another man in uniform at the bottom of the escalator. At the entrance to the store, there’s yet another security guard inspecting Sharad Kaka’s bags, and ‘confiscating’ them while he shops. At the exit, there’s another uniform to check his bill. For just one simple visit to a store, Sharad Kaka encounters four uniformed people. It is enough to deter him from shopping in the mall. ‘I feel guilty, as though I’ve done something wrong, ‘ he says, when asked about his reluctance to shop at the mall. In his mind, far from protecting him, the uniformed guards seem to threaten him, as though they’re there to check him and snoop on him. He doesn’t view them as his protectors, but his challengers. ‘You never know,’ he explains, ‘when you could get into trouble with one of these guys.’ Uniformed people, explained the man, almost always meant trouble for simple folk like him.

The Aryan identity got broken off and forked historically in ancient Egypt where we witness the Osirian identity being passed down to the Jew while the Atenian one being inherited by their Christian successors. The Jew for example keeps his sidelocks (i.e. Payot) as his Egyptian plagiarized heritage states in Leviticus 19:27. This is the very same hair style worn by Horus The Child (Harpocrates/Heru-P-Khart) while sitting protected between the Aker lions; he also had seven manifstations just as Yahweh has seven authentic names (which are not to be classified as, attributes, according to Maimonides' magnum opus 'Mishneh Torah' as we read in Sefer Madda - Yesodei haTorah). The significance of this form of Horus is that it became the type of new birth starting from the New Kingdom onwards when the triads of gods got renewed and rejuvenated as Budge informs us. Horus, hence, became the Lion of Judah who was called by the ancient Egyptians as the 'Great Protector' and was also depicted as a lion with a head of a hawk.

We think our job as humans is to avoid pain, our job as parents is to protect our children from pain, and our job as friends is to fix each other's pain. Maybe that's why we all feel like failures so often - because we have the wrong job description for love. What my friends didn't know about me and I didn't know about Amma is that people who are hurting don't need Avoiders, Protectors, or Fixers. What we need are patient, loving witnesses. People to sit quietly and hold space for us. People to stand in helpless vigil to our pain.

The Feds must know you’re back in town…why didn’t they offer you a protective detail or something?” “They did,” Magnus answered as he took another long draw of his beer, emptying it. “I declined.” “Why?” I asked, incredulous. He studied me for a long time before quietly saying, “Because I already have a bodyguard.” I

I leaned in to kiss him. “I didn’t need to dream it,” I told him. “I knew the second you walked through that door that you were mine and that we would have this. My brain was still trying to protect my heart, but my heart had already decided.” Tears

The one who protects the pudgal (non-Self complex made up of mind-speech-body) is not a Gnani (enlightened one). A Gnani is the protector of only the Soul, the attributes of the Self.

We both went to war,” he continued after a moment, “look around you. Do you recognize the country you came back to? I never did—and the longer I spent at war, the less of a bond I felt with those I had left behind.” Between the protector and the protected. . .a great gulf fixed. A chasm washed in blood.

And just like that, the anxiety slid from my body like a hot, heavy blanket I’d been carrying around my entire life and had been waiting until this very moment to shed. It was insanity. And I never wanted it to end. But of course, it had to. All dreams did.

When the power of breath (Sa) is controlled it becomes rested (as) and in that state it transforms into protector(tra); this is the basic principle of life and consciousness, wherein the senses, mind, intelligence all are protected and directed through the power of breath in a rested state, this is called Sa+as+ tra (SASTRA). It is the most powerful weapon alive and the most powerful protector as well. One who stills, directs, controls and allows it to rise from the core of the body to the subtle, subtler, subtlest levels of consciousness is considered to be well versed in Sastras. Ananth Yoga allows one to work on the Grossest, Gross, Subtle, Subtler levels of consciousness, through the breath power leading on to connect to the subtlest level of consciousness.

