Retreat With Darrell Calkins Quotes

This is where we can find the greatest relief and joy everyday: falling under thought, anxiety, worry and all forms of me, into stillness; losing oneself in compelling engagements that transcend ambition, strategy, self-gain and self-consciousness. ~ Darrell Calkins

Progress and accomplishment with anything and everything depend on how much quality one brings to the show. What makes for quality, if one breaks it down, is spectrum and depth of virtue. ~ Darrell Calkins

One's soul is made up of the unity of conscience and what compels you. That is, at the core, there is already a devotional relationship between these two. We just need to realize that and give them both the freedom to do what they wish. ~ Darrell Calkins

One does not find freedom or enact responsibility by surrendering to another's conceptualization of these ideas. ~ Darrell Calkins

An initial perception or impulse has an infinite number of directions it can go. ~ Darrell Calkins

If you sustain your balance and intention, everything, including things unimaginable, arrive at the appropriate time and place. ~ Darrell Calkins

A stone can be used for building a house, blocking a road, or killing someone. The same is true for any idea. ~ Darrell Calkins

If you want to know what you really value, look at where and how you spend your time. ~ Darrell Calkins

Now, what am I here for, again?' There's genuine humility, and courage, in that question. ~ Darrell Calkins

Listen and look long at beauty that compels you, spontaneously engage what naturally calls to you…this is how we recover our true personal values. ~ Darrell Calkins

We already know way too much, but don't know what to do with it. Beneath all that is a soul searching for how to have fun, in the deepest sense of the word, and how to cause fun for others. ~ Darrell Calkins

The only resolution is to spontaneously invent an unknown, unique set of qualities and actions so as to blend perfectly with the actual requirements you're confronted with. ~ Darrell Calkins

I want my heart to be the thin place. I don't want to board a plane to feel the kiss of heaven. I want to carry it with me wherever I go. I want my fragile, hurting heart, to recognize fleeting kairos, eternal moments as they pass. I want to be my own mountain and my own retreat. ~ Anna White

When the rain had hit the beach and Zane had turned to retreat to their room, Ty grabbed him instead and started a waltz in the downpour. When they finished the dance, people applauded from their balconies. It had been the first taste of what life with Ty might be like when they came out. It had also been one of the most romantic moments of his life. ~ Abigail Roux

At that time, a number of myths were created by the young people of the smoking carriages and forests of hallucinogenic mushrooms, the hungry for the thirst of lysergic acid, who were too tired of the suffering they grew up in and needed to take refuge in dreams. In these children's universe there were unbelievable stories about places in the mountains that women sought to retreat to, places where people were united by music and love for a mutual spiritual growth. For Aunt Jeanine, who had grown up with the image of her father, an amputee due to the war, feeding on such stories was like a haven, one she would later try to turn into her home. And one of those stories, one particular one, stood in her memory until the last stage of her life, when she passed away at eighty-one, burned with fire. (...) At that time, kid, they said that if we searched enough, we would find a place where the world wouldn't end. Men would never know what hell of a place that was, totally unconquerable! A place where the dirty hands of men would never arrive. A place men would never know about . Don't you think I could find it? To have my body disappearing in the woods, as I saw happening to kids in Japan, in that forest that swallows them to its core. Flesh turned to powder, my essence disappearing in the middle of life. They said that, when you die at a place, you'll stay at that place forever. That was why everyone was afraid to go to war. They weren't afraid of dying, kid, they were afraid of dyi ~ Pat R

The logic: Reading is a private pursuit, one that often takes place behind closed doors. A young lady might retreat with a book, might even take it into her boudoir, and there, reclining on here silken sheets, imbibing the thrills and chills manufactured by writerly quills, one of her hands, one not absolutely needed to grip the little volume, might wander. The fear, in short, as one-handed reading. [p. 146] ~ Siri Hustvedt

The impossibility of a retreat makes no difference in the situation of men resolved to conquer or die; and, believe me, my friends, if your conquest could be bought with the blood of your general, he would most cheerfully resign a life which he has long devoted to his country. ~ James Wolfe

