Podcasts about retreating

Episode 87 Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold Mark McGuinness reads and discusses ‘Dover Beach' by Matthew Arnold. https://media.blubrry.com/amouthfulofair/media.blubrry.com/amouthfulofair/content.blubrry.com/amouthfulofair/87_Dover_Beach_by_Matthew_Arnold.mp3 Poet Matthew Arnold Reading and commentary by Mark McGuinness Dover Beach By Matthew Arnold The sea is calm tonight.The tide is full, the moon lies fairUpon the straits; on the French coast the lightGleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!Only, from the long line of sprayWhere the sea meets the moon-blanched land,Listen! you hear the grating roarOf pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,At their return, up the high strand,Begin, and cease, and then again begin,With tremulous cadence slow, and bringThe eternal note of sadness in. Sophocles long agoHeard it on the Aegean, and it broughtInto his mind the turbid ebb and flowOf human misery; weFind also in the sound a thought,Hearing it by this distant northern sea. The Sea of FaithWas once, too, at the full, and round earth's shoreLay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.But now I only hearIts melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,Retreating, to the breathOf the night-wind, down the vast edges drearAnd naked shingles of the world. Ah, love, let us be trueTo one another! for the world, which seemsTo lie before us like a land of dreams,So various, so beautiful, so new,Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;And we are here as on a darkling plainSwept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,Where ignorant armies clash by night. Podcast Transcript This is a magnificent and haunting poem by Matthew Arnold, an eminent Victorian poet. Written and published at the mid-point of the nineteenth century – it was probably written around 1851 and published in 1867 – it is not only a shining example of Victorian poetry at its best, but it also, and not coincidentally, embodies some of the central preoccupations of the Victorian age. The basic scenario is very simple: a man is looking out at the sea at night and thinking deep thoughts. It's something that we've all done, isn't it? The two tend to go hand-in-hand. When you're looking out into the darkness, listening to the sound of the sea, it's hard not to be thinking deep thoughts. If you've been a long time listener to this podcast, it may remind you of another poet who wrote about standing on the shore thinking deep thoughts, looking at the sea, Shakespeare, in his Sonnet 60: Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,So do our minutes hasten to their end; Arnold's poem is not a sonnet but a poem in four verse paragraphs. They're not stanzas, because they're not regular, but if you look at the text on the website, you can clearly see it's divided into four sections. The first part is a description of the sea, as seen from Dover Beach, which is on the shore of the narrowest part of the English channel, making it the closest part of England to France: The sea is calm tonight.The tide is full, the moon lies fairUpon the straits; – on the French coast the lightGleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. And as you can hear, the poem has a pretty regular and conventional rhythm, based on iambic metre, ti TUM, with the second syllable taking the stress in every metrical unit. But what's slightly unusual is that the lines have varying lengths. By the time we get to the third line: Upon the straits; – on the French coast the light There are five beats. There's a bit of variation in the middle of the line, but it's very recognisable as classic iambic pentameter, which has a baseline pattern going ti TUM, ti TUM, ti TUM, ti TUM, ti TUM. But before we get to the pentameter, we get two short lines: The sea is calm tonight.Only three beats; andThe tide is full, the moon lies fair – four beats. We also start to notice the rhymes: ‘tonight' and ‘light'. And we have an absolutely delightful enjambment, where a phrase spills over the end of one line into the next one: On the French coast the light,Gleams and is gone. Isn't that just fantastic? The light flashes out like a little surprise at the start of the line, just as it's a little surprise for the speaker looking out to sea. OK, once he's set the scene, he makes an invitation: Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! So if there's a window, he must be in a room. There's somebody in the room with him, and given that it's night it could well be a bedroom. So this person could be a lover. It's quite likely that this poem was written on Arnold's honeymoon, which would obviously fit this scenario. But anyway, he's inviting this person to come to the window and listen. And what does this person hear? Well, helpfully, the speaker tells us: Listen! you hear the grating roarOf pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,At their return, up the high strand,Begin, and cease, and then again begin,With tremulous cadence slow, and bringThe eternal note of sadness in. Isn't that just great? The iambic metre is continuing with some more variations, which we needn't go into. And the rhyme is coming more and more to the fore. Just about every line in this section rhymes with another line, but it doesn't have a regular pattern. Some of the rhymes are close together, some are further apart. There's only one line in this paragraph that doesn't rhyme, and that's ‘Listen! You hear the grating roar'. If this kind of shifting rhyme pattern reminds you of something you've heard before, you may be thinking all the way back to Episode 34 where we looked at Coleridge's use of floating rhymes in his magical poem ‘Kubla Khan'. And it's pretty evident that Arnold is also casting a spell, in this case to mimic the rhythm of the waves coming in and going out, as they ‘Begin, and cease, and then again begin,'. And then the wonderful last line of the paragraph, as the waves ‘bring / The eternal note of sadness in'. You know, in the heart of the Victorian Age, when the Romantics were still within living memory, poets were still allowed to do that kind of thing. Try it nowadays of course, and the Poetry Police will be round to kick your front door in at 5am and arrest you. Anyway. The next paragraph is a bit of a jump cut: Sophocles long agoHeard it on the Aegean, and it broughtInto his mind the turbid ebb and flowOf human misery; So Arnold, a classical scholar, is letting us know he knows who Sophocles, the ancient Greek playwright was. And he's establishing a continuity across time of people looking out at the sea and thinking these deep thoughts. At this point, Arnold explicitly links the sea and the thinking:                                     weFind also in the sound a thought,Hearing it by this distant northern sea. And the thought that we hear when we listen to the waves is what Arnold announces in the next verse paragraph, and he announces it with capital letters: The Sea of FaithWas once, too, at the full, and round earth's shoreLay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. And for a modern reader, I think this is the point of greatest peril for Arnold, where he's most at risk of losing us. We may be okay with ‘the eternal note of sadness', but as soon as he starts giving us the Sea of Faith, we start to brace ourselves. Is this going to turn into a horrible religious allegory, like The Pilgrim's Progress? I mean, it's a short step from the Sea of Faith to the Slough of Despond and the City of Destruction. And it doesn't help that Arnold uses the awkwardly rhyming phrase ‘a bright girdle furled' – that's not going to get past the Poetry Police, is it? But fear not; Arnold doesn't go there. What comes next is, I think, the best bit of the poem. So he says the Sea of Faith ‘was once, too, at the full', and then: But now I only hearIts melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,Retreating, to the breathOf the night-wind, down the vast edges drearAnd naked shingles of the world. Well, if you thought the eternal note of sadness was great, this tops it! It's absolutely fantastic. That line, ‘Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,' where the ‘it' is faith, the Sea of Faith. And the significance of the line is underlined by the fact that the word ‘roar' is a repetition – remember, that one line in the first section that didn't rhyme? Listen! you hear the grating roar See what Arnold did there? He left that sound hovering at the back of the mind, without a rhyme, until it came back in this section, a subtle but unmistakeable link between the ‘grating roar' of the actual sea at Dover Beach, and the ‘withdrawing roar' of the Sea of Faith: Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Isn't that the most Victorian line ever? It encapsulates the despair that accompanied the crisis of faith in 19th century England. This crisis was triggered by the advance of modern science – including the discoveries of fossils, evidence of mass extinction of previous species, and the theory of evolution, with Darwin's Origin of Species published in 1859, in between the writing and publication of ‘Dover Beach'. Richard Holmes, in his wonderful new biography of the young Tennyson, compares this growing awareness of the nature of life on Earth to the modern anxiety over climate change. For the Victorians, he writes, it created a ‘deep and existential terror'. One thing that makes this passage so effective is that Arnold has already cast the spell in the first verse paragraph, hypnotising us with the rhythm and rhyme, and linking it to the movement of the waves. In the second paragraph, he says, ‘we find also in the sound a thought'. And then in the third paragraph, he tells us the thought. And the thought that he attaches to this movement, which we are by now emotionally invested in, is a thought of such horror and profundity – certainly for his Victorian readers – that the retreat of the sea of faith really does feel devastating. It leaves us gazing down at the naked shingles of the world. The speaker is now imaginatively out of the bedroom and down on the beach. This is very relatable; we've all stood on the beach and watched the waves withdrawing beneath our feet and the shingle being left there. It's an incredibly vivid evocation of a pretty abstract concept. Then, in the fourth and final verse paragraph, comes a bit of a surprise: Ah, love, let us be trueTo one another! Well, I for one was not expecting that! From existential despair to an appeal to his beloved. What a delightful, romantic (with a small ‘r') response to the big-picture, existential catastrophe. And for me, it's another little echo of Shakespeare's Sonnet 60, which opens with a poet contemplating the sea and the passing of time and feeling the temptation to despair, yet also ends with an appeal to the consolation of love: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,blockquotePraising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. Turning back to Arnold. He says ‘let us be true / To one another'. And then he links their situation to the existential catastrophe, and says this is precisely why they should be true to each other: for the world, which seemsTo lie before us like a land of dreams,So various, so beautiful, so new,Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; It sounds, on the face of it, a pretty unlikely justification for being true to one another in a romantic sense. But actually, this is a very modern stance towards romantic love. It's like the gleam of light that just flashed across the Channel from France – the idea of you and me against an unfeeling world, of love as redemption, or at least consolation, in a meaningless universe. In a world with ‘neither joy, nor love, nor light,' our love becomes all the more poignant and important. Of course, we could easily object that, regardless of religious faith, the world does have joy and love and light. His very declaration of love is evidence of this. But let's face it, we don't always come to poets for logical consistency, do we? And we don't have to agree with Matthew Arnold to find this passage moving; most of us have felt like this at some time when we've looked at the world in what feels like the cold light of reality. He evokes it so vividly and dramatically that I, for one, am quite prepared to go with him on this. Then we get the final three lines of the poem:We are here as on a darkling plainSwept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,Where ignorant armies clash by night. I don't know about you, but I find this a little jarring in the light of what we've just heard. We've had the magnificent description of the sea and its effect on human thought, extending that into the idea of faith receding into illusion, and settling on human love as some kind of consolation for the loss of faith. So why do we need to be transported to a windswept plain where armies are clashing and struggling? It turns out to be another classical reference, to the Greek historian Thucydides' account of the night battle of Epipolae, where the two armies were running around in the dark and some of them ended up fighting their own side in the confusion. I mean, fine, he's a classical scholar. And obviously, it's deeply meaningful to him. But to me, this feels a little bit bolted on. A lot of people love that ending, but to me, it's is not as good as some of the earlier bits, or at least it doesn't quite feel all of a piece with the imagery of the sea. But overall, it is a magnificent poem, and this is a small quibble. Stepping back, I want to have another look at the poem's form, specifically the meter, and even more specifically, the irregularity of the meter, which is quite unusual and actually quite innovative for its time. As I've said, it's in iambic meter, but it's not strictly iambic pentameter. You may recall I did a mini series on the podcast a while ago looking at the evolution of blank verse, unrhymed iambic pentameter, from Christopher Marlowe and Shakespeare's dramatic verse, then Milton's Paradise Lost and finally Wordsworth's Tintern Abbey. ‘Dover Beach' is rhymed, so it's not blank verse, but most of the techniques Arnold uses here are familiar from those other poets, with variations on the basic rhythm, sometimes switching the beats around, and using enjambment and caesura (a break or pause in the middle of the line). But, and – this is quite a big but – not every line has five beats. The lines get longer and shorter in an irregular pattern, apparently according to Arnold's instinct. And this is pretty unusual, certainly for 1851. It's not unique, we could point to bits of Tennyson or Arthur Hugh Clough for metrical experiments in a similar vein, but it's certainly not common practice. And I looked into this, to see what the critics have said about it. And it turns out the scholars are divided. In one camp, the critics say that what Arnold is doing is firmly in the iambic pentameter tradition – it's just one more variation on the pattern. But in the other camp are people who say, ‘No, this is something new; this is freer verse,' and it is anticipating free verse, the non-metrical poetry with no set line lengths that came to be the dominant verse form of the 20th century. Personally, I think you can look back to Wordsworth and see a continuity with his poetic practice. But you could equally look forward, to a link with T. S. Eliot's innovations in ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' and The Waste Land. Eliot is often described as an innovator in free verse, which is true up to a point, but a lot of his writing in that early period isn't strictly free verse; it's a kind of broken up metrical verse, where he often uses an iambic metre with long and short lines, which he varies with great intuitive skill – in a similar manner to Arnold's ‘Dover Beach'. Interestingly, when ‘Dover Beach' was first published, the reviews didn't really talk about the metre, which is ammunition for the people who say, ‘Well, this is just a kind of iambic pentameter'. Personally, I think what we have here is something like the well-known Duck-Rabbit illusion, where you can look at the same drawing and either see a duck or a rabbit, depending how you look at it. So from one angle, ‘Dover Beach' is clearly continuing the iambic pentameter tradition; from another angle, it anticipates the innovations of free verse. We can draw a line from the regular iambic pentameter of Wordsworth (writing at the turn of the 18th and 19th century) to the fractured iambic verse of Eliot at the start of the 20th century. ‘Dover Beach' is pretty well halfway between them, historically and poetically. And I don't think this is just a dry technical development. There is something going on here in terms of the poet's sense of order and disorder, faith and doubt. Wordsworth, in the regular unfolding of his blank verse, conveys his basic trust in an ordered and meaningful universe. Matthew Arnold is writing very explicitly about the breakup of faith, and we can start to see it in the breakup of the ordered iambic pentameter. By the time we get to the existential despair of Eliot's Waste Land, the meter is really falling apart, like the Waste Land Eliot describes. So overall, I think we can appreciate what a finely balanced poem Arnold has written. It's hard to categorise. You read it the first time and think, ‘Oh, right, another conventional Victorian melancholy lament'. But just when we think he's about to go overboard with the Sea of Faith, he surprises us and with that magnificent central passage. And just as he's about to give in to despair, we get that glimmering spark of love lighting up, and we think, ‘Well, maybe this is a romantic poem after all'. And maybe Arnold might look at me over his spectacles and patiently explain that actually, this is why that final metaphor of the clashing armies is exactly right. Friend and foe are running in first one direction, then another, inadvertently killing the people on the wrong side. So the simile gives us that sense of being caught in the cross-currents of a larger sweep of history. With all of that hovering in our mind, let's go over to the window once more and heed his call to listen to the sound of the Victorian sea at Dover Beach. Dover Beach By Matthew Arnold The sea is calm tonight.The tide is full, the moon lies fairUpon the straits; on the French coast the lightGleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!Only, from the long line of sprayWhere the sea meets the moon-blanched land,Listen! you hear the grating roarOf pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,At their return, up the high strand,Begin, and cease, and then again begin,With tremulous cadence slow, and bringThe eternal note of sadness in. Sophocles long agoHeard it on the Aegean, and it broughtInto his mind the turbid ebb and flowOf human misery; weFind also in the sound a thought,Hearing it by this distant northern sea. The Sea of FaithWas once, too, at the full, and round earth's shoreLay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.But now I only hearIts melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,Retreating, to the breathOf the night-wind, down the vast edges drearAnd naked shingles of the world. Ah, love, let us be trueTo one another! for the world, which seemsTo lie before us like a land of dreams,So various, so beautiful, so new,Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;And we are here as on a darkling plainSwept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,Where ignorant armies clash by night. Matthew Arnold Matthew Arnold was a British poet, critic, and public intellectual who was born in 1822 and died in 1888. His father was Thomas Arnold, the famed headmaster of Rugby School. Arnold studied Classics at Oxford and first became known for lyrical, melancholic poems such as ‘Dover Beach', ‘The Scholar-Gipsy', and ‘Thyrsis', that explore the loss of faith in the modern world. Appointed an inspector of schools, he travelled widely and developed strong views on culture, education, and society. His critical essays, especially Culture and Anarchy, shaped debates about the role of culture in public life. Arnold remains a central figure bridging Romanticism and early modern thought. A Mouthful of Air – the podcast This is a transcript of an episode of A Mouthful of Air – a poetry podcast hosted by Mark McGuinness. New episodes are released every other Tuesday. You can hear every episode of the podcast via Apple, Spotify, Google Podcasts or your favourite app. You can have a full transcript of every new episode sent to you via email. The music and soundscapes for the show are created by Javier Weyler. Sound production is by Breaking Waves and visual identity by Irene Hoffman. A Mouthful of Air is produced by The 21st Century Creative, with support from Arts Council England via a National Lottery Project Grant. Listen to the show You can listen and subscribe to A Mouthful of Air on all the main podcast platforms Related Episodes Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold Episode 87 Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold Mark McGuinness reads and discusses ‘Dover Beach' by Matthew Arnold.Poet Matthew ArnoldReading and commentary by Mark McGuinnessDover Beach By Matthew Arnold The sea is calm tonight.The tide is full, the moon lies... Recalling Brigid by Orna Ross Orna Ross reads and discusses ‘Recalling Brigid’ from Poet Town. 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A Holiday Haunting: Part 1 Jack returns home and reconnects with his old ghost crush. Based on a post by zeon 67. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels. Oh. Shit! She's back. Jack had to drop everything and run to the living room; he needed to see her again. His coffee mug shattering against the kitchen floor meant little to him. Jack followed her out of the room, stumbling into the den and crashed into a chair. Any pain that he felt was instantly ignored; he just had to see her face. But she phased through the bookcase, leaving him disappointed. Ten years. It had been ten years since Jack had last seen Erin. Just a brief peek of her ghostly form, and Jack was a teenager again. The first time he met Erin, he was thirteen. Jack's parents had dragged the family from Boston to live in a stock horror mansion outside Portland, Maine. He hated everything about it, feeling depressed, isolated from his old life. Then he saw her. She appeared late one night as Jack attempted to fall asleep. His eyes widened as this woman floated in front of his bed. She wore a bulky, dark shirt with a lighter collar, a long apron over a skirt that reached her ankles and sensible shoes. Pale skin and white hair held up in a professional bun. She stood translucent and hovered a foot off the ground. Jack was freaking out, shaking under the covers and trying to release a scream. But watching her body float, her head crooked to the side with a curious smile, Jack felt an eerie calm. He sat up in his bed and examined her further. She was beautiful, an oval face with dimples, full lips, and wide, expressive eyes. He tried to guess her age, but it was impossible due to her intangible form. "Hello;" Jack said. His voice was hoarse and unconvincing. She smiled again at him before disappearing. "Fuck." Jack immediately fainted. He awoke late in the morning, still shaken. Jack ran down to his family, yelling at them in the kitchen at what he had just seen. His parents responded with blank looks. His sisters both snickered, cracking jokes about Jack's nighttime activities, and how it must have affected his brain. But as he continued, the jokes stopped, and soon Jack had weekly sessions with Dr. Miller. It was like a month until he saw her again. Jack was alone in the house and found Erin standing in between his bed. He screamed this time, but Erin just replied with a smile. She looked amused by his actions. She disappeared, and Jack had to wait another month before catching her on the stairs. But he had a plan, knowing what he should do the next time he ever saw her again. "Jack!" His mother yelled from upstairs. "What Happened!" Jack rolled his eyes. "It's nothing. I dropped my mug." He shouted back up, praying that his parents won't come down. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving, and Jack had returned home early, hoping just to relax and forget about Laura. Retreating into the kitchen, he ignored the mess he'd left behind. He wasn't that heartbroken about the end of the relationship; he just needed to get out of Boston for a while. Jack filled up a glass of water and took a couple of gulps, trying to steady himself. The plan was to drink, eat loads and watch football. But now, Jack was instantly consumed by the need to see Erin again.   Erin's Further Revelations. Jack rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He guessed that it was probably two in the morning. He should be asleep, but restless energy had overpowered him, just like when he was a teenager. The weeks after her second appearance, Jack woke early in the morning and saw Erin staring out of the window. She turned to him and then disappeared. Every couple of weeks, he would see Erin around the house, mostly in his room, but always when he was alone. Whenever Jack saw her, Erin would disappear, fade into nothing in front of him. After a dozen or so appearances, Erin and Jack got used to seeing each other over the year. He would see her, and they would exchange brief smiles before would Erin dissolve. Jack got used to finding her in random places, occasionally pretending that she was never there when Erin materialized during family dinners. Though she mostly appeared in his room. He was also sure that he was the only one who could see her, which developed a special bond as he aged. It was just a shame they couldn't talk to each other. Whatever break in the dimensions that brought her here didn't allow them to speak or hear one another. Over the years, Jack and Erin relied on non-verbal communication, making up their own sign language while also writing out words on paper. Jack's parents were weirded out one Christmas when he asked for a dry erase board. He would come home from school and rush to his room, wondering if that day was the day she would appear. If he found her there, Jack would tell her about his day, what had changed since they last spoke, and random thoughts in his head. She would eagerly listen to him and try to respond in her own way. She had become this nonjudgmental friend that he could bounce off from as he dealt with his new surroundings and the horror of puberty. It took two years for Jack to know Erin's name. They were together in his room; the house was empty apart from them. It felt that Erin had trained herself to emerge only when he was alone. Jack sat on his bed, talking to Erin. For the hundredth time, he had asked her name. She led him to the bathroom and pointed to the faucet. Running the hot water, he saw Erin smile as the bathroom mirror started to fog up. She clenched her jaw and pressed a finger up against the glass. Erin's face strained as her form became clearer as she wrote 'ERIN' in the mirror. The smile on Jack's face then quickly vanished as Erin faded into nothing. He wouldn't see her for another two months. Jack rolled onto his stomach, feeling his cock throb against his leg. Without any prompting, his mind cast back when he turned 18, and Erin gave him a special present. It was one of the few times that Erin appeared, when there were other people in the house. He was half-asleep, playing on his PlayStation when she materialized. Jack shuffled back and collapsed on the bed. There was something off about her that night, her body was trembling, and her face was stone-like. With great energy, her lips curled into a smile, and there was a flash. The clothing that Jack had always seen her in the last five years had disappeared into nothing, leaving her naked. A loud guttural groan escaped Jack's mouth; it was the first time he had seen a naked woman. Her body was slim, graceful, like a dancer, and perfect. He stared at her small but firm tits; Jack assumed they were B-cups and wished he could have his hands over them. Her skin then began to change, turning from a clear white to a fair skin tone. He noticed rusty-colored freckles dot around her angular nose framed by long reddish-brown hair. Then two bright green eyes stared back, overwhelming him. "Fuck," Jack whispered. His mouth dry, his stomach twisted into knots, and all the blood drained into his penis. He was in love or lust; it was all the same back then to him. Jack rolled off the bed and waddled to the bathroom, holding out the used tissue as far away from him as if it was toxic. He was only exposed to her for a few moments before she vanished. Still, Erin's naked form had been seared entirely in his brain, giving him special comfort during lonely nights. Dumping the balled-up tissue in the toilet, he started washing his hands. The general feeling of self-disgust hit him, but this time with more power. He was fantasizing about a long-dead woman. It's not right. He crawled back into his bed and reached for his laptop. Opening the browser, Jack thought to himself for a moment before going to incognito mode. He might need some privacy should anyone have a look at his search history. In the search bar, he typed 'Medium Psychic, And Portland, Maine.'   