After Daskalos returned to his armchair and was getting ready to continue our discussion I asked him whether the affliction of that man was due to karmic debts.“ ‘All illnesses are due to Karma,’ Daskalos replied. ‘It is either the result of your own debts or the debts of others you love.’“ ‘I can understand paying for one’s own Karma but what does it mean paying the Karma of someone you love?’ I asked.“ ‘What do you think Christ meant,’ Daskalos said, ‘when he urged us to bear one another’s burdens?’“ ‘Karma,’ Daskalos explained, ‘has to be paid off in one way or another. This is the universal law of balance. So when we love someone, we may assist him in paying part of his debt. But this,’ he said, ‘is possible only after that person has received his ‘lesson’ and therefore it would not be necessary to pay his debt in full. When most of the Karma has been paid off someone else can assume the remaining burden and relieve the subject from the pain. When we are willing to do that,’ Daskalos continued, ‘the Logos will assume nine-tenths of the remaining debt and we would actually assume only one-tenth. Thus the final debt that will have to be paid would be much less and the necessary pain would be considerably reduced. These are not arbitrary percentages,’ Daskalos insisted, ‘but part of the nature of things.

Time does not heal wounds. It's a body's ritual that does. The instinctual cleansing with rain or other waters, the application of salves. Despite the sting. Even neglected, the body begins to take care. To repair itself. Blood clots, tissues regenerate, flesh scars. Soon, the thin white line is the only evidence of the pain. It is the body, not time. Time does nothing except create distance between the body and that which caused it harm. Recollection of fear can be stronger than the original fear itself. Similarly, bliss is sometimes more vivid when recollected. How else do you explain longing? Longing for what has already passed. That's the real pain. But you insisted, you pried with your fingers to see. You retuned to me after I turned away. You made me recollect for you, collect again and again for you, interrupting the healing with your curiosity. Now that I have given you the words, you may long for them. You may miss me. You may try to find the notes to the song again and again and won't be able to find them. Perhaps, the wounds I made will already have begun to scar. Maybe the body will have begun its ritual of forgetting. I told you not to ask for haunted, not to ask me to recollect. Because recollection is like tearing at closed wounds. Like pealing back the careful tissue put there by the body to make it safe. And because remembered pain is always worse than the original pain, because this time it is expected. This time you already know how much it will hurt.

So it is with sorrow, each thinks his own present grief the most severe. For of this he judges by his own experience. He that is childless considers nothing so sad as to be without children; he that is poor, and has many children, complains of the extreme evils of a large family. He who has but one, looks upon this as the greatest misery, because that one, being set too much store by, and never corrected, becomes willful, and brings grief upon his father. He who has a beautiful wife, thinks nothing so bad as having a beautiful wife, because it is the occasion of jealousy and intrigue. He who has an ugly one, thinks nothing worse than having a plain wife, because it is constantly disagreeable. The private man thinks nothing more mean, more useless, than his mode of life. The soldier declares that nothing is more toilsome, more perilous, than warfare; that it would he better to live on bread and water than endure such hardships. He that is in power thinks there can be no greater burden than to attend to the necessities of others. He that is subject to that power, thinks nothing more servile than living at the beck of others. The married man considers nothing worse than a wife, and the cares of marriage. The unmarried declares there is nothing so wretched as being unmarried, and wanting the repose of a home. The merchant thinks the husbandman happy in his security. The husbandman thinks the merchant so in his wealth. In short, all mankind are somehow hard to please, and discontented and impatient.

Why do I take a blade and slash my arms? Why do I drink myself into a stupor? Why do I swallow bottles of pills and end up in A&E having my stomach pumped? Am I seeking attention? Showing off? The pain of the cuts releases the mental pain of the memories, but the pain of healing lasts weeks. After every self-harming or overdosing incident I run the risk of being sectioned and returned to a psychiatric institution, a harrowing prospect I would not recommend to anyone.So, why do I do it? I don't. If I had power over the alters, I'd stop them. I don't have that power. When they are out, they're out. I experience blank spells and lose time, consciousness, dignity. If I, Alice Jamieson, wanted attention, I would have completed my PhD and started to climb the academic career ladder. Flaunting the label 'doctor' is more attention-grabbing that lying drained of hope in hospital with steri-strips up your arms and the vile taste of liquid charcoal absorbing the chemicals in your stomach. In most things we do, we anticipate some reward or payment. We study for status and to get better jobs; we work for money; our children are little mirrors of our social standing; the charity donation and trip to Oxfam make us feel good. Every kindness carries the potential gift of a responding kindness: you reap what you sow. There is no advantage in my harming myself; no reason for me to invent delusional memories of incest and ritual abuse. There is nothing to be gained in an A&E department.