What would happen if you couldn't forget, if every emotion from every person whose grief you'd eaten came back up? It could happen if something went wrong with the formula millions and millions of permutations down the line. A thousand falling men landing on you.
Nneoma tried to retreat, to close her eyes and unsee, but she couldn't. Instinct took over and she raced to calculate it all. The breadth of it was so
vast, too vast. It was just her and Kioni together, their burden excessive, even for two. The last clear thought she would ever have was of her father, how crimson his burden had been when she'd tried to shoulder it, and how very pale it all seemed now. ~ Lesley Nneka Arimah

Silver

The liquid ebony stretches out
and mingles with the midnight sky
where high above,
as on a throne,
is perched that perfect sphere of silver.
She looks upon the lapping waves,
the calm, all serene;
She looks upon the rocky shore,
watching dark nothing
break in two and become
tiny globs of light.
The soft white foam creeps
upon the smooth beige land
to darken it but for a moment,
only to retreat back to its
blackened home
and hide among the vastness.
The silver moon smiles openly,
casting a healthy grin
upon the rippled water below,
sending gifts of silver
to float on seas of woe. ~ Rebecca Harris

At the same yoga retreat, we stood and faced each other in pairs, really looking at each other from a close distance. We were told to simply BE with the other person, maintaining eye contact, with no social gestures like laughing, smiling, or winking to put ourselves at ease.
Grown women and men cried. Really and truly sobbed.
When we were finished with the exercise, we talked about how it had felt. The thread echoed again and again: many people had never felt so *seen* by another person. Seen without walls, without judgment ... just seen, acknowledged, accepted. The experience was
for so many painfully rare. ~ Amanda Palmer

Pain was a peculiar thing. It made me feel strange; it made me retreat. I felt that my relationships to other people had changed in certain ways. I was carrying around a burden that only a few people knew about. It made me feel apart from most people, as if I could see them, but they were a long way away. People were going about their normal lives, and now I carried about with me all the time pain, as if pain were my child. We ~ Paulette Bates Alden

[I]n so far as postmodern politics involves a '[t]heoretical retreat from the problem of domination within capitalism,' it is here, in this silent suspension of class analysis, that we are dealing with an exemplary case of the mechanism of ideological displacement: when class antagonism is disavowed, when its key structuring role is suspended, 'other markers of social difference may come to bear an inordinate weight; indeed, they may bear all the weight of the sufferings produced by capitalism in addition to that attributable to the explicitly politicized marking.' In other words, this displacement accounts for the somewhat 'excessive' way the discourse of postmodern identity politics insists on the horrors of sexism, racism, and so on - this 'excess' comes from the fact that these other '-isms' have to bear the surplus-investment from the class struggle whose extent is not acknowledged. ~ Slavoj Zizek

Fame - fame was the anti-death. But it seemed to slither from his grasp, seemed to giggle and retreat, seemed to hide behind a huge oak tree and make farting sounds with its hands. ~ Keith Gessen

It is not uncommon in the modern world for people to retreat into the world of books to escape from the realities of the outside world. The printed word evokes the modern notion of security, with the emphasis on detachment, privacy, autonomy, predictability, and enclosed artificiality. ~ Jeremy Rifkin

The politics of identity is nothing new, certainly on the American right. What was astonishing during the Reagan Dispensation was the development of a left-wing version of it that became the de facto creed of two generations of liberal politicians, professors, schoolteachers, journalists, movement activists, and officials of the Democratic Party. This was not a historical accident. For the fascination, and then obsession, with identity did not challenge the fundamental principle of Reaganism. It reinforced that principle: individualism. Identity politics on the left was at first about large classes of people -- African-Americans, women -- seeking to redress major historical wrongs by mobilizing and then working through our political institutions to secure their rights. But by the 1980s it had given way to a pseudo-politics of self-regard and increasingly narrow and exclusionary self-definition that is now cultivated in our colleges and universities. The main result has been to turn young people back onto themselves, rather than turning them toward the wider world. It has left them unprepared to think about the common good and what must be done practically to secure it -- especially the hard and unglamorous task of persuading people very different from themselves to join a common effort. Every advance of liberal identity consciousness has marked a retreat of liberal political consciousness. Without which no vision of America's future can be imagined. ~ Mark Lilla