Ophelia's Services. The doorbell rang, and Jack quickly set down his coffee and rushed to the door. He briefly checked himself out in the hallway mirror; he looked normal. Jack wanted to make sure that he pulled that off, a navy oxford shirt, black jeans, and white sneakers, that all screamed normal to him. Jack then mentally thought about what he was going to say to the medium. It wasn't like he had a lot of experience in this. He could tell her about Erin, maybe use her name. Also, he could say where she usually appears and does. Probably shouldn't mention Erin getting naked as some kind of birthday present. He then wished that the medium agreed a later time just so he could rationalize having a drink. During Thanksgiving dinner, Jack told his family that he wanted to stay in Maine for a while, maybe until after Christmas. He had exaggerated the effects that the disintegration of his relationship with Laura had on him. It was a blatant lie; his parents knew it, his sisters didn't care, but no one really questioned it. He prayed that none of them would ever find out that he booked a medium. This Ophelia from Portland, Jack didn't know what he wanted from her. From movies, he had been told that ghosts that roam around usually have unfinished business. If somehow the medium was legit and could talk to Erin, he didn't know if it would be best if Erin moved on. Opening the door, a young woman stood, waiting impatiently. Their eyes met, and Jack was stunned to find his assumptions shattered. He was expecting a woman in her fifties, heavy makeup, and lots of necklaces, someone like that Long Island psychic. Instead, a woman stood in front of him who looked like she was in her twenties, with blonde wavy hair and a curvy figure. She gave an impression of an Instagram influencer with tight high-waisted jeans, a simple tee, and a suede jacket. "Jack Taylor?" she said, pinching her mouth shut and curving her lips upward. "Ophelia?" Jack arched an eyebrow without thinking. She nodded and walked past him, taking in the house. A Victorian-style mansion, built in the 1860s, with five bedrooms, a parlor, a giant fireplace that could fit a body, a near-constant fog-covered backyard, and a bloody-red painted door. She looked unimpressed. Ophelia raised her hands and fluttered her fingers, doing a sort of jazz hands while slowly spinning. Jack had no idea what he was supposed to be feeling, but she's young and hot. Was this a con? Did he want it to be one? "Do you want anything to drink?" Jack asked, trying to get a read of the situation. He then glanced at the clock. His parents should be home in a couple of hours; he had time. "I'm fine." She replied, flashing another smile. "Should we deal with the money first?" Taken back, he slowly reached for his wallet and pulled $150 in cash. He looked at the money and felt grateful that he would only pay an extra fifty if the reading exceeded the hour. Handing her the folded bills, Jack felt a breeze. Then the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Erin. He had been sensing her a lot, recently. "Nice house. Really Stephen King-like." Ophelia gave another forced smile. "Can you give me a tour?" Jack nodded and he took her to the home office, explaining what he had seen the other day. Ophelia took a quick photo and hummed; she felt nothing. Jack then led her around the house, describing where he had seen Erin and what she would do. Ophelia stayed quiet for most of the tour, her phone in her hand, occasionally checking it. He then explained his relationship with Erin. Jack recounted every meeting he had with her, including how he found out her name. When Jack said that he was the only one in the house that had ever seen Erin, he noticed a quick change in Ophelia's face. She definitely assumed that he's psychotic. As they climbed the stairs to Jack's bedroom, Ophelia suddenly became talkative. She put away her phone and asked several questions at rapid-fire speed. "So, who previously owned the house before you moved in? Erin, do you know her last name? Where she's from? Was she born here? Has anyone called Erin lived in the house before?" Jack knew nothing. He had known Erin for ten years and yet knew nothing about her. The house must have been her home or where she worked. He now knew what he had to find out, but Jack had no idea how he would research such things. Speak to a local historian, maybe? He should go to the library tomorrow. They entered his bedroom, a familiar feeling of cold hit his body again. Jack eyed the psychic; there was no change in her body language. Maybe she's a fake. Ophelia wandered around the room, doing the jazz hands again and calling Erin's name. His eyes narrowed on her chest, then to her slim waist, and then to her tight ass; she looked cute. It had been some time since Jack had anything close to sex. It ended with Laura over two months ago, and since then, a brunette ghost was the only thing he had to female company. Ophelia reached in her jeans and pulled out a velvet pouch. Opening it up, a nub of chalk fell into her palm. She then bent down and drew a circle just in front of Jack's bed. The circle was about three feet wide. Ophelia then drew four smaller circles inside the ring, north, east, south, and west. Jack watched her place crystals in each circle, wondering if he would be able to clean the chalk off his floor. "What are you going to do?" Jack asked, trying not to stare at the medium's ass. "I am going to summon Erin. I am going to see if we can talk to her and find out her unfinished business." "What would her unfinished business be?" "It could be anything," Ophelia said, looking around the room. "Some want revenge, especially if they were like murdered. Others are looking for missing rings, lockets or whatever. With my help, Erin could be able to move on." Jack nodded. She was right. It was fun seeing her again, he missed talking to her, but there had to be some conclusion for Erin. After Christmas, he will be back in Boston. Maybe it was best that she moved on, got closure from this world. The psychic then took off her boots and stood inside the circle. Kneeling, Ophelia raised her arms, praying to the ceiling. "Erin; Erin; Erin;" she chanted, raising her head, "Speak to us. Speak; Erin, come to us; come to Jack and me." She sang Erin's name a couple of times with no change in her composure. "Yes, Erin, I hear you. How can we help you?" Ophelia said, lacking any emotion. "How can we help you move?" Ophelia then went silent and very still. Her back was arched, and her head pointed up. Leaning in, Jack realized that her chest wasn't moving anymore; was she even breathing? Beads of sweat flowed down her face as the rest of the body began to tremble. Something was wrong. Ophelia then shuddered and Jack could see the color disappear from her face. She then slowly stood up. Looking at Jack, she gave him a warm smile. "Jack!" Ophelia then said, emphasizing the wrong parts of the name. Jack walked around and stood in front of her. Her body language was weird, not so closed off as it was before. Her eyes then focused on her left hand, marveling how far it was extended. The tips of her fingers then ran down Jack's chest. The broad grin on Ophelia's face got even wider as she felt him up. "It is me, Jack; Erin." Ophelia grinned. "No." Jack shook his head and took a step back. This had to be some weird psychic con. Was Ophelia going to sleep with him? "Ophelia, I think you should get out." "I am Erin." She closed the distance and reached for his hand. "I can prove it. You told me everything and I listened. Once you were overly excited in your classroom by a teacher. You frequently enjoy lobster rolls. And once I removed my clothing for you on your birthday." Jack whimpered, trying to collect his thoughts. Before he called Ophelia, he had read up on cold reading, but she knew things that he had never shared with anyone. Jack hit his bed frame and toppled over, hitting the mattress. He tried to compute what was going on, justify Ophelia's insider knowledge of him. But then the blonde climbed up on the bed, her body floating as she straddled him. This was real. "Jack; I missed you." Ophelia or Erin then leaned in and kissed him forcibly. Quickly sneaking her tongue into his mouth while she rubbed her body against his. Moaning as his tongue dueled, Jack was lost in a world of teenage lust. He had dreams about this, spent countless hours awkwardly pleasuring himself to the fantasy of having sex with Erin. But as he opened his eyes and remembered the blonde hair that flowed above him, this wasn't Erin. Maybe in spirit, but not in body. He pulled his face away and sighed. "Erin; no." Jack said, trying to push the possessed medium off him. "Not like this." "What?" Ophelia screamed. She shot back up and glared at him. Her eyes became demonic and bloodshot. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, breaking his skin. She began to shake and wail. "No; No; No!" "Erin; Erin!" Jack tried to get her attention. He reached up and gently touched her face. "I just want to talk to you. Please leave Ophelia." Ophelia's face contorted into a smile. Jack could tell that something was pushing back against Erin. Maybe it was the medium's spirit wanting to regain her body. She thrashed around on top of him, going from sweating to shivering to back to sweating again. Jack snuck out of her convulsing frame and watched with concern. The medium then slammed into the mattress, bounced high up in the air, and then back down. Jack watched her breathe slowly and rolled onto her back. She looked confused and tired. "What the fuck happened?" Ophelia asked as she sat up, her frazzled hair covering her face.   Researching the Franklins. Jack ended the call and rubbed his eyes. The pains of working remotely, struggling to stay productive while also being forced to over communicate just so he won't be called a slacker was too much. The only good thing about his job was that he could move back to Maine and still collect a paycheck. But yet, he hated taking calls from his bosses when it's technically his day off. He knew he shouldn't be cursing his luck. Last night, his parents gave him some excellent news. They needed to go to Springfield and help out Jack's aunt with something. Jack wasn't listening, just focusing on the part when his mom said that they will not be returning until Christmas Eve. Yes, it meant that Jack would have to prepare the house for the holidays, put up the tree, buy the food and sort out the presents. But it also meant that he would be alone in the house; he could plan and try to talk to Erin. Maybe even help her. Finishing his latte, Jack looked up the address for the library and the closing time. Since Ophelia's possession, Jack hadn't sensed Erin's presence. It was worrying. He tried to focus on absorbing as much information about the house. Jack learned that the house was built in 1860 for the Franklins. For more information, he had to drive into the city. As he walked into the library, his heart was thumping in his chest and sweat coated his forehead. Why was he so nervous? Yeah, he had created this pubescent fantasy, and Jack wasn't sure how he would react if that was cracked. What if Erin was an awful person; her death could have been just, and that she was using him. But he still had to find out. Jack sat down at the computer and entered his address and the Franklins in the search bar. Skimming through the records, he got a brief understanding of the family that built his home. Jedidiah Franklin was a local lender who had moved from Boston to Maine due to some unpleasantness. He was followed by his wife, Alice and their two children, Robert and Emma. Franklins lived a dull and typical life and died in the 1900s. "Nothing about Erin," He went through local newspapers and again found nothing odd. Going through the search results, Jack quickly realized that he had been wasting his time, and it was pointless. By the time he reached the fourteenth page, he was about to leave. But instead, he clicked on the link about a stagecoach accident involving the Franklins. Jedidiah, Alice, Robert, and their maid were returning late one night. Their stagecoach collided with a rock, and the maid was thrown out. She died instantly. The article gave the maid's name as Erin O'Ceallachain. Letting out a loud sigh and rubbing his face, Jack then searched for Erin O'Ceallachain. There was little about her. A short obituary that stated she was born somewhere in Ireland and died in 1898. She had been a maid for the Franklins for close to a year. There were no descriptions of her or any clues of her past. Jack leaned back and stared at the screen. It could be her. He had checked; there were no other women called Erin that lived in the house. This could be her. But, if she died on the road, then why was she haunting his home. The loud sound of his phone vibrating against the desk pulled him out of his thoughts. Jack saw that he got a text from Ophelia. She really wanted to speak to him. Ignoring her, Jack continued his deep-dive on the Franklins, trying to find anything. Even a morsel of information about the family would help. After another hour of research, he ended up on the website of an antique bookstore in Bangor. They had Alice Franklin's diary and it was for sale.   Tomes of Inquiry. Two days later, Jack sat in the home office and stared at the five-hundred-dollar book. It was too much; he should have tried to haggle them down. Jack wasn't even sure if the diary would be useful; it could be another Alice Franklin or just a list of mundane observations. Jack finished another beer and opened the diary. His hands were trembling with every turn of the page. Either he was nervous or just drunk, he couldn't tell. The pages were filled with fine late-twentieth-century cursive writing that was hard to read. Jack slowly read out each entry, making out every second word. The diary covered the time Erin had already started working for the Franklins to her death if it was the same Alice Franklin. He skimmed through the journal until stopping at an entry made on January 28th, 1898, where Alice mentioned hiring a new maid called Erin. March Twenty-first, Eighteen Ninety-eight ;  I saw Robert engaged young Erin in the library. How I wish we do not have the same story as in Boston. August Fourteenth, Eighteen Ninety-eight ;  That green-eyed temptress was with my son again. The Roman whore has plans for him. Jedidiah sees nothing. He pushes his son. Then reacts in fury when Robert is in strife. November Sixth, Eighteen Ninety-eight;  Constable Standish and his ghastly son shared supper with us. He has eyes for Emma. A boor. My darling daughter would never fall that low. Robert is forlorn. I see his glances at young Erin. When I call for her, the freckled-face jezebel smiles innocently. Jedidiah will end her services in the new year. Jack paused from reading, and tried to make sense. Green eyes. Freckles. It had to be Erin. Jack skipped ahead a couple of weeks, getting closer to the time when Erin died. December Twentieth, Eighteen Ninety-eight ;  The Irish whore created a scene. Late in the evening, we found her under the influence. She screamed for Robert. She said she is with child. He is the father. She wants to be wed. That boy has ruined us. December Twenty-first, Eighteen Ninety-eight ;  A clear-headed Erin spoke to us in the morning. She lies that she is not with child. The Catholic loves Robert, or it seems. Jedidiah and I agree to end her service. We will send her to Bangor tonight. It is clear to us. December Twenty-ninth, Eighteen Ninety-eight ;  My heart is gone. Losing Emma is a great blow. They are to be wed in the next Spring. My son now lives in Boston. I pray his temperament is strong. Erin is gone, a life stopped by a stagecoach. Now I have an empty house. A lost daughter and a dead maid. Jack closed the diary and ran upstairs to his bedroom to grab his notepad, then came back down again. He needs to do more cardio. The two flights of stairs had destroyed him. He knew he had seen the name Standish somewhere. There at the family tree. After Erin's death, Emma married Nathanial Standish, son of the town constable. It made sense now; the Franklins murdered Erin and used the constable to help make it look like an accident. In return, they married Emma to his son to keep his silence. He knew what happened to Erin, but Jack wondered how he could help her. But; like what Ophelia said before, does he want her to move on to the next stage. It probably would be best for everyone. But if he could talk to her and discover her unfinished business, how could he help her. What if it meant getting vengeance on those that murdered her? What if it was on Franklin's living ancestors? The sound of the doorbell ringing jolted Jack from the thoughts of homicidal spirits. He checked his phone; it was nearly ten. Finishing another beer, Jack left the den and shuffled to the front door. He prayed that it wasn't his parents, that their stay in Massachusetts ended early, and now they wanted to talk about his future. "Ophelia?" Jack asked, opening the door.   