My head ached. I was thinking of the pain, and wondering how it was possible for physical agony to be so intense. I had never imagined that such a torture could be endured. Yet here was I, both conscious and able to think clearly. And not only to think, but to observe the process and make calculations about it. The steel circle round my skull was closing in with faint cracking noises. How much farther could it shrink? I counted the cracking sounds. Since I took the triple dose of pain-killer, there had been two more. …I took out my watch and laid it on the table.“Give me morphia,” I said in a calm, hostile, icy tone.“You mustn’t take morphia! You know perfectly well. The very idea! And what are you doing with that watch?”“You will give me morphia within three minutes.”They looked me uneasily up and down. No one moved. Three minutes went by. Then ten more. I slipped the watch calmly into my pocket and rose unsteadily to my feet.“Then take me to the Fiakker Bar. They say it’s a good show, and to-night I want to enjoy myself.”The others jumped up with a feeling of relief.I never confessed the secret to anyone, either then or afterwards. I had made up my mind at the end of those three minutes — for the first and last time in my life — that if my headache had not stopped within the next ten I should throw myself under the nearest tram.It never came out whether I should have kept to my resolve, for the pain left with the suddenness of lighting.

Некоторые сверхмарафоны проходят по девственным лесам, вдоль звонких ручьев, по прекрасным долинам с полевыми цветами. Одни – в меланхоличной прохладе осени, другие – холодными весенними днями.Но есть «ультра», подобные тому, что убивал меня сейчас. Убивал по-настоящему.

قبل اليوم, كنت اعتقد أننا لا يمكن أن نكتب عن حياتنا إلا عندما نشفى منها . عندما يمكن أن نلمس جراحنا القديمة بقلم , دون أن نتألم مرة أخرى . عندما نقدر على النظر خلفنا دون حنين, دون جنون, ودون حقد أيضا . أيمكن هذا حقاً ؟ نحن لا نشفى من ذاكرتنا . ولهذا نحن نكتب, ولهذا نحن نرسم, ولهذا يموت بعضنا أيضا .

Imagine what it's like to be (untouchable)Better not take a chance on me (untouchable)I'm the bad boy your mama told you aboutI'm dangerous, without a doubtEven coming off a ten-year droughtUntouchableI'm the rose with hidden thorns (untouchable)Don't tell me that you haven't been warned (untouchable)I'm pretty poison under the skin, The bite of the apple that's a mortal sinIn a game of love you'll never winUntouchableMy reputation's fairly earned (untouchable)If you play with fire, you will get burned (untouchable)Stay out of the kitchen if you can't take the heat, My kisses are deadly as they are sweet, I'm a runaway bus on a dead-end streetUntouchableFools rush in, that's what they say(untouchable)But angels fall, too, most every day (untouchable)I'm the snake in the garden, the siren on the reefI have the face of a saint and the heart of a thiefI'll promise you love! And bring you nothing but griefUntouchable Hearing Jonah sing like this was like watching him slice himself open and show off his insides. Why would he do that? Why would be write such a song? And then Emma answered her own question. Because good music always tells the truth, no matter how much it hurts. Emma couldn't be the only one who felt the bite of the blade, but everyone else seemed to take it in stride. Did they know? Did they all know about Jonah? Of course they did. They were there when it happened. They'd allow Jonah to keep the secrets that were most important to him. She knew she shouldn't resent that, but she still did. They must have known she was falling for him. They must have.

Такава е човешката душа, понякога като пламъче на свещ и угасва от най-леко подухване, понякога пък не ще я съкруши и най-лютата болка, такова е и човешкото сърце, не престава да тупти, докато има в него макар и само една искрица живот!Такъв е духът човешки, минава през вода и най-силен огън.