Soon after we first got to know each other, I asked him a typical traveler's question: How did he deal with jet lag? He looked at me, surprised. "For me a flight is just a brief retreat in the sky," Matthieu said, as if amazed that the idea didn't strike everyone. "There's nothing I can do, so it's really quite liberating. There's nowhere else I can be. So I just sit and watch the clouds and the blue sky. Everything is still and everything is moving. It's beautiful." Clouds and blue sky, of course, are how Buddhists explain the nature of our mind: there may be clouds passing across it, but that doesn't mean a blue sky isn't always there behind the obscurations. All you need is the patience to sit still until the blue shows up again. His ~ Pico Iyer

But my attention's elsewhere, drawn to that warm wonderful pull, the familiar loving essence that only belongs to one person - only belongs to him
Watching as Damen cuts through the water, board tucked under his arm, body so sculpted, so bronzed, Rembrandt would weep. Water sluicing behind him like a hot knife through butter, cleanly, fluidly, as though parting the sea.
My lips part, desperate to speak, to call out his name and bring him back to me. But just as I'm about to, my eyes meet his and I see what he sees: me - hair tangled and wet - clothes twisted and clinging - frolicking in the ocean on a hot sunny day with Jude's tanned strong arms still wrapped around me.
I release myself from Jude's grip, but it's too late. Damen's already seen me.
Already moved on.
Leaving me hollow, breathless, as I watch him retreat.
No tulips, no telepathic message, just a sad, empty void left behind in his place. ~ Alyson Noel

Happiness, she would explain, was when a person felt good, light, creative, content, loving and loved, and free. An unhappy person felt as if there were barriers crushing her desires and the talents she had inside. A happy woman was one who could exercise all kinds of rights, from the right to move to the right to create, compete, and challenge, and at the same time could be loved for doing so. Part of happiness was to be loved by a man who enjoyed your strength and was proud of your talents. Happiness was also about the right to privacy, the right to retreat from the company of others and plunge into contemplative solitude. Or sit by yourself doing nothing for a whole day, and not give excuses or feel guilty about it either. Happiness was to be with loved ones, and yet still feel that you existed as a separate being, that ou were not just there to make them happy. Happiness was when there was a balance between what you gave and what you took. ~ Fatema Mernissi

Very few people are aware of the fact that in the beginning the proud and glorious phrase "dirty old man" was actually meant as derision.
The very phrase, originated as it was by young men, is a standing testimonial to the ignorance of the same young men. Sex is dirty - if you do it right. Young men don't know how to do it right, so they stay clean. Some old men never learn how and they stay clean, too.
But unless you have the ambition to retreat into dull hopelessness, don't you do it. Don't be bashful with ladies while young and retreat altogether as you grow older. Grow bolder with the years: advance, advance.
Be a dirty old man and be proud of it. ~ Isaac Asimov

our spiritual aim is not to retreat once or twice a day for meditation, but to learn how to live every moment of our lives in touch with our spiritual core. ~ John Selby

He was silent. Well! Now she knew how right she had been. He was not in the least in love with her, and very happy she was to know it, All she wanted was a suitable retreat, such as a lumber-room, or a coal-cellar, in which to enjoy her happiness to the full. ~ Georgette Heyer

Seeing oneself as a prophetic minority does not mean retreat, and it certainly does not mean victim status. It also does not confer faithfulness. Marginalization can strip away from us the besetting sins of a majoritarian viewpoint, but it can bring others as well. We must remember our smallness but also our connectedness to a global, and indeed cosmic, reality. The kingdom of God is vast and tiny, universal and exclusive. Our story is that of a little flock and of an army, awesome with banners. Our legacy is a Christianity of persecution and proliferation, of catacombs and cathedrals. If we see ourselves as only a minority, we will be tempted to isolation. If we see ourselves only as a kingdom, we will be tempted toward triumphalism. We are, instead, a church. We are a minority with a message and a mission. ~ Russell D. Moore