Ophelia's Admissions. She stood there in the light rain, looking like another person. Far removed from the bored, unimpressed medium he saw days ago. She looked nervous, worried, but still attractive to Jack's eyes. The skirt she had on gave him a good view of her slender legs and made Jack think. Again, it had been two months since he last had sex, and he was now feeling it. "Hi," she said, barely audible. "Can I come in?" Jack nodded and let her pass. He tried not to look at her like that anymore; he needed to stay focused on Erin. "Look, I'm going to be honest with you. I'm a fake-ish. I go to people's houses and pretend that I feel something. I do a bit of cold reading, call out the spirits and then lie that they're talking back to me." Ophelia admitted. She paced back and forth as she spoke, nervousness flowing out from her. "Oh," Jack said, looking away. He didn't know what else he was supposed to say. "So, what are you doing here?" "Also, my name isn't Ophelia, it's Lucy. I felt Ophelia looked better on the website. Make it look real." She nervously smiled. "Why are you telling me this?" "Because;" she stepped forward, "what happened that day was real. I felt it, I really did." "Yeah?" Jack noticed that she was holding on to his hand like she was pleading with him. "I used to hear voices. I thought I was going crazy, but then I found out that I was hearing the dead; and I could talk to them. But I don't know, a mix of vodka, and my own cynicism; the spirits don't want to talk to me anymore. I want to feel like that again. I want to help you." Jack paused. Again, not knowing what to say. He felt that she could still be conning him, that she was going to ask for money. He still wasn't a hundred percent sure that Ophelia or Lucy was genuinely possessed by Erin. Then again, they could have had sex, which would be a weird move to pull when conning someone. Jack needed alcohol. "Do you want anything to drink?" He asked. "Please." Lucy nodded. Jack returned from the kitchen with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. It was the only alcoholic thing left in the house. After completely filling up both glasses on Lucy's request, he grabbed the diary and his notes, and they settled in the living room. He observed the psychic read the journal, his thoughts becoming more and more concerned about her looks. She had removed her thick coat, revealing a slinky tank top that gave him a glimpse of her bra. "So, you think Erin had sex with Robert Franklin; may have gotten pregnant; and the Franklins decide to murder her, to prevent a scandal?" "Yeah," Jack said, leaning in. There were both sitting on the sofa, awkwardly close together. "I don't know much or really anything about hauntings. But I only see Erin here. She must have been murdered here, and they faked the accident." "Erin being an Irish maid, the family are rich, and you got a friendly cop who is willing to help, if he gets a favor, that's a straightforward cover-up." Lucy smiled, patting Jack on the knee. "There is something we can do. I know people in the psychic and magic world. There's one girl who told me about this ritual-like thing. It's like a s ance on steroids. We can make her appear and we can talk to her. Then we can help her." "What's the catch? There is always a catch." "Not really. The s ance is a bit complicated and there is a shopping list, also it will be for a couple of hours only." "Sounds like a plan," Jack replied, raising a glass. They quickly finished their wine and poured some more.  Lucy asked him about his family and if they ever believed him. He told her about Dr. Miller, and how his dad would make the occasional jokes. When asked about their absence, Jack explained, and without realizing, underscoring that he had the whole house to himself. Jack then turned the attention on her, quizzing Lucy what happened when she first talked to a ghost; and what was the weirdest shit she had seen. As Lucy went through her backstory. Jack started picking up subtle clues about her. She was touching him more and getting close as she talked about hearing spirits when she turned thirteen. He tried to guess if Lucy was flirting with him, or was this some alcohol-induced delusion. After she finished her story about being asked to communicate with a woman's dead cat, they realized they were out of wine. Jack asked and quickly got another bottle on Lucy's insistence. "So, about you and Erin." She said, playing with the stem of her wine glass. "You were the only one to see her?  What relationship did you guys have?" "Like a friendship. Growing up; Erin was like my confidante. I would talk to her about every insane thought that was going through my head that day. I didn't know if she could hear me or not. It was comforting. I miss it. Guess that's why I'm here." "That's sweet." Lucy ran her hand down his thigh. "Sometimes I have some weird creeps that want to speak to their old teenage crushes, like teachers or neighbors that they used to jerk off to. It's nice to have a guy who just wants to reconnect to an old friend." Jack groaned. Looking at Lucy, his mind was made up, and he was sure that she was flirting with him. He should tell her the truth and see how she takes it. "I should tell you this. I have seen her naked." "Really?" Her eyes widened. "Yeah. On my 18th birthday, Erin appeared in my room and then flash, she's nude. She stood there for like a couple of seconds and poof, gone." Jack smiled, "That was the last time I saw her." "That's some present. Making me jealous." Lucy whispered, holding her gaze. "Really?" Jack said, leaning in. Lucy looked up at him, her tongue running over her pink lips. She craned her head forward and pressed her lips against his, her hand on the back of Jack's head, pulling him into her. Both were still holding their wine glasses, and Jack awkwardly pushed his mouth down on hers. Lucy's tongue shot out of her mouth and instantly snaked into his. They both softly moaned as Jack guided her body down on the sofa, nearly spilling her wine. She then suddenly stopped her tongue movements and pulled back. "Hold on, Ghostbuster." Lucy smirked, as she pushed Jack back upright. Taking the wine from his hands, she placed both glasses on the coffee table. With a shit-eating grin, Lucy grabbed Jack and resumed her mouth attack. Jack ran his hands down from her sides to her ass, pulling her on top of his lap. Lucy reached down and pressed her palm on Jack's bulge. She moaned into his mouth, sounding like she appreciated his size. She pulled her lips away, her attention now just all on his cock. Lucy fondled the turgid shaft through his pants, prompting it to throb in her hands. Jack leaned his head and slowly kissed down her neck, feeling her tremble in his arms. "Yes," Lucy said, closing her eyes and grinning. With a single-minded focus, Lucy unbuckled his jeans and yanked out his erect cock. Jack grunted, stunned by the blonde's eagerness. No other girl he had ever been with, was like this. They kept eye-contact as Lucy softly grasped his warm rigid shaft. Their lips met again while she stroked his cock, smearing her fingers with his oozing precum. While their tongues dueled again, Lucy's hand became a blur over his cock. They broke their kiss again, and Lucy lowered her head down, kissing his deep reddened tip. He watched in unbearable anticipation as she opened her mouth, but then instead of engulfing him, Lucy looked up and smirked. "Yeah, I'm bit of a slut," she said. "Just a bit? Jack grinned. "Okay, I'm a deeply deprived slut." She chuckled. Her very pink tongue then slid out of her mouth, and she licked up of his oozing fluid. Lucy took a moment to taste his precum, loudly humming and smiling at him. She then parted her lips and engulfed the bulging head in her wet mouth, firmly constricting, once his glans ridge was encased. Her tongue rubbed his frenulum, just under the tip.  She bobbed her head up and down, her firm round tits jiggling freely on his thighs, as she mouth-fucked him. "Oh; Fuck!" Jack grunted, taken by surprise by Lucy swallowing on more and more of his petrified cock. Lucy looked up and grinned at him again, before opening her mouth and engulfing him again. Her bright pink glossy lips slid up and down his shaft as she fucked him with her mouth. Then she sank til her nose rubbed his curly pubes, her teasing tongue gently caressed him as her throat muscle massaged his shaft, pushing his cock deeper. She hummed while she swallowed him, the hum of sucking filling the room. Her hands tightened their grip around his thighs as Lucy furiously pumped her lips up and down his cock. Once in a while, she would slowly pull his cock out, ever-so-gently running her teeth on the underside of his shaft while leaving huge trails of spit behind, then swallowing him again. It drove Jack mad in sexual bliss. She then wrapped her fingers firm around his meat again, lashing her tongue against his swollen cockhead, slurping up all the saliva and precum. Jack's balls were now sending messages to his brain, telling him that within seconds, he was going to cum; soon in big, bold letters. He also felt cold suddenly, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing. He ignored that and watched the medium jerk him off, kissing his head as she worked the shaft of his phallus. Lucy stuck her tongue out and swirled it around his cock tip. But then he saw a figure near the TV. "Erin?" He said. She was right there and looked like she was in tears. A mix of fear and guilt hit him, destroying his previous horniness. But he still came, shooting thick loads into Lucy's face, hitting her in the lips and cheeks. She released her grip, but more jets of cum landed on her face. She raised her head and looked at Jack, the muscles in her face tensed, and her jaw clenched. "What the fuck, man? Give me some warning!" "Erin?" Jack said again, staring at the spirit. "Erin?" Lucy repeated. Her expression turned into an instant glare. But she followed Jack's gaze and looked over her shoulder, finding that they weren't alone. "Oh Fuck!" "No!" Erin screamed, deafening their ears. Her face was scrunched up in murderous intent. She lurched forward, and a force of wind cleared the table, sweeping the diary and notebooks off the surface. Jack and Lucy were pushed back by Erin's invisible energy, hitting the back of the couch. Erin raised her hands, maybe to strike, but felt her power evaporating. She looked at Jack, tears rolling down her cheeks, and then disappeared. Holiday Trimmings. Jack opened his eyes minutes before the alarm. It was Saturday and around ten. He sat up in his bed, his head still woozy from last night's drinking. He couldn't sleep and figured whiskey would knock him out. Also, he wanted to block out Erin's screams from replaying in his head. That face. Her expression dripping with anger and hurt. How Erin tried to attack them. He needed to say sorry. Erin probably won't believe him, Jack knew. But he had to try. Then there was what Lucy said, finding comfort so Erin can crossover. He hated thinking about that but realized that he couldn't be selfish. It wasn't about him. Jack's phone buzzed; he had gotten a text from his dad. It just said, 'Tree!'. Jack groaned, but he slipped out of the covers and took a shower. After getting dressed, Jack forced himself to eat something. He couldn't feel her. Usually, in December, he would see Erin more often than the rest of the year. Knowing that it was coming up to the day when she died, he expected to feel her. Two hours later, and overspending on a fir tree, Jack pulled into the driveway, confused. Lucy sat in front of the door, waiting for him. With a scared look on her face, she raised her hand and gave him a forced smile. Was she looking for him or for Erin? Jack climbed out of the car and slowly approached the young blonde. He never thought how she would take it, seeing Erin like that. After Erin faded away, Jack sat in silence while Lucy grabbed her stuff and bolted out of the house. "Hey," Jack muttered. "So, I have been waiting here for an hour. I walked away twice. But I really need to know. What the fuck did I see last night?" "I don't know," Jack said, looking away from Lucy's glare. "I've never seen her like this. She has never been this scary before. "Until;" "Until what?" Lucy stood up and got close. "You need to tell me." Jack sighed. "When you first came to the house, you tried to talk to her, right? Do you remember what happened next?" Lucy shook her head. "She took over your body and err; kissed me. We nearly had sex. But I stopped her. Telling her that it was wrong," Jack said, " to use your body like that." He quickly added. "Erin started shaking and going all Linda Blair. Then you woke up." "She gets rejected. Then she sees us on the couch, doing you-know-what, and takes it like a cheated-on girlfriend. That explains all the throwing." "I never knew she could do that." Jack smiled. "Can I ask you something?" Lucy stared into Jack's eyes. Jack shrugged and nodded his head. "What are you two? Is she your ghost girlfriend? Are you in love with her? What? Does she know what you are to her?" "Like I said, yesterday. Erin is my friend. Maybe there's more. I don't know, because I don't put labels on relationships with ghosts. But if I can help her, I will help her. Are you still in?" "Fuck it, yeah." He looked around, seeing his neighbors staring at him and Lucy. "Let's go inside. Can you give me a hand?" He asked, pointing to the tree. Lucy groaned but nodded her head. After undoing the bungee cords and dragging the tree off the car roof, the two of them awkwardly hauled the ten-foot fir inside the house. With Lucy leading, they pulled the tree into the living room, where the blonde suddenly stopped.  