Friday, July 31, 2009


Vintage crime it is. From the moment J handed me Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep I knew I had found the genre I've always loved without knowing- Vintage Crime. I went through the Big Sleep on the rather tedious journey to and from the workplace, (thank god for Vajra buses) and as a result sometimes became mildly befuddled about who was chasing or shooting whom. However, it gave me the very satisfactory feeling of having bitten into something really juicy.
And now it is the classic Maltese Falcon.-what's not to love? 1940s San Fransisco (a city I'll always love in a special way since having its night-time fog and ocean mists described to me by J), Sam Spade, and lots of classic intrigue.
Even if I have to read it during a bus journey that takes an hour and a half to cover 14 kilometers. I suppose it's the only thing that's kept me sane.
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Thursday, July 16, 2009

We, as adults, understand neither the power nor the fragility of childhood. And putting pain in a child's eyes is our worst act.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

It is in everyone

Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate but that we are powerful beyond measure.It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us.We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God.Your playing small does not serve the world.There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us.It is not just in some; it is in everyone.And, as we let our own light shine, we consciously give other people permission to do the same.As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others.- From 'A return to love' by Marianne Williamson

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Children in a field

Fountain grass (Pennisetum setaceum) flowers i...Image via Wikipedia

They don't wade in so much as they are taken.
Deep in the day, in the deep of the field,
every current in the grasses whispers hurry
hurry, every yellow spreads its perfume
like a rumor, impelling them further on.
It is the way of girls, it is the sway
of their dresses in the summer trance-
light, their bare calves already far-gone
in green. What songs will they follow?
Whatever the wood warbles, whatever storm
or harm the border promises, whatever
calm. Let them go. Let them go traceless
through the high grass and into the willow-
blur, traceless across the lean blue glint
of the river, to the long dark bodies
of the conifers, and over the welcoming
threshold of nightfall.
~Angela Shaw

This poem has a soft, lyrical quality that drew me in immediately. I love "willow-blur" and "summer trance-light."
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