She could have rambled with all the fervor of a woman who had loved one entity for longer than most races live, and with the inviolable, unquestioned certainty found in dementia. There were references dated and sealed with meticulous care which she would have enthusiastically opened with the mirth of one proclaiming a lifetime of honors and awards. But that singular event was freshly disturbed; its pores still drifted on the faint zephyr of remembrance. ~ Darrell Drake

Much. so there is free dessert involved here." I put my hand to my forehead. "oh, that i had discovered the job first!"
Ryan laughs. "tragic."
want to hear something tragic? my dad is going to a Christian singles' retreat."
Ryan nearly spits out his coffee. "your dad?" he is shacking.
Brandon wallops him on the back a few times. Ryan holds his hands up at him, coughing. "Stop," he croaks, standing. he inhales a few times and gets his voice back. "You would have to tell me this when my mouth was full, wouldn't you?" he sits again.
I smile broadly.
a Christian singles' retreat?" he repeats
Yep," Brandon says. "Get the name: Marley's Michigan Marriage Makers."
I cover my face
Ryan's expression twists. " thats.... interesting," he says slowly
Hallie frowns. "If its a Christian retreat, why is it called Marley's?"
Its a denomination in Michigan," Brandon says. "Marlotist. I just call them Marley for fun."
I double over until my head hits the table.
There is not a denomination called Marlotist," Hallie says.
Is too. I visited one of their churches when I went to Michigan to ski one time," Brandon says.
My eyes blur with tears from laughing so hard and holding it all in. My shoulders start shaking.
Brandon levels a good kick to my shin.
Ow!" I reach for my leg.
What is the name of it, Laurie?" Ryan asks.
Meet Your Match in Michigan"
Brandon scowls at me. " Spoilsport. ~ Erynn Mangum

The young man of leadership caliber will work while others waste time, study while others snooze, pray while others daydream. Slothful habits are overcome, whether in thought, deed, or dress. The emerging leader eats right, stands tall, and prepares himself to wage spiritual warfare. He will without reluctance undertake the unpleasant task that others avoid or the hidden duty that others evade because it wins no public applause. As the Spirit fills his life, he learns not to shrink from difficult situations or retreat from hard-edged people. He will kindly and courageously administer rebuke when that is called for, or he will exercise the necessary discipline when the interests of the Lord's work demand it. He will not procrastinate, but will prefer to dispatch with the hardest tasks first. ~ J. Oswald Sanders

Daisuke was of course equipped with conversation that, even if they went further, would allow him to retreat as if nothing had happened. He had always wondered at the conversations recorded in Western novels, for to him they were too bald, too self indulgent, and moreover, too unsubtly rich. However they read in the original, he thought they reflected a taste that could not be translated into Japanese. Therefore, he had not the slightest intention of using imported phrases to develop his relationship with Michiyo. Between the two of them at least, ordinary words sufficed perfectly well. But the danger was of slipping from point A to point B without realizing it. Daisuke managed to stand his ground only by a hair's breadth. When he left, Michiyo saw him to the entranceway and said, "Do come again, please? It's so lonely. ~ Soseki Natsume

uncaged
it's easy to push people away to retreat into yourself to give only the bare minimum. it's much harder to take that risk to splay open your chest to peel each rib back one by one and bare your heart and soul to a world that might not handle them with the care they deserve. but when you find a person whose mind complements yours, you'll see the reward was well worth the risk. ~ Cyrus Parker