Jack was about to open his mouth, but he saw Erin standing in the middle of the room, and he went quiet. Erin raised her hands to her face, covering her eyes. Her breathing short and quick. She was freaking out. Erin then dropped her hands, clenching her fists as she glared at them. Her form floated to them, but unlike last night, there was no rush of force. Erin's face dropped, shifting into a scared expression. Dropping the tree, Lucy ran to her. She raised her hands up with open palms facing the spirit. "I am sorry. I am here to help you." She said, out loud. Erin didn't react. "He wants to help you. He wants to talk to you." Lucy pleaded with the spirit. Again, Erin stayed motionless. Lucy paused and looked over her shoulder at Jack. She mouthed 'trust me' at him and turned back to the ghost. "You can take over my body and speak to him. He would love that." Erin frowned, then faded into nothing. Jack walked past Lucy, trying to sense Erin's presence. There was nothing. He glanced at the medium; she had gone stiff, just like before. Jack's eyes bulged, realizing what was happening. But it was different. There was no sweat, no change in color, or fear on her face. Lucy just let out a small pleasurable moan. "Erin?" "What?" The woman barked back at him. "I just want to tell you that I am sorry. It was a mistake." "Liar. I saw you," Erin said, with no emotion in a unique tone. "Ye enjoyed every moment with the bonnie lass. I do not wish to intrude in your relationship with that adventuress." Her voice slowly morphed from Lucy's Mid-Atlantic accent to a faint Irish brogue. Jack sighed; he knew he had to deal with this. A simple apology wasn't going to be enough. "I'm so sorry about that. It's just that for a long time, there was this small voice in the back of my mind, saying that you weren't real and I was having a psychotic episode. When you saw me and Lucy, it was just an extension of that. I doubt it will ever happen again. But I did all this research so I can help you." "Help me?" "Yeah. I want to help you deal with whatever unfinished business you have. Lucy as well. That's why she's here. So, please don't be angry with her." "Unfinished business?" the voice then went quiet. She leaned in and kissed Jack on the cheek. Lucy's body went limp and she nearly collapsed. Jack reached out and slid his arms under her. He yelled out 'Erin'; then 'Lucy'; but got no answer. He dragged the unconscious blonde to the sofa. Carefully setting her down, Jack then prodded her cheek, trying to wake her up. She groaned and opened her eyes. "So, what are we going to do?" Lucy said immediately. Business Gets Busy. Jack looked at his phone as he walked through the front door. It was another email from his bosses in Boston. He had way too many people questioning his work. Being a cloud support engineer, he should be focused on the job. But since talking to Lucy about the s ance, Jack had been doing the bare minimum, and people were noticing. He figured that after he got closure with Erin, he could move on. Dumping the sage and wormwood on the coffee table, he saw her. Erin had been appearing more and more. Jack could actually count the times that she wasn't haunting the house. But he didn't get why; it was never this frequent back before. And she wasn't just haunting if you could call it, Jack's room. He had found her in the living room, kitchen and even the bathroom. Right now, Erin was floating near the Christmas tree. It was completely bare, left alone as Jack focused on work and the s ance preparations. There was some judgment he felt he was getting from Erin, like she still hadn't forgiven. Jack needed to remediate that, though he didn't really know how to regain trust with a ghost. He hunted for the Christmas decorations, taking longer than he hoped. Jack was desperate not to call his parents and deal with an endless conversation about how things were going in Springfield. Losing an hour to find them, Jack started decorating the tree, hoping that this will help him get back on Erin's good side. She carefully observed him as he decorated the tree, coating it in tinsel, lights and baubles. It appeared okay to Jack, the colors matched, and the string lights were all working. But looking at Erin, he was sure he had done something wrong. She wasn't that impressed. Jack first thought that she was still pissed at him, but then something hit him. While he saw her a lot during December, it was never on Christmas. This could be her first experience of Christmas in over a hundred years. With that, Jack opened his laptop and googled '19th century Christmas trees'. Getting an idea of what Christmas looked like in Erin's time, Jack grabbed his keys and told her that he will be back soon. Two hours later, Jack returned, and Erin looked like she was happy to see him. That's a positive sign, Jack said to himself as he emptied out his shopping bags. He bounced around a couple of stores before finding them, candle-like tree lights. Using real candles was a fire waiting to happen. And Jack didn't want to explain to his parents that he burnt the house down to impress a ghost. He then pulled out a ready-made popcorn and cranberry garland he got from a pop-up Christmas store. Looking at Erin, she approved by smiling back at him. He then added tinsel and icicle-like ornaments with Erin guiding him, pointing which branch needed something or if it was too much. Taking a step back, Jack admired his work. It looked old fashioned but still good. Seeing that Erin was happy was enough for him. He grabbed a beer from the kitchen and toasted, "That's one good-looking tree," he said, smiling at Erin. She rolled her eyes at him but then disappeared. That was getting Jack scared, her fading away just as they were bonding. It didn't look voluntary, like Erin really wanted to go to her void. She had this horrified look whenever it happened. Jack would then find her somewhere else in the house, an hour or two later. This time it was in the kitchen. He opened and closed the refrigerator door and found her there. Taking a moment to recover, Jack went back to making himself dinner. Erin hovered around him, curious at what he was doing. Jack guessed that she must have been shocked, that not many men cooked back in her time. He was also making pork chow-mein, and Jack wasn't sure how widespread Chinese food was in the 19th century. His phone began to buzz, and it was Lucy. Jack could see Erin's face turn. "She's probably asking about you," Jack said, putting his phone on speaker, "Hey Lucy." "Hey," she replied, "I got some news. We have to move the date of the s ance to the 12th. There's a full moon and it will go well with Hecate." "Hecate?" "Don't worry about it. Have you seen Erin since the other day?" Lucy asked, "Well, she is right here," Jack grinned at Erin, "She's in the room with me." "Whoa," she said, "How's that going? Wait shit, can she hear me?" Erin nodded. "Yeah." "Fuck. I mean shit. I mean I'm sorry," Lucy said, sounding like she was getting out of breath, "Anyway, I also need you to get some bundles of ash to burn. And candles, preferably black." "What is actually going to happen during the s ance?" "Hopefully, we can summon Erin properly and you guys can talk. Then maybe work out why is she here and if we can help her, somehow." Jack looked at Erin again. Her eyes were elsewhere. Jack started to doubt himself; was this something that she wanted him to do. "I will talk to you later, Lucy," Jack said, ending the call. Looking up from his phone, he saw that Erin had disappeared again. If the s ance actually works, Jack needed to ask where she goes whenever she vanishes. It didn't feel like a good place for her. Opening another beer, Jack sat down to eat and tried not to think about Erin. It was really hard. She still looked so sexy, and Jack was back replaying his eighteenth birthday present. Jack admitted to himself that with Erin randomly appearing in the house, he was feeling pent up.   Redhead Videos. It was close to two in the morning when Jack knew what he had to do. He had been rolling around his bed, got up twice and tried to dull his brain by checking the news on his phone. He still couldn't sleep. The only prescription that always worked for him was either whiskey or porn. As he couldn't be bothered to go all the way downstairs, Jack powered on his laptop and went straight to Porn. Jack checked out the video thumbnails, hovering over them as he tried to decide what he was in the mood for. Sometimes, he'd be craving blondes with double D-cups, getting plowed by massive cocks. Other times, it would be two lesbians slowly seducing each other. Milfs would be a good choice, but Jack felt that the algorithm would always then suggest stepmom porn, which he wasn't in to. He searched for amateur porn with Eastern Europeans, preferring their slender body shapes and lack of bad boob jobs. Jack sat up in his bed and pulled down his shorts, slowly stroking his cock to full, rigid life. He skipped the initial setup and forwarded it to the redhead pulling the guy's dick out. She grinned at the camera then kissed the man's purple head. Her tongue swirled around the tip before she quickly swallowed the man's cock. Jack shifted his weight as the redhead stripped off her top, revealing her decent-size tits. As the action turned to straight fucking with the twenty-something waitress bent over a park bench, Jack pumped his cock. He imagined himself there, in Prague, having hot, passionate sex in public. But then he felt cold. Looking up, there she was. Erin just appeared by the wall. She was confused and pressed the back of her head. It looked as if someone had just woken up, but in a different room than they were in before. She rolled her head around before stopping, and stared at Jack, her mouth agaip. He was illuminated by his laptop, so he knew that she could see what he was doing to himself. "Oh, fuck," Jack groaned, but he didn't stop stroking his cock. He thought she would float away, or scream, or do something, but Erin just stood there and watched. She even moved closer, standing at the edge of the bed. Her eyes focusing on his throbbing cock. Jack's heart was thumping as he frantically stroked his cock. His eyes darted back and forth from Erin to his laptop; the redhead had been replaced by a different model. She said that her name is Petra and is a med student, but what really turned Jack on was how Petra resembled Erin. Reddish-brown hair, slim body with perky tits, though she had tattoos and pierced nipples. His eyes bounced from Petra being fucked in a stall, to Erin's eager look. It was getting too much for him. His imagination then brought him to Prague again, but with Erin this time. He fucked her from behind, his cock pumping her hot, wet pussy, cupping her tits and making Erin groan in deep pleasure. Jack's balls were aching, then suddenly stopped, and he intensely climaxed. His tip exploded, and shot after shot of cum raced from his cock. Jack struggled to catch all his flying cum with a tissue. After cleaning himself, Jack and Erin exchanged looks. She was embarrassed, he could tell, staring at the ground and doing her most not to make eye contact. He wanted to say something, but Erin left the room. She didn't fade through the wall or vanish into anything, just walked away slowly. Jack then instantly fell asleep, not knowing what else to do.   A S ance. Jack opened the door, letting Lucy in. It was half two in the morning, and he was getting scared. A small sliver of thought wondered if she would let him down, or at least ask for $500 to proceed. For the s ance, Lucy had gone all gothic, wearing a black velvet dress and knee-high boots, also in black. She was carrying a large tote bag. There was panic in her eyes. She apologized for her lateness, saying that it took a while to get a cab. Jack was instructed by her, to get bundles of sage and wormwood for burning, plus ash. Lucy herself handled the weirder and harder to find items. She pulled out a knife that she called an athame, a ceremonial dagger Jack guessed. She also had a black bowl that she said is a water scry. It was going to help them talk to Erin. Jack led her to the kitchen and they quickly got ready. While she cut the sage and wormwood with the athame, speaking in Latin, Jack got the idea that this wasn't a con. It was real for her. That gave him hope. "So, where should we do this?" Jack asked, taking a steel bucket that she had handed him. "Your room." Lucy said, pulling more stuff out of her bag. "I've been thinking. You said you're the only one who saw her. And you normally see her in your bedroom, right? I think that's where she was murdered. By you sleeping there, a psychic link was created between you and Erin." Jack nodded. It made sense. They went to his bedroom; and with Lucy's help, he pushed his bed and everything else to one side, giving them space for the ritual. As they're going to make a fire, he opened the windows. Jack looked at the smoke alarms; if they go off, will his parents get an alert? Lucy got down on her knees and drew another circle on the floor, this time, a simple one without any other symbols. Jack lit the candles, twenty-four of them and placed them around the circle. Following her instructions, he then sat the bucket in the middle of the ring and lit the fire. Lucy took command of his bedside table and placed the porcelain bowl on top of it. She filled it with water from a special-looking bottle and dropped a crystal in it. "Take this and put it in the fire. Also, say her name in your head." Lucy said, handing him the sage and wormwood. Jack nodded and shuffled to the fire, trying not to drop the herbs. 'Erin, Erin, Erin,' he chanted in his head. He threw the herbs into the fire and was immediately overwhelmed by the aroma. It tasted sickly sweet, unnatural like. He then retreated behind Lucy; she was kneeling on the floor and speaking into the bowl. It sounded like Latin; Jack could make out the occasional word. She was calling out for Erin. The fire grew larger and smoke billowed from the bucket, looking like a volcano erupting. The smoke turned black, then blue and finally into grey. Jack took a step forward, in a trance, his mouth wide open and his hands trembling. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Lucy with her eyes clenched shut and was now calling Erin's name. Her fingers dug into the table and she frantically said 'Erin' over and over. He saw the smoke begin to clear and a body appeared above the fire. Jack gasped. Erin! She looked stunned, her hand covering her face. He opened his mouth but couldn't say a word, shocked. Color poured into her clothing, turning the transparent household dress into black. Her skin returned to its ivory color, while her hair became reddish-brown just as he saw ten years ago. Lucy had stopped chanting; she also was staring at Erin. She looked shocked, maybe a little scared. Lucy stood up and slowly shuffled towards Jack, resting a hand on his shoulder; but she kept her distance from Erin, using Jack as a possible human shield. Erin was just as surprised as the two of them. She reached out her arm, amazed by it. This was real. Erin moved forward but awkwardly stumbled as if she missed a step going downstairs. She then took a couple of more steps and touched the floor, a new sensation for her. Taking a deep breath, Erin became dazed with the menthol-like odor of burning sage. Her eyes lit up and a smile beamed from her face; she could smell. She then turned her head, focusing on the two, who had resurrected her. Her clogs banged against the wooden floor as she walked to Lucy. The psychic was trembling in her presence. Lucy flinched as she touched her arm. "Thank ye," Erin whispered. She then leaned in, and kissed the surprised blonde. Lucy moaned, instantly enjoying the kiss. Jack watched on, shocked. He didn't know if he should be terrified or turned on. Lucy wrapped her hands around Erin's waist and pushed herself against the resurrected maid. Overwhelmed by a sudden desire, Lucy slid her tongue deep into Erin's mouth. She felt good, but so tired. Erin then released the medium and watched as Lucy collapsed onto the floor in a deep sleep. She turned to Jack and grinned. "Erin?" Jack asked. His hands were trembling and he felt that he was going to sink into the floor. This is it, right? This was what he wanted, but he had no idea how to respond. "Is it really you?" He eventually spat out. "Hi, Jack," Erin smiled. "Fuck;" Jack said. He reached out and touched her hand with his. Wasn't this just supposed to be a s ance? "I can't believe I can touch you." "Me too," Erin said. "How are you?" Jack asked in a deeply sincere tone. "Confused. It felt I was being called by an unknown force. Then it took me." "I'm sorry, but I really wanted to talk to you." "I understand. Oh, it feels good to be heard and to speak with my own voice." "I need to tell you something," Jack said, "The reason we're talking is because I wanted to help you. But I never asked if you actually needed my help." She went quiet, looking like she was thinking something over, in her head. "You said about unfinished business. Bu

