blurry mornings weary bones days warm m inds slow sitting waiting longing heart needing warming despite the weather that day which dawns everything still comes too quick it's surprise leaving me breathless solitary as if there is just the child and I as if we two can make the world whole through our shared gaze i have no gift to bring but this torn tired soul bent out of shape a year of encounters leaving their mark the child has no wealth nothing but love
Thanks to a conservative blog for peace I have become quite intrigued by with US series “Mad men”. For most Australians this is quite an unknown program, the second series being premiered this Sunday night on specialized broadcaster SBS, leaving us well behind the US which is currently airing the fourth series. For those who don’t know, Mad Men takes place in the early 1960’s, varying its setting between the main characters Advertising office workspace, their homes and social lives. As the series progresses we discover that the characters are not at all what they seem, both outwardly and inwardly, as we journey with them through the historical events and changing social patterns which have influenced so much of our modern culture. It is this historical element which captured me. The ways husbands, wives and children inter-related. The constant smoking and drinking. The more relaxed pace of life. Infidelity and the subsequent risks and consequences. Psycho-analysis just beginning ...
To badly misuse C S Lewis, "A middle aged man can't be too carefully with his reading". Or more importantly, beware what you take home with you from the Abbey! In my usual raiding of the Abbey reading room ( I am very spoilt in been allowed to borrow from the monks) I came across this large tomb, "Literary Converts". A great book. A fantastic read. Food for my soul. It recounts the spiritual journeys, generally to the Roman Catholic Church but not exclusively, from the late 19th centuries until the last quarter of the 20th. Great writers and great people are discussed. Tolkien, Lewis, G K Chesterton, Hilaire Belloc , Ronald Knox, C S Lewis, Graeme Green, Evelyn Waugh and so the list goes on. As I look back, I think reading the Narnia series changed me and started this journey. Inside, it made me long for something. Something mysterious and perhaps, just out of reach. I have talked before about this being a sense of " Northerness ", a need for m...
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