No, what numbed these fields, peopled with bad dreams was not the oppressive grip of a plague but rather an ailing retreat, a sort of sad widowhood. Man had started to subdue these vacant expanses, then had grown weary of eating into it, and now even the desire to preserve what had been claimed had perished. He had established everywhere an ebb, a sorrowful withdrawal. His cuttings into the forest, which were seen at long intervals, had lost their hard edges, their distinct notches: now a thick brushwood had driven its sabbath into the broad daylight of the glades, hiding the naked trunks as high as their lowest branches. ~ Julien Gracq

I want to feel them against my bare skin.
I want their colourful touch to burn itself into my body
and set my blood on fire with chemicals and fury,
to drag me from a place of retreat and smothered tears
into destruction and gloriously bright fire falling. ~ Miriam Joy

In 2009, School Administrator magazine asked Hall to relate her "biggest blooper." It was, she said, "when a staff member planned a team-building exercise at our senior team retreat to play miniature golf at day's end, only to find out it was actually 18 holes of regular night golf. Most of us were not golfers and were not happy with the surprise." Her blunder, in other words, was leaving the details in the hands of an underling. ~ Anonymous

Active loyalists do not merely support the president but publicly defend even his most controversial moves. Passive loyalists retreat from public view when scandals erupt but still vote with the president. Critical loyalists try, in a sense, to have it both ways. They may publicly distance themselves from the president's worst behavior, but they do not take any action (for example, voting in Congress) that will weaken, much less bring down, the president. In the face of presidential abuse, any of these responses will enable authoritarianism. ~ Steven Levitsky

Hey, Large," Gabe says, flicking me with his towel. "Where you been all day?"
"I've been around." I look over at Peter, but he won't meet my eyes. "I saw you guys on the slopes."
Darrell says, "Then why didn't you holler at us? I wanted to show off my ollies for you."
Teasingly I say, "Well, I called Peter's name, but I guess he didn't hear me."
Peter finally looks me in the eyes. "Nope. I didn't hear you." His voice is cold and indifferent and so un-Peterlike, the smile fades from my face.
Gabe and Darrell exchange looks like oooh and Gabe says to Peter, "We're gonna head out to the hot tub," and they trot off.
Peter and I are left standing in the lobby, neither of us saying anything. I finally ask, "Are you mad at me or something?"
"Why would I be mad?"
And then it's back to quiet again.
I say, "You know, you're the one who talked me into coming on this trip. The least you could do is talk to me."
"The least you could do was sit next to me on the bus!" he bursts out.
My mouth hangs open. "Are you really that mad that I didn't sit next to you on the bus?"
Peter lets out an impatient breath of air. "Lara Jean, when you're dating someone, there are just…certain things you do, okay? Like sit next to each other on a school trip. That's pretty much expected."
"I just don't see what the big deal is," I say. How can he be this mad over such a tiny thing?
"Forget it." He turns like he's going to leave, and I grab ~ Jenny Han

In his fitful eastward progress through Belgium and Germany that winter, my grandfather had shared all manner of billets: with dogfaces and officers, in misery and in comfort, in attack and in retreat, and pinned down by snow or German ordnance. He had bedded down under a bearskin in a schloss and in foxholes flecked pink with the tissue of previous occupants. If an hour's sleep were to be had, he seized it, in the bedrooms or basements of elegant townhouses, in ravaged hotels, on clean straw and straw that crawled with vermin, on featherbeds and canvas webbing slung across the bed of a half-truck, on mud, sandbags, and raw pine planks. However wretched, accommodations were always better or no worse than those on the enemy side. ~ Michael Chabon

Those who love God with their minds, even if it gives them a headache, are those whose hearts stay on fire. ~ Darrell W. Johnson