The Burden of Escalation After Invasion: Colleague Elbridge Colby argues that if denial defense succeeds, the burden of escalation shifts to China, forcing it to choose between retreating or risking nuclear war; however, if defense fails, the coalition faces the daunting challenge of generating the political resolve necessary to counterattack and reverse a Chinese occupation. 1903 QING DYNASTY

Retreating into Fear and Ego, I Block the Flow of Infinity; Can You Open Yourself to the Stream of CreativityThis class, the first in a series on the discourse V'shavti B'sholom, published in Torah Or Vayeitze, said by the Alter Rebbe on Shabbos Parshas Vayeitzei, 11 Kislev, 5568 (1807), was presented by Rabbi YY Jacobson on Thursday, 7 Kislev, 5786, November 27, 2025, Parshas Vayetzei, at Bais Medrash Ohr Chaim in Monsey, NY.View Source Sheets: https://portal.theyeshiva.net/api/source-sheets/9816

250 Years Ago (October 1775) The Committee of Safety for New York ordered repairs to the barracks and hospital at Albany in preparation for the arrival of colonial troops. The royal governor in New York City, William Tryon, took refuge on a British warship, the HMS Duchess of Gordon, in the harbor. Fearing a British attack, the Continental Congress ordered all sulfur and brimstone supplies taken from Manhattan and stored farther up the Hudson River. 150 Years Ago (October 1875) Seward Archer at Breakneck Hollow was closing the woodhouse at the Baxter-Pelton place when he spotted movement in a small upper window. Thinking it was a chicken, he climbed a ladder and groped around the loft until he caught hold of a man's leg. "What are you doing here?" he yelled. Retreating down the ladder, he went to retrieve a gun. The intruder followed and ran off with Archer firing after him. The man shot back with a pistol, but only after he was at a safe distance. A government bond belonging to George Haight that had been stolen from the foundry safe was redeemed with the U.S. Treasury by a bank in London. A large dog belonging to William Birdsall, while inside Boyd's drugstore, mistook the plate glass in the upper part of the door for open air and jumped through it. He was startled but not injured. William Lobdell narrowly missed serious injury when he lost his grip on a butcher knife and the point struck the bone of the nose at the corner of his left eye. An intoxicated miner who loudly claimed at a local barber shop that his pocket had been picked found the money in his other pocket. After several Dutchess County farmers complained about missing sheep, two Germans who owned a slaughterhouse in Poughkeepsie informed police that two young men had been selling them mutton and promised to bring them a fat cow. One suspect gave his name as William Smith, but two men from Cold Spring who visited the jail said that, in fact, his name was Spellman and he was known in the village for his thievery. George Purdy of Cold Spring won top prizes at the annual Newburgh Bay Horticultural Society fair for his Isabella grapes, greengages and quinces. The New York Central and Hudson River Railroad banned newsboys from throwing books, newspapers, prize packages or circulars into the laps of passengers. A double-decked canal barge carrying $2,000 worth of coal [about $59,000 today] sank in 100 feet of water near West Point. The crew escaped on smaller boats. Two railroad detectives arrested H. Freeman, a German peddler well-known in Cold Spring, with a huge pack stuffed with ladies' corsets. He said Isaac Levi had paid him $2 [$59] to retrieve the pack after it was thrown from a freight train near Stony Point. After being jailed on $1,000 [$29,000] bond, Freeman retracted his confession, saying he had found the corsets by happenstance. During a search of the Levi home, one of Levi's sons swung a pitcher and hit a detective in the back of the neck. When William Smith caught a thief stuffing cabbages into a bag on the Undercliff estate, the culprit asked for leniency, then stood up, punched Smith in the face and ran. Two preachers from Poughkeepsie spoke from the vacant lot at the corner of Main and Stone streets to what The Cold Spring Recorder called a "small and changing audience" about the need for a national ban on liquor sales. 100 Years Ago (October 1925) James Nastasi covered a home on Pine Street occupied by grocer John Sackal with Elastic Magnesite Stucco, which its manufacturer claimed was weatherproof, fireproof and crackproof. E.L. Post & Son offered home demonstrations of the Hoover vacuum cleaner, available on an installment plan with $6.25 [$115] down. The Playhouse in Nelsonville was screening The Ten Commandments, directed by Cecil DeMille, and Circus Days, starring Jackie Coogan. A Columbus Day celebration at Loretto Hall included performances by soprano Rita Hamun of the Metropolitan Opera House and four rounds of sparring by boxer Joe Col...

THE TIM JONES AND CHRIS ARPS SHOW Matt Beienburg, Director of Education Policy at the Goldwater Institute | TOPIC: Taking a hard look at how Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion programs are reshaping—not retreating from—college campuses | The Goldwater Institute has launched a new six-episode podcast, Dismantling DEI, which explores the escalating threats to free speech in higher education, including how DEI policies adapt and survive even when the public thinks they’re fading.goldwaterinstitute.orgx.com/MBeienburg https://newstalkstl.com/ FOLLOW TIM - https://twitter.com/SpeakerTimJones FOLLOW CHRIS - https://twitter.com/chris_arps 24/7 LIVESTREAM - http://bit.ly/NEWSTALKSTLSTREAMS RUMBLE - https://rumble.com/NewsTalkSTL See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Prof. Glenn Diesen : Are Ukraine Troops Retreating?See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

I'm excited for this week's BEHIND THE LENS, thanks to a director whom I adore and have been chatting with for multiple decades, RENNY HARLIN, who goes in-depth with me for THE STRANGERS: CHAPTER 2, and writer/director MATTHEW BISSONNETTE, who brings us a film I immediately connected with, DEATH OF A LADIES' MAN starring Gabriel Byrne. THE STRANGERS began back in 2008 thanks to w/d Bryan Bertino, who treated us to the tale of James Hoyt and Kristen McKay, who visit an isolated vacation home to enjoy some time together. Hopeful bliss turned into terror making their stay a nightmare. In 2018, director Johannes Roberts, with a script by Bryan Bertino and Ben Ketai, rebooted the franchise with THE STRANGERS: PREY AT NIGHT starring Bailee Madison, Lewis Pullman, and Christina Hendricks. Now in 2025, we have the chilling next chapter of THE STRANGERS franchise with THE STRANGERS: CHAPTER 2. Directed by Renny Harlin and written by Alan R. Cohen & Alan Freedland, Madelaine Petsch returns as Maya, and joining her are, among others, Gabriel Basso, Ema Horvath, Richard Brake, and Pedro Leandro. Now let's turn to DEATH OF A LADIES' MAN with writer/director MATTHEW BISSONNETTE. Described as a "lyrical dramedy", DEATH OF A LADIES' MAN is poetic and emotionally charged, infused with the music and spirit of Leonard Cohen, tackling multiple themes that evoke heartbreak, absurdity, and hope. Gabriel Byrne stars as the hard-drinking, twice-divorced professor Samuel O'Shea whose life seems to be going into the toilet. First, he starts seeing things – Frankenstein at the bar, strangers breaking into Leonard Cohen songs, a woman with a tiger's head and face, and conversations with his long-dead father, Ben O'Shea. He chalks it up to stress. But a terminal brain tumor diagnosis sends him reeling into a surreal, darkly funny odyssey through memory, regret, and an unexpected romance in Ireland. Retreating to his family's remote Irish cottage, Samuel tries to write the novel he's always avoided—and instead begins rewriting his own story. http://eliasentertainmentnetwork.com

Retreating on our own terms transforms weakness into sovereignty, dignity, and renewal — before history repeats itself again.

Send us a textIn this episode we consider the rise of political populism across the world, the impact this is having on philanthropy and civil society, and what the response might be. Including:What are the key features of populist politics?Has philanthropy played a role in creating the current populist moment?How are funders and NGOs in the US responding to populist attacks on their legitimacy? Are these challenges set to intensify?Can and should philanthropic funders step in to cover gaps left by government withdrawal?Should funders and nonprofits vocally stand up for principles of social justice, DEI and climate concern in the face of political pressure, or take a pragmatic decision to keep quiet but continue their work?Is it possible to maintain civil society pluralism in the face of political populism?Where do populist and progressive critiques of philanthropy overlap?How should funders and charities in the UK respond to right-wing populism and the rise of Reform?Can civil society organsiations create spaces that bring polarised communities together?What lessons should funders and nonprofits be taking from populist attacks, without simply lending further weight to them?Further ResourcesChronicle of Philanthropy 17 Sept 2025, "100-Plus Foundations Stand United as White House Goes on the Attack"Michael Hartmann & William Schambra's 2025 HistPhil article, "The New Populist Conservatism and Civil Society"David Callahan's Inside Philanthropy piece "Philanthropy's Identity Focus Strengthens the Right. Is There Another Way?", and Tynesha McHarris's response, "Retreating on Identity Will Not Unify Us"Report on the rise of anti-rights funding across EuropeTed Lechterman's 2017 piece "Is Populist Criticism of Philanthropy Justified?"Kristin Goss (2007) "Foundations of Feminism: How philanthropic patrons shaped gender politics" WPM article on "Philanthropy at a time of chaos"Philanthropisms episode on pluralism, and interviews with Daniel Stid, Farai Chideya and Elizabeth Barajas-Román.

Dina Rezvanipour has a heart for helping people heal their mind, body, and spirit. She helps us understand how to take that first step into creating a self-care system that works for us.Dina shares how important it is to retreat from our busy lives to find joy, peace, and heal our inner child. She gives us several practical self-care suggestions to implement whether we are busy professionals or struggling to stay afloat with the business of daily life.Dina Rezvanipour launched the 3d Wellness Retreats in 2018 to provide an escape from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, and to build a safe community where individuals can curate inner transformation. Follow along on Instagram @3dwellnessretreats and learn more at www.3dwellnessretreats.com Visit ConfidenceThroughHealth.com to find discounts to some of our favorite products.Follow me via All In Health and Wellness on Facebook or Instagram.Find my books on Amazon: No More Sugar Coating: Finding Your Happiness in a Crowded World and Confidence Through Health: Live the Healthy Lifestyle God DesignedProduction credit: Social Media Cowboys

My intention inside this episode is to invite us to re-calibrate inside our desire. As we search for safety, predictability and control, we can find ourselves impulsively grabbing for the tools of white supremacy culture in an attempt to catch our breath and find our footing once more. We extend deep compassion to ourselves for this reflex, with fascism, state sanctioned violence and the question of survival riding the air, it is no surprise that we may breathe in fear with our latest inhale. Inside this episode we exhale, remembering the tools of white supremacy culture are incompatible with the worlds we are building. The classrooms we're spinning up in mid air, the apothecaries getting their start in our gardens growing into neighborhood pharmacies, the basements we're turning into movie theaters streaming love, love, love. And before we know it, we're impulsively picking up tools of a different kind. Tools for tending to a culture of care, where black life is sacred and shared vulnerability is more appealing than isolating in fear.ResourcesRegister for free to the brand new workshop, “Erotically Engineer Your Paid Creative Offering”: https://www.seedaschool.com/offerSubscribe to the Seeda School Substack: ⁠https://seedaschool.substack.com/⁠Follow Ayana on Instagram: ⁠⁠@ayzaco⁠⁠Follow Ayana on Threads: ⁠⁠@ayzaco⁠⁠Follow Seeda School on Instagram: ⁠⁠@seedaschool⁠Citations“White Supremacy Culture” by Tema OkunThe Nap Ministry Post on Threads“The dream is the truth. Then they act and do things accordingly.” — Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching GodCover Art: Love Jones Film Still (1997)

Vincent travels to Waterville Valley, NH to attend the Harvard virology retreat, where he speaks with Aaron Schmidt, Ben Gewurz, and Tatum Sass about their careers and their research on influenza virus, Epstein-Barr virus, and CAR-T cells. Hosts: Vincent Racaniello Guests: Aaron Schmidt, Ben Gewurz, and Tatum Sass Subscribe (free): Apple Podcasts, RSS, email Become a patron of TWiV! Links for this episode Support science education at MicrobeTV Harvard Program in Virology Conserved sites on H1 and H3 HA (Sci Adv) Antigenic drift expands viral escape (Immunity) EBV LMP1 drives B cell oncometabolism (PLoS Path) Timestamps by Jolene Ramsey. Thanks! Intro music is by Ronald Jenkees Send your virology questions and comments to twiv@microbe.tv Content in this podcast should not be construed as medical advice.

Episode 364   The Snobs and Bruce discuss the Dice Tower Retreat day one amongst other things. Passing thoughts on Endeavor Deep Sea, Rococo, Brink, Duck and Cover, Hot Streak and Cretaceous Rails also given. Enjoy! Our Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/bgsnobs Follow/join us at: Board Game Snobs Discord https://www.instagram.com/boardgamesnobs/ Board Game Snobs Facebook Group

He was archbishop of Antioch at the time of the wicked Emperor Numerian. Once the Emperor came to Antioch and attempted to enter a church where Babylas was serving. Coming to the door, the Archbishop forbade the Emperor, as a pagan and a shedder of innocent blood, to enter the house where the True God was worshipped. Retreating in humiliation, the Emperor determined to take his revenge. Shortly after he had Babylas imprisoned along with several Christian children. Babylas was made to watch the beheading of each of the children. Having given them encouragement he submitted himself to beheading. At his own request he was buried in the chains with which he had been bound.   After the establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire, the Emperor Gallus had a church built in honor of Babylas near the site of a temple to Apollos at Daphne, outside Antioch. (This was where, according to pagan legend, the maiden Daphne had been turned into a tree to escape the lust of Apollos). When Julian the Apostate came to Antioch in 362 to consult a famous oracle there, he found that the oracle had been deprived of its power by the presence of a Christian church nearby. He ordered the relics of St Babylas to be dug up and removed from the Church. As soon as this had been done a thunderbolt destroyed the shrine of Apollo, which Julian did not dare to rebuild. Saint John Chrysostom, then Archbishop of Antioch, preached a sermon on these events within a generation after their occurrence.

He was archbishop of Antioch at the time of the wicked Emperor Numerian. Once the Emperor came to Antioch and attempted to enter a church where Babylas was serving. Coming to the door, the Archbishop forbade the Emperor, as a pagan and a shedder of innocent blood, to enter the house where the True God was worshipped. Retreating in humiliation, the Emperor determined to take his revenge. Shortly after he had Babylas imprisoned along with several Christian children. Babylas was made to watch the beheading of each of the children. Having given them encouragement he submitted himself to beheading. At his own request he was buried in the chains with which he had been bound.   After the establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire, the Emperor Gallus had a church built in honor of Babylas near the site of a temple to Apollos at Daphne, outside Antioch. (This was where, according to pagan legend, the maiden Daphne had been turned into a tree to escape the lust of Apollos). When Julian the Apostate came to Antioch in 362 to consult a famous oracle there, he found that the oracle had been deprived of its power by the presence of a Christian church nearby. He ordered the relics of St Babylas to be dug up and removed from the Church. As soon as this had been done a thunderbolt destroyed the shrine of Apollo, which Julian did not dare to rebuild. Saint John Chrysostom, then Archbishop of Antioch, preached a sermon on these events within a generation after their occurrence.