Meditation is the way to be with ourselves and to learn to accept our own aloneness. In aloneness, I experiment with being consciously alone as a door to be egoless. In conscious aloneness, the ego can not function. In aloneness, you are not. I have always been comfortable with my own aloneness as an inner source of love, joy, truth, silence and wholeness. When we depend on other people, it becomes a bondage - instead of a freedom. I took this sunday as a meditation to be consciously alone, and to accept all feelings of pain, of not being loved and the fear of being nobody that would come up during the meditation. This meditation goes up and down during the day: at certain moments, I can totally accept my aloneness. It feels fine to accept that I am alone and that I am nobody. At other moments, I feel the pain of not being loved, when the meditation brings up how dependence on other people is a barrier to totally accept my aloneness. I take a coffee at a restaurant. I am the only person that sits alone in the restaurant, while the other guests are couples and families eating sunday dinner. It brings up painful feelings of not being loved and wanting to be needed by other people, when I see how much people cling to each other in the couples and the families. Escaping your aloneness through relationships and needing other people's attention through being a teacher, a politician or by being rich or famous, are ways of escaping the pain of aloneness. But then the relationships are not really love. Only when you are capable of being alone, you can really love. When we can be alone, we discover the inner source of love, which is our true nature. When we can be alone, it open the door to be one with the Whole.

Rigor Mortis.” I say, almost as an apology. But he won’t have any of it. He locks onto my gaze. He doesn’t lean forward, but he doesn’t need to, suddenly the room feels like it’s filled with him. His presence floats in the air like a noxious gas, and I’m breathing it in. “Ike, you don’t get it. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Do you think I have the right to talk to anyone? Do you think its fun to have a ‘human’ brain in a pet’s body? Sure, I have Kamu. And that’s fugging great, but guess what? Kamu is queen to be, and emotionally unstable.” I've never heard Rig talk this powerfully before, but he doesn’t seem scary, just sad. “And then I get someone else I can actually talk to, Ike, I get you. And you don’t treat me like I’m a pet and you talk about Kamu like she needs to be protected and you are there. You are there, and you keep being there, and the only one who’s ever there is Kamu, but now there is Ike. And Ike is perfect, albeit a bit dense, but perfect.” “Rig, I’m really sorry bu-“ I start, I don’t know how much more of this I can take. With each sentence Rig loses some of his force, he sounds more pathetic and lost. “I’m not done.” He pronounces the words in such a voice that it makes me shut up more than the context of the sentence does. “And all I want is to be with this boy who is there, this boy who is my friend, this boy who isn’t always caught up in politics. All I want is to have my one good break.” He finishes. I keep holding his eye contact, and his eyes, they already reflect hurt and rejectment. I don’t know if from me…or from life.

There are parts of a woman’s heart that are reserved for certain types of love. Experiencing the love of a father figure in an appropriate way is essential in paving the way for the love of a man to be experienced in the right way.The love of a father is vital in ensuring that a woman’s heart is kept open in this area. If this area is not kept open, it produces problems later on in a woman’s life, for that area is also reserved for the romantic love that comes in the form of a marriage relationship. This is an extremely sensitive area of the heart for a woman, and has plenty of opportunity to be easily bruised. When that does occur, she will put up a protective barrier to try and avoid any such pain occurring again. If this barrier isn’t dismantled fairly soon, a woman’s heart becomes accustomed to its protective barrier, and the heart shielded inside gradually becomes hardened. As women, we may be able to function like this for awhile. But there will come a time in your life where God will begin to peel away those hard layers surrounding your heart, and you probably won’t like that sensation. But you have to fight your natural instinct to run away.This is where many Christian women may get stuck. They view every man through the lens of what their father was to them, or what he was not. Their perception of men is shaded, and often damaged, by the very people who should have been modeling the world of adult relationships to their daughters. As a result, their judgement is often clouded, and women find themselves settling for less than what they truly deserve. Many marriages, even Christian marriages, have been damaged and even terminated because one or both partners refused to sit down and deal with their past issues.