This is the supreme anguish of the soul; it realizes itself as itself, as thing separate from that which is not itself, from God. In this spasm there are two ways: if fear and pride are left in the soul, it shuts itself up, like a warlock in a tower, gnashing its teeth with agony. "I am I," it cried, "I will not lose myself," and in that state damned, it is slowly torn by the claws of circumstance disintegrated bitterly, for all its struggles, throughout ages and ages, its rags to be cast piecemeal upon the dungheap without the city. But the soul that has understood the blessedness of that resignation which grasps the universe and devours it, which is without hope or fear, without faith or doubt, without hate or love, dissolves itself ineffable into the abounding bliss of God. It cries with Shelley, as the "chains of lead about its flight of fire" drop molten from its limbs: "I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire," and in that last outbreaking is made one with the primal and final breath, the Holy Spirit of God.
Such must be the climax of any retirement to the Desert on the part of any aspirant of the Mysteries who has the spark of that fire in him. ~ Aleister Crowley

Almost everyone stopped when he did, but Enaila and Jalani exchanged glances and kept on right past him toward the garden. He raised his voice a fraction and hardened it considerably more. "The Maidens here will come with me. Anyone who wants to put on a dress and discuss matchmaking can stay behind."
..................................
Bashere motioned, and one of the younger Saldaeans loped ahead in that rolling stride of a man more used to a saddle. "A man must know when to retreat from a woman," Bashere said to the air, "but a wise man knows that sometimes he must stand and face her."

"Young men," Bael said indulgently. "A young man chases shadows and runs from moonlight, and in the end he stabs himself in the foot with his own spear." Some of the other Aiel chuckled, Maidens and Knife Hands alike. The older ones did.

Irritated, Rand looked over his shoulder again. "Neither of you would look well in a dress." Surprisingly, the Maidens and Knife Hands laughed again, more loudly. Maybe he was getting a grip on Aiel humor. ~ Robert Jordan

A major existential breakthrough was averted Friday when, moments before he had a realization of monumental personal significance, 29-year-old local resident Darrell Gatsas instead turned to God. "He was so, so close to discovering something truly fundamental about himself and his place in the universe, but nope - he went with God," close friend Peter Rankin, 27, said. "For a second there it seemed like he was going to seriously consider the cause-and-effect relationship of his own actions and elevate himself to a new level of compassion and understanding, but then he suddenly changed course and asked God to swoop in and fix everything." Reached for comment, God chuckled to reporters that Gatsas is, indeed, a real piece of work. ~ The Onion

Gathering her bags, Alani started around the side of her house to the front door.
She drew up short at the sight of Jackson sprawled on her porch steps, a cowboy hat on his head, mirrored sunglasses hiding his eyes.
He didn't move, and neither did she.
He had an utterly relaxed look about him. But then, Jackson had perfected a deceptively indolent pose that hid razor-sharp reflexes and phenomenal speed.
Last night, all night, he'd been far from indolent.
Breathing fast, Alani studied him. His continued stillness suggested sleep. Even when she inched closer, he didn't move.
He was now clean-shaven. A white T-shirt was pulled across his wide chest and shoulders, and hung looser around his taut abs.
Awareness stiffened her knees.
Memories of touching his body, tasting hit hot flesh, sent a tide of sensation through her veins. She swallowed audibly - and stared some more.
He sat with his long legs loose, one foot braced on a step, the other stretched out, his elbows back, his breathing deep and even.
Alani licked her lips and started to slowly, silently retreat.
"Don't make me chase you, darlin'."
Shock snapped her shoulders back. The big faker! He'd been watching her watch him. Teeth set, Alani asked, "What are you doing here?"
He gave a slow smile. "Whatever it takes . . . ~ Lori Foster

In this context, fear of toxicity strikes me as an old anxiety with a new name. Where the word filth once suggested, with its moralist air, the evils of the flesh, the word toxic now condemns the chemical evils of our industrial world. This is not to say that concerns over environmental pollution are not justified - like filth theory, toxicity theory is anchored in legitimate dangers - but that the way we think about toxicity bears some resemblance to the way we once thought about filth. Both theories allow their subscribers to maintain a sense of control over their own health by pursuing personal purity. For the filth theorist, this meant a retreat into the home, where heavy curtains and shutters might seal out the smell of the poor and their problems. Our version of this shuttering is now achieved through the purchase of purified water, air purifiers, and food produced with the promise of purity. ~ Eula Biss