4/8. Professor Eric Cline's books describe Egypt as "coping" after the 1177 BC collapse, retreating internationally due to internal chaos, like multiple pharaohs, during the Third Intermediate Period. A delayed drought impact affected them even with the Nile's support. This power vacuum allowed new, smaller kingdoms such as Israel, Judah, Edom, and Moab to flourish in regions previously overshadowed by larger empires. Egypt merely "muddled through" these challenging centuries. 2898 SCHOOL OF PLATO

Today, I have with me 3 of my beautiful Soul Psychology Coaches:Laurie Eddleston, Ama Barron and Joye Madden and we are talking about the Self Care / Soul Care journey.We talk about:

There is a time to forge ahead and a time to retreat. It is important to know when we need to pull back for rest and restoration. An example from Elijah's journey in 1 Kings 19 will encourage and guide us when we're feeling a little beat up from the battle.

IRAN:  HAMAS, HEZBOLLAH, HOUTHIS REARMING OR RETREATING? DAVID DAOUD, BILL ROGGIO, FDD CONTINUED 1898 GAZA

IRAN:  HAMAS, HEZBOLLAH, HOUTHIS REARMING OR RETREATING? DAVID DAOUD, BILL ROGGIO, FDD 1900 ISFAHAN

In this heartfelt episode of Permission to Thrive, I'm joined by one of my beloved Soul Care Coaches, Ama Baron.Ama's journey is so inspiring — from being a struggling single mama to breaking free from generational trauma and stepping into her own inner empowerment. We dive deep into what I call Soul Care — beyond surface-level self-care — and explore how practices like spiritual psychology, emotional regulation, and creating a safe inner environment can lead to transformation in every area of your life, including your relationships and financial stability.We also talk about:Refraining from reactivity and parenting with presenceRegulating your nervous systemDeepening your Soul connectionHealing and breaking generational patternsEmbracing your feminine energy and inner powerYou'll walk away from this episode feeling seen, inspired, and more connected to your own Soul.Episode Highlights:00:00 – Welcome and Introduction 01:44 – Ama's Story: Breaking Generational Cycles 03:49 – Childhood Challenges and Family Dynamics 07:45 – Discovering Soul Psychology 19:05 – The Spiral of Healing and Transformation 23:26 – Ama's Experience with Retreating 29:25 – Why Self-Care Is Essential for Mothers 29:55 – Creating Sacred Time and Space 30:47 – How Soul Care Shifts Family Dynamics 32:49 – Redefining Self-Care as Soul Care 33:57 – The Transformative Power of Retreats 35:11 – Financial Abundance Through Inner Alignment 35:52 – Disciplining Children with Compassion 39:21 – Vulnerability as Strength in Parenting 44:51 – Breaking Generational Trauma 47:48 – Embracing the Feminine and Inner Power 51:09 – The Ripple Effect of Feminine Energy 54:19 – Invitation to My First-Ever In-Person Sanctuary Retreat 56:54 – Final Thoughts and TakeawaysYou're Invited: SANCTUARY RETREAT

PendingIn today's episode of Practical Stoicism, I explore Meditations 4.3, a passage that, while often celebrated, carries the potential for self-abuse if misunderstood. Marcus Aurelius reflects on the desire to escape daily life by retreating into nature—something he admits he feels compelled to do himself. But rather than criticize that impulse, I suggest we reframe it: needing a retreat isn't weakness, it's part of the process of becoming better. While a sage might retreat into their mind, we Prokoptôns might genuinely need to retreat physically from time to time—and that's not failure, it's reality. Growth doesn't happen on command. It takes time, rest, and humility. Meditations 4.3Men look for retreats for themselves, the country, the sea-shore, the hills; and you yourself, too, are peculiarly accustomed to feel the same want. Yet all this is very unlike a philosopher, when you may at any hour you please retreat into yourself... The Universe is change, life is opinion. THREE TAKEAWAYS — The urge to escape isn't a weakness, it's a sign of being human—and sometimes necessary for moral progress. — Perfection isn't the goal; striving for better while accepting your limitations is. — If seashore retreats help you grow, they're not indulgences—they're tools for becoming a better person. Join the Practical Stoicism community, the Society of Stoics, at https://community.stoicismpod.com. Members enjoy ad-free episodes, weekly journaling prompts, a membership medallion, and access to regular live calls and discussions. Join today at https://community.stoicismpod.com. Buy my book: https://stoicismpod.com/book Read source material: https://stoicismpod.com/far Subscribe on YouTube: https://stoicismpod.com/youtube Follow me on Bluesky: https://stoicismpod.com/bluesky Grab the app: https://qotd.tannercampbell.net/ Follow me on LinkedIn: https://linkedin.com/in/tannercampbell Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Tonight on The Last Word: Trump retreats in his trade war. Plus, Ukraine calls Putin's 3-day ceasefire a ‘farce' after reported violations. Also Bill Gates plans to wind down his foundation by 2045. And the first American-born Pope takes the name Leo XIV. Tim Snyder and Sister Simone Campbell join Lawrence O'Donnell.

Let's talk about vets vs Trump_ retreating on victory....

Bigfoot Pack Surrounds MarinesIn 1974, on a Marine Corps base in North Carolina, five combat-hardened Marines, including a sniper with Vietnam experience, encountered four Sasquatches while fishing near a river. Initially enjoying a peaceful day by a bridge and small island, their outing turned terrifying when they heard massive, bipedal creatures crashing through dense, snake-infested brush, hurling branches, and emitting bone-rattling screams. The creatures, one of which was glimpsed as an eight-foot-tall, rust-haired figure with broad shoulders, executed a series of bluff charges toward the group, alternating from both sides of the river in a seemingly coordinated effort. Retreating to the island for safety, the Marines endured fifteen minutes of this ordeal before the Sasquatches, possibly working as a group to herd them, fled downstream and upriver, leaving the men shaken and determined to keep the incident secret to protect their careers, forever altering their perception of the wilderness.Join my Supporters Club for $4.99 per month for exclusive stories:https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/what-if-it-s-true-podcast--5445587/support

Chuck Heinz, Jamie Lent and Chois Woodman talk about another sports player passing away, Sam Houston retreating in 1836, comments from Grant McCasland, McGuire and McCasland ranking in the Big 12 and NCAA Basketball.

Retreating and binge-writing may seem similar at first glance, but one supports your creative flow, while the other can derail it. So, what's the real difference between these two approaches, and why is one a tool while the other is a crutch? In this episode, I break down the key distinctions between binge-writing and writing retreats. I'll explore the deeper implications of each, explaining why binge-writing often leads to burnout while retreats provide the spaciousness and support needed for sustainable progress. Whether you're struggling with the binge-and-bust cycle or just looking to create more balance in your writing practice, this episode offers valuable insights into why retreating might be the solution. If you're ready to experience the transformative power of a writing retreat, I invite you to join our next Spacious Writing Retreat. Tune in and learn how retreating can revolutionize your writing practice and break you out of the binge-bust cycle. For full show notes visit scholarsvoice.org/podcast/255. CONTINUE THE CONVERSATION: Our 12-week Navigate: Your Writing Roadmap® program helps tenure-track womxn and nonbinary professors to publish their backlog of papers so that their voice can have the impact they know is possible. Get on the waitlist here! Cathy's book, Making Time to Write: How to Resist the Patriarchy and Take Control of Your Academic Career Through Writing is available in print! Learn how to build your career around your writing practice while shattering the myths of writing every day, accountability, and motivation, doing mindset work that's going to reshape your writing,and changing academic culture one womxn and nonbinary professor at a time. Get your print copy today or order it for a friend here! If you would like to hear more from Cathy for free, please subscribe to the weekly newsletter, In the Pipeline, at scholarsvoice.org. It's a newsletter that she personally writes that goes out once a week with writing and publication tips, strategies, inspiration, book reviews and more. CONNECT WITH ME:  LinkedIn Facebook YouTube  

NEHEMIAH 4; REVELATION 21 OLIVIA MUNN-SHIRSATH WELLSPRING CHURCH NYC 02.02.2025  

(00:00-29:19) Time to go to the Surprise Guest Line. Jackson wouldn't give up the secret. Friend of the Show Chris Pronger checking in. Nah, I'm good thanks. Dealing with the media. Retreating in Mexico. Well Inspired Travels. His health in the retirement chapter of his life. Working in the NHL and doing some broadcasting for Amazon. His thoughts on the current state of the Blues. His golf game. (29:28-45:10) Martin really delivered on the surprise guest today. Mad Dog audio talking to London Fletcher and it sounds like he may have gotten him confused with Mike Jones. Also forgot Isaac Bruce's first name. Audio of Jenny Cavnar of MLB Network Radio talking about Nolan Arenado and the Mets. Nice Jordans 'Nado. (45:19-59:20) More KC Chiefs fan songs bringing us back. How bout those Chiefs? Jackson's not sure which position Pronger played. Or who we traded for him. And the audience is furious. St. Louis athletes to grace video game covers. Blue cap crusade. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

(00:00-29:19) Time to go to the Surprise Guest Line. Jackson wouldn't give up the secret. Friend of the Show Chris Pronger checking in. Nah, I'm good thanks. Dealing with the media. Retreating in Mexico. Well Inspired Travels. His health in the retirement chapter of his life. Working in the NHL and doing some broadcasting for Amazon. His thoughts on the current state of the Blues. His golf game. (29:28-45:10) Martin really delivered on the surprise guest today. Mad Dog audio talking to London Fletcher and it sounds like he may have gotten him confused with Mike Jones. Also forgot Isaac Bruce's first name. Audio of Jenny Cavnar of MLB Network Radio talking about Nolan Arenado and the Mets. Nice Jordans 'Nado. (45:19-59:20) More KC Chiefs fan songs bringing us back. How bout those Chiefs? Jackson's not sure which position Pronger played. Or who we traded for him. And the audience is furious. St. Louis athletes to grace video game covers. Blue cap crusade. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoicesSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

#PacificWatch: Eation Fire 81% contained and retreating from threat.  Pacific Pallisades Fire more than 50% contained.  But high winds expected.  @JCBliss 1885 South Australia

Krystal and Saagar discuss LA devastated by fires, Biden admits he wouldn't have made it four years, Dems support Laken Riley Act, is Trump retreating on universal tariffs, Fox News accused of colluding with Trump, Elon/Vivek full anti-American on H1b. To become a Breaking Points Premium Member and watch/listen to the show AD FREE, uncut and 1 hour early visit: www.breakingpoints.com Merch Store: https://shop.breakingpoints.com/See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Jason chats with Emily Vincent

PREVIEW: OHIO RIVER VALLEY: Professor Robert G. Parkinson, author "American Heart of Darkness," remarks on the extreme violence of early America in contest with the retreating indigenous peoples, chiefly fighting over land-grabbing by the colonials.. More tonight.  1753 Ohio River Valley

Global uncertainty and a relentless news cycle are leading some people to embrace “cosy tech,” — a world of low-stakes, colourful video games to friendly AI companions. But while the trend may seem benign, writer Kyle Chayka says digital cocooning has its downsides.