I regretted my human form briefly; it would be so much easier to drag and rope information into the brain as neatly as one dragged and dropped information on the computer. Perhaps I was suffering from a touch of information sickness? If I could weed out my thoughts...There was one reliable cure I've found, a bit of the hair of the dog--the release in reading. Not a manual: something with a narrative, a chute built by a writer and waxed until the reader fell into it and skittered right to the end without stopping. The relief of being in someone else's hands. Yes, exactly: I needed to be under a spell....it didn't matter who I was, or what I did, or where I paid taxes, or how long I stayed. I'm sure it didn't matter if the book had RFID tags or a checkout card with a ladder of scrawled names, though tags were neat. I knew the librarians would help me figure out anything I needed to know later--I was under the librarians' protection. Civil servants and servants of civility, they had my back. They would be whatever they needed to be that day: information professionals, teachers, police, community organizers, computer technicians, historians, confidantes, clerks, social workers, storytellers, or in this case, guardians of my peace. They were the authors of this opportunity--diversion from the economy and distraction from snow, protectors of the bubble of concentration I'd found in the maddening world. And I knew they wouldn't disturb me until closing time.

Rain comes,” said Eveneye. “Yes,” said Whiteclaw. They fastened the sacs around their necks and began to make their way back home, through the forest. Again, a wolf howled in the distance, closer though. Twigs and branches snapped under the bears’ paws and the wind whipped through their fur. It became harder and harder to see where they were going as the moonlight became obscured by rainclouds. Fortunately, Eveneye and Whiteclaw could have walked the path home with their eyes closed. The two bears had encountered far worse than rain and darkness in these woods. When they were younger, they had been caught in the woods during a blizzard and were forced to take shelter as it passed. They had made a shelter from a couple of fallen trees and huddled underneath them for fifteen hours before the storm had finally gone. When they had emerged again, they recognized nothing of the forest and it had taken them almost two days to find their way home. There had also been a time when human hunters had ambushed the two bears on their trail home. Eveneye and Whiteclaw were fully grown bears and they had dispatched the humans rather quickly, but not before suffering wounds from the humans’ spears. They could spend a night telling tales of their forays into the forest and often did. The woods were dense and had a layer of underbrush, not found in all forests. The canopy was high and wide; it was a very old forest. It was said, in the lore of the bear, that the elder bears did not choose this forest to build their kingdom, but that the forest chose them to be its protectors. This was passed down as birthright to all bears. Respect the forest; protect the forest. It was mother to them all. Lightning flashed, thunder rumbled and it began to rain. Whiteclaw grumbled and Eveneye chuckled. “What’s the matter? We were already wet from the stream.” “That was by choice,” replied Whiteclaw. Both bears laughed heartily as lightning flashed across the night sky. Eveneye stopped laughing and perked his ears. “Do you hear that?” “Hear what? The rain?

You’re going to get protection and we’re going to help you, understood?” He barked out.

The one who protects the body-complex (pudgal) is not the 'enlightened one' (Gnani). A Gnani is the protector of only the Soul and it’s natural attributes.

Warm, Considering likes to think it is very protective of me.” QiRia drank from his glass. “It is very protective of me. But certain sorts of protection, even care, can shade into a sort of desire for ownership. Certainly into a feeling that what is being protected is an earned exclusivity of access for the protector, not the privacy of the protected.” He looked across at her. His eyes were the colour of the sea, she remembered. Dark now. “Do you understand?

We know that the infant and very small child need to feel that they can count on these powerful beings to relieve tension and alleviate fears. And we know that the child’s later ability to tolerate tension and actively deal with anxiety situations will be determined in good part by the experiences of early years. During the period of infancy, of biological helplessness, we make very few demands upon the child and do everything possible to reduce tension and satisfy all needs. Gradually, as the child develops, he acquires means of his own to deal with increasingly complex situations. The parent gradually relinquishes his function as insulator and protector. But we know that even the most independent children will need to call upon the protection of parents at times of unusual stress. And the child, even when he can do without the protecting parent in times of ordinary stress, still carries within him the image of the strong and powerful parent to reassure himself. “If a burglar came into our house, my father would kill him dead.” The protective function of the parent is so vital in early childhood that even children who are exposed to abnormal dangers may not develop acute anxiety if the parents are present. It is now well known that in war-time Britain the children who remained with their parents even during bombing attacks were able to tolerate anxiety better than the children who were separated from their parents and evacuated to protected zones. But