A fájdalom, amit érzel a gyengeség, amint elhagyja a szívedet. A téveszmék elmúltának fájdalma. Nincs magasabb rendű eszme. Nincsenek istenek. Nincsenek bírák, akik ítélkeznek jó és rossz felett. Nem kérlek, hogy szeresd a valóságot. Csak azt kérem, hogy légy elég erős szembenézni vele. Semmi sincs ezen kívül. Csak a tökéletesség van, amit azzal érünk el, hogy magunk leszünk a fegyver, amely erős és könyörtelen, mint egy kard az árnyak között. Az életben nincs eredendően jó. Az élet önmagában semmi. Csak egy jelzőcölöp, ami bizonyítja, hogy ki nyer. És mi nyerünk. Mindig mi nyerünk. Semmi más nincs, csak a győzelem. Még a győzelem sem jelent semmit. Győzünk, mert veszíteni sértés. A cél nem szentesíti az eszközt. Az eszköz nem szentesíti a célt. Nincs senki, aki felé szentesíteni kellene. Nincs szentesítés. Tudod, hány embert öltem meg? … Tudtam valaha. Emlékeztem mindenki nevére, akit nem csatában öltem meg. Aztán túl sokan lettek. Már csak a számukra emlékeztem. Aztán már csak az ártatlanokra. Végül őket is elfelejtettem. Tudod, milyen büntetést kellett elszenvednem a tetteimért, a bűneimért? Semmilyet. Egy igazságos univerzum nem tűrné meg a létezésemet.

I am in Love with you, it’s me who is in love with you not you,I am in love with you.Not in a way i wanted to but yeah the way I am fond toHey i am in love with you,not treating you like i wanted to but just being the one that thought of toyeah I am in love with you,Loving you was the secrete i wanted to keepand buried deep inside my emotional heap,Doing everything possible what i had toBut baby it hurts as it hurts you too,but yeah still i am in love with you,Pulled myself million times coz i got the wrong vibe all the time,but the truth remains the samebaby hear me as i am in love with you,Waiting on you I could see people were laughing on meI knew all the while you weren't near me.But you should know that I am in love with youThere were some days I missed you a lot and scared to tell you how i feel cold and hotfor you as i am in love with you is the only dreamAnd then I am in love with youi remember i have cried to sleepand bagged myself to keep you awayfrom the highest steepthe voice that said from within me I am in love with youJust I LOVE YOU was the only words I wanna hear from youeven while knowing, you don’t mean tocoz simply I feel the way I wanted toLoving to say i am in love with you.wake up in the morning with only you in my mind till i sleep at deep way in the nightI know its all silly things for your kindbut its perfect to me as clearly - deeply in love with youWhen you being nice to me that scares me sometimesbut bottom in my heart it feels so nice coz during that timei am in love with you,Doesn't matter whatever i do with you even things i have never done beforeand i enjoyed them all coz simply as I am in love with you.In the first waiting on you was the favorite thing in my dayweather it s a call or just a look from you from the farthest bayI asked myself why and the voice within me said that i am in love with you.

No follower of Christ knew the shape of the earth. For many centuries this great Peasant of Palestine has been worshiped as God. Millions and millions have given their lives to his service. The wealth of the world was lavished on his shrines.His name carried consolation to the diseased and dying. His name dispelled the darkness of death, and filled the dungeon with light. His name gave courage to the martyr, and in the midst of fire, with shriveling lips the sufferer uttered it again and again. The outcasts, the deserted, the fallen, felt that Christ was their friend, felt that he knew their sorrows and pitied their sufferings.All this is true, and if it were all, how beautiful, how touching, how glorious it would be.But it is not all. There is another side.In his name millions and millions of men and women have been imprisoned, tortured and killed. In his name millions and millions have been enslaved. In his name the thinkers, the investigators, have been branded as criminals, and his followers have shed the blood of the wisest and best.In his name the progress of many nations was stayed for a thousand years. In his gospel was found the dogma of eternal pain, and his words added an infinite horror to death. His gospel filled the world with hatred and revenge; made intellectual honesty a crime; made happiness here the road to hell, denounced love as base and bestial, canonized credulity, crowned bigotry and destroyed the liberty of man.It would have been far better had the New Testament never been written – far better had the theological Christ never lived. Had the writers of the Testament been regarded as uninspired, had Christ been thought of only as a man, had the good been accepted and the absurd, the impossible, and the revengeful thrown away, mankind would have escaped the wars, the tortures, the scaffolds, the dungeons, the agony and tears, the crimes and sorrows of a thousand years.