After the death of Jesus, Peter said, 'I go a fishing,' returning to what was familiar during a time of uncertainty. This lesson explores the human tendency to retreat to comfort and the difference between grounding ourselves in Christ versus falling back into worldly habits. Returning to Christ in hardship is godly and strengthening, but reverting to the world is spiritually harmful. With discipline and a strong faith community, we can anchor ourselves in Christ, even in the toughest times   for Bible questions and show topic suggestions send and email to: www.christianityisnow@gmail.com   Be sure to follow us on "X" formerly known as Twitter: https://twitter.com/1Chronicles1232   If you want to support the show monthly, www.patreon.com/christianitynow   You can do a one time donation through PayPal: nearchurches@gmail.com   #christianitynow #christianitytoday #varietyshow #bibletime #biblestudy #gospel #biblequestions #bibleanswers #venting #gossip #bibletalk #biblepodcast #christiancontent #christianliving #biblicalworldview #faithjourney #fatihwalk #biblestudy #biblereading #livestream #biblequestions #livequestions #liveanswers

Pastor Peter Brunton Www.NorthwestOrlando.com

FEAR = False Evidence Appearing Real When I first saw this acronym, a BIG light bulb went off. For the first time, I realized that there's absolutely ZERO truth behind the door of our fear. Although WHAT we fear isn't real, the WHY behind our fear is. …and a lot of it has to do with the lies we believe or the lie-based stories we tell ourselves. So, what do you do when you feel trapped by your fear?   Today's Guest answers this question and then some. This week, I sit down with 22-year U.S. Navy Veteran, Executive Director of Warfighter Advance, and Internationally Recognized Clinical Psychologist, Dr. Mary Vieten. For decades, this woman has helped American war heroes overcome their fears and severe levels of trauma. She's going to break down how we can master ours. Dr. Mary draws from personal stories and real-life experiences while she unpacks a range of topics from hilarious military moments to serious mental health concerns. Join us as we reflect on the strength of overcoming fear and trauma, as well as the significance of showing up for those who come to us in times of need.  If you want to overcome your fears more confidently and consistently, then don't miss today's episode. In this episode, you'll hear: What to do when you feel like you're trapped by your fear. Signs that you're dealing with unresolved trauma. How you could be a better citizen, friend, and family member in today's crazy world. Importance of faith, forgiveness, empathy, genuine relationships, and unconditional positive regard in the healing process. The unfortunate case of a military man's struggle with the mental health system's over-reliance on medication. The power of overcoming fear and trauma and how societal conditioning often instills fear of our own feelings. Dr. Mary's plea to shift from living as human doings to thriving as human beings. Key Quotes When someone is sharing their struggle with you, your first response shouldn't be, ‘You should talk to someone.' It should be to tell yourself to ‘shut up and listen.' - Dr. Mary Vieten Instead of retreating from your fear, look at it. - Dr. Mary Vieten The answers to our challenges are already built into our body and brain - we just don't take the time to access them. - Dr. Mary Vieten We need to be more focused on being human BEings, not human DOings and TALKings. - Dr. Mary Vieten Connect with Dr. Mary Website: www.warfighteradvance.org  Medicating Normal Movie: www.medicatingnormal.com Facebook: @warfighteradvancereintegration | https://www.facebook.com/warfighteradvancereintegration Instagram: @warfighter_advance | https://www.instagram.com/warfighter_advance/ LinkedIn: @warfighter-advance | https://www.linkedin.com/company/warfighter-advance%E2%84%A2/  Connect with J.R.  Facebook: @jamesJRreid Instagram: @jamesjrreid LinkedIn: in/jamesjrreid/ Twitter: @jamesJRreid Website: jamesreid.com Check out The Clutch Club™️: jamesreid.com/club (For Men Only) Follow and Review: We'd love for you to follow us if you haven't yet. Click that purple '+' in the top right corner of your Apple Podcasts app. We'd love it even more if you could drop a review or 5-star rating over on Apple Podcasts. Simply select “Ratings and Reviews” and “Write a Review” then a quick line with your favorite part of the episode. It only takes a second and it helps spread the word about the podcast. Episode Credits If you like this podcast and are thinking of creating your own, consider talking to my producer, Emerald City Productions. They helped me grow and produce the podcast you are listening to right now. Find out more at https://emeraldcitypro.com. Let them know we sent you.

https://youtu.be/PNqjNp2YGFA David Achata, Founder of Achata Coaching, Inc., is driven by his mission to help leaders multiply the best of who they are by fostering self-awareness and intentional growth. We learn about David's journey from high-energy workaholic to leadership coach, shaped by personal challenges and a deep desire to help others become healthier, more effective leaders. The guest explains his Four Disciplines of Retreating framework, which includes going away alone, with a guide, with your team, and with your family. David emphasizes the importance of self-reflection, cultivating social resilience, and building strong personal connections to enhance leadership effectiveness. --- Multiply Who You Are with David Achata Good day, dear listeners Steve Preda here with the Management Blueprint podcast and my guest today is David Achata, the Founder of Achata Coaching, Inc., a leadership and team development coach, trainer, facilitator, and speaker. David is also the author of two best-selling books on business leadership, including the latest one, Executive Retreats for Busy Business Leaders. David, welcome to the show. Thank you, Steve. I'm so excited to be here. I love the energy you're bringing. I'll try to keep up with you. So let's start with your personal “Why,” because you have a very powerful one. What is it and how do you manifest in your business? What's your journey that lead to your point of manifesting right in your business? Yeah, my message, Steve, is that you multiply who you are. So pay attention to that. Do you even know who you are? Typically when we meet people, we ask questions like, what's your name? What do you do? That kind of thing. But I promise you, if you really want to stump people, ask them a question like, who are you? And see what they say. And so I break that one out at parties every so often and about 60 to 70 percent of time people can't answer it So my message is know who you are. You're gonna multiply the best and the worst of who you are and so that's what my latest project is about but my journey toward the work I do today as a coach and as a consultant, as an author and a speaker is I am the classic overachieving, high-energy, workaholic, can't-turn-off-my-mind type of person. It was probably seven or eight years ago now when I was working in a worldwide semiconductor company in California, amongst some other companies. And what happened was that my mother, who had cancer, had come back and there's nobody to take care of her. So I had a client out in North Carolina. I thought I would go check on my mom on the way to the client. And so instead of flying like normally what I brought my family, I said, hey, let's do a road trip. And what happened was we just found that she was in much worse condition than we thought. And what I thought would be a two-week visit turned into six months. And it was in that six-month process of isolation, time away from my family, trying to manage a business and still work with clients for a while, I couldn't keep it up, that I really had to come to grips with the fact that I had a mind problem, I had a me problem, and that I couldn't turn off constantly thinking myself into the future and implications of what might happen if I failed or something went wrong. And so by the time my mother passed away, I went back to California thinking my mind and my work and my life would just snap back into normal and I would keep on going like I had before. But instead I started getting lost, walking down the street, driving down the highway, forgetting things. I couldn't find the dishes in my own cabinets. And this type of thing happened to me off and on for about six months. And as I got into some help and started digging into my own personal story, I realized that I had a really big issue and it was that I was overly responsible. So I took on too much all the time for everyone. And my work only intensified my natural propensity to want to fix problems...

David Achata, Founder of Achata Coaching, Inc., is driven by his mission to help leaders multiply the best of who they are by fostering self-awareness and intentional growth.   We learn about David's journey from high-energy workaholic to leadership coach, shaped by personal challenges and a deep desire to help others become healthier, more effective leaders. The guest explains his Four Disciplines of Retreating framework, which includes going away alone, with a guide, with your team, and with your family. David emphasizes the importance of self-reflection, cultivating social resilience, and building strong personal connections to enhance leadership effectiveness.   (0:35) David's personal Why (6:17) The 4 Disciplines of Retreating (31:18) Connect with David   Links and Resources David's LinkedIn  Achata Coaching  Executive Retreats for Busy Business Leaders: How to Achieve More by Working Less by David Achata  Test-drive the Summit OS® Toolkit: https://stevepreda.com/summit-os-toolkit/ Management Blueprint® Podcast on Youtube https://bit.ly/MBPodcastPlaylistYT  Steve Preda's books on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B08XPTF4ST/allbooks  Follow video shorts of current and past episodes on LinkedIn https://www.linkedin.com/company/stevepreda-com/

In life's hustle and bustle, how can adoptive parents regulate themselves? May I suggest? There are times when you need to retreat.  Hi Neighbor, Welcome to a special hiking episode of Anchors of Encouragement.  Today, let's talk about something crucial for adoptive parents navigating life's hustle and bustle: self-regulation. Retreating to a place where you're genuinely understood can work wonders.  I want to share a story of the impact of being with “your people,” the people who get you, support you, and help you recharge. Hope and Healing are on the way. Your Neighbor,⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣ Tim⁣⁣⁣⁣⁣ P.S. Joining a supportive community can make all the difference in navigating your adoption journey. I encourage you to retreat to our safe space for real and raw conversations. Will you take that first step to connect? If this podcast has given you the courage and confidence to face storms in your life, the number one way you can thank me is to leave a written review on Apple Podcasts. Here is a short video to show you how.  

#Ukraine: Retreating.  Colonel Jeff McCausland , USA (retired) @mccauslj @CBSNews @dickinsoncol 1883

He was archbishop of Antioch at the time of the wicked Emperor Numerian. Once the Emperor came to Antioch and attempted to enter a church where Babylas was serving. Coming to the door, the Archbishop forbade the Emperor, as a pagan and a shedder of innocent blood, to enter the house where the True God was worshipped. Retreating in humiliation, the Emperor determined to take his revenge. Shortly after he had Babylas imprisoned along with several Christian children. Babylas was made to watch the beheading of each of the children. Having given them encouragement he submitted himself to beheading. At his own request he was buried in the chains with which he had been bound.   After the establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire, the Emperor Gallus had a church built in honor of Babylas near the site of a temple to Apollos at Daphne, outside Antioch. (This was where, according to pagan legend, the maiden Daphne had been turned into a tree to escape the lust of Apollos). When Julian the Apostate came to Antioch in 362 to consult a famous oracle there, he found that the oracle had been deprived of its power by the presence of a Christian church nearby. He ordered the relics of St Babylas to be dug up and removed from the Church. As soon as this had been done a thunderbolt destroyed the shrine of Apollo, which Julian did not dare to rebuild. Saint John Chrysostom, then Archbishop of Antioch, preached a sermon on these events within a generation after their occurrence.

He was archbishop of Antioch at the time of the wicked Emperor Numerian. Once the Emperor came to Antioch and attempted to enter a church where Babylas was serving. Coming to the door, the Archbishop forbade the Emperor, as a pagan and a shedder of innocent blood, to enter the house where the True God was worshipped. Retreating in humiliation, the Emperor determined to take his revenge. Shortly after he had Babylas imprisoned along with several Christian children. Babylas was made to watch the beheading of each of the children. Having given them encouragement he submitted himself to beheading. At his own request he was buried in the chains with which he had been bound.   After the establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire, the Emperor Gallus had a church built in honor of Babylas near the site of a temple to Apollos at Daphne, outside Antioch. (This was where, according to pagan legend, the maiden Daphne had been turned into a tree to escape the lust of Apollos). When Julian the Apostate came to Antioch in 362 to consult a famous oracle there, he found that the oracle had been deprived of its power by the presence of a Christian church nearby. He ordered the relics of St Babylas to be dug up and removed from the Church. As soon as this had been done a thunderbolt destroyed the shrine of Apollo, which Julian did not dare to rebuild. Saint John Chrysostom, then Archbishop of Antioch, preached a sermon on these events within a generation after their occurrence.

Join Premium! Ready for an ad-free meditation experience? Join Premium now and get every episode from ALL of our podcasts completely ad-free now! Just a few clicks makes it easy for you to listen on your favorite podcast player.  Become a PREMIUM member today by going to --> https://WomensMeditationNetwork.com/premium Take a moment to settle in,  Find comfort in the softness beneath you. Gently close your eyes and allow your body to sink deeper into the plush embrace of your pillow. PAUSE… Breathe in slowly... And breathe out, releasing all the tensions of the day. PAUSE… As you inhale, imagine the air is a gentle breeze, cooling and calming. As you exhale, let go of any lingering thoughts or distractions. PAUSE… Feel the weight of your head cradled by your soft pillow, The curves of your neck supported, your mind easing into tranquility. PAUSE… With each breath, feel your body becoming lighter, As if each exhale is a whisper, floating you further into relaxation. PAUSE… Now, bring your attention to the soothing darkness behind your closed eyes. See it as a velvety blackness, comforting and deep. PAUSE… With each breath, this comforting darkness wraps around you like a cocoon, Safe, secure, serene. PAUSE… Allow your ears to tune into the quiet of the room, The distant, soft sounds that nighttime brings, The gentle hum of the world outside, lulling you closer to sleep. PAUSE… Breathe in peace... Breathe out tension… LONG PAUSE.. Let your body relax further, feeling every muscle soften, From the top of your head, Down your shoulders, Through your arms, All the way to your fingertips. PAUSE… Feel the relaxation spread from your chest, Down through your core, Into your hips, And flowing down to your toes. LONG PAUSE… With each breath, sink deeper into the warmth of your bed, Your soft pillow conforms perfectly to you. There is nothing else you need to do, nowhere else you need to be. PAUSE… Allow yourself to be here, fully, in this moment, Embraced by the softness of your pillow, Surrounded by the gentle night. PAUSE… See your thoughts like gentle waves on a quiet beach, Coming in slowly,  Retreating softly, Leaving behind calm, smooth sand. LONG PAUSE… With every wave, feel yourself drifting further, Into deeper peace, Into restful sleep. LONG PAUSE… You are safe, You are calm, You are relaxed. Continue to breathe gently, Letting your body sink deeper into sleep, Deeper into dreams. PAUSE… Rest well, knowing you are held, Cradled by the softness of your pillow, Wrapped in the quiet of the night. LONG PAUSE… Sweet dreams, beautiful.

Historian and scholar Connor Williams joins Carl for this look at the Gilded Age retreat of the Adirondacks.  A number of Gilded Age families came to this leafy paradise despite the dusty two day journey in an attempt to escape the city and recharge in nature.  The Gilded Age saw the rise of the "great camps" -- extensive properties owned by families such as the Vanderbilts and the Morgans. While certainly not as lavish as their Newport cottages, these escapes still had elegant meals, fully stocked bars and dozens of domestic help to keep it all running.  Great Camp Sagamore, once a Vanderbilt property, still welcomes visitors today on the shores of Raquette lake as it has for over 125 years. Visit the Gilded Gentleman website for a full list of episodes