Philosophy Forum - brokenwings

It is the child in us who plays;
Who sees no happiness beyond today's;
Who sings for joy; who wonders, and who weeps;
It is the child in us at night who sleeps.
It is the child who silent turns his face,
Open and maskless, naked of defense,
Simple with trust, distilled of all pretense,
To sudden beauty in another's face-

It is the child in us who loves.
from The Man and the Child by Anne Morrow Lindbergh

EPILOGUE

Posted 03-15-2010 at 10:43 AM by salima (brokenwings)

It was November 1; unable to work that day, I’d left the office and gone to the main library downtown instead, driven by an inescapably morbid feeling of fear, and that’s where I was handed the newspaper that split my world into a thousand meaningless fragments. I now offer a belated apology to the young man who scanned the vast database in the library’s computer and said, “Here it is!” reaching next to him, opening the paper to the exact page. His satisfaction and pride in a job well done quickly faded as I gasped when I recognized the picture; it must have been quite a shock for him to see the...

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salima

indian eyes

Posted in Creative Writing

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN Frozen in Flight

Posted 03-10-2010 at 10:41 AM by salima (brokenwings)

There was an incredible ice storm that November that left my back yard looking like Jurassic Park. Fall had remained unseasonably warm late into the month, and the trees had been duped, leaving them loaded with leaves when a steady rain suddenly froze, adding more weight than the limbs could support. Huge branches split and crashed to the ground, narrowly missing the garage, leaving a quarter acre of debris from three to five feet deep in spots; telephone wires were knocked out all over the city. The temperature dropped to near zero in what was to become the only really cold spell of the season....

salima

indian eyes

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CHAPTER TWELVE The Master’s Chair

Posted 03-05-2010 at 10:39 AM by salima (brokenwings)
Updated 03-07-2010 at 11:53 AM by salima

On what started out to be a particularly ordinary day, I found a message on my chair when I returned to my desk after a morning break. Raj had called and left a phone number where he could be reached.

“Raj! It’s Grace,” was all I could say, my voice choked and my spirit soaring.

“Yes, Grace. How are you?”

“How am I?!” I exclaimed, trying to keep my voice from becoming a shriek; rather than waiting to find a pay phone which would have afforded some privacy, I’d called him from my desk. “I’ve been going crazy! I was terribly worried about you, almost crazy...

salima

indian eyes

Posted in Creative Writing

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CHAPTER ELEVEN Sam

Posted 02-28-2010 at 10:38 AM by salima (brokenwings)

While passing time in the library one day, I’d learned my first name meant ‘favored by God’, and my middle name, Frances, meant ‘free’. Recently I didn’t feel I was either. At times, meditation was satisfying, as when I was able to picture my higher self as a beautiful child floating midair in full lotus position, and singing with a pure and reedy voice that sounded like an Armenian flute. But more often than not, I felt tired beyond belief, and it was all I could do to drag myself to work in the morning.

On one of my lunch hours, I discovered a note wedged in the crack by the door...

salima

indian eyes

Posted in Creative Writing

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CHAPTER TEN Holly

Posted 02-23-2010 at 10:36 AM by salima (brokenwings)

And so I immersed myself in words, writing poems that began to reflect an aching loneliness for the presence I’d come to value more than anyone else – the torment and shame of my dissatisfaction with myself that so sharply contradicted the image seen in the mirror of his eyes -- and the ideal I believed I’d discovered, but, more accurately speaking, had created in his image. Reading his poems had given my ideal a history similar to my own, and the hope of surviving it.

It moved me tremendously to believe that Raj saw my soul in my eyes when I could not – that he witnessed every human...

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salima

indian eyes

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CHAPTER NINE Michael

Posted 02-18-2010 at 10:35 AM by salima (brokenwings)

It was now my habit to go daily to the Arcade at lunchtime; after stopping at the gift shop to scrutinize the collection of unopened mail through the glass door, I might sit at the table outside on the balcony, wander through the food court looking for a snack, or go to the Greek café for a meal. It was one especially rainy day, while I stood waiting in line on one of the latter occasions, that I met Michael.

“Do you eat here often?” The very reserved gentleman who walked in and stood in line behind me was probably in his mid forties, just under six feet tall and slim, almost fragile...

salima

indian eyes

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CHAPTER EIGHT Jake

Posted 02-13-2010 at 10:33 AM by salima (brokenwings)

Walking to the shop the last Friday in May, I was hopeful Raj would be there, but half afraid to depend on it, and not ready to make alternate plans in case he wasn’t. I couldn’t bear to look at the door until I’d climbed the stairs; when I reached it, the sign was as it had been the week before, and the shop was still locked. Looking inside, I could see a stack of mail, growing like a compost heap, that had been fed through the slot and dropped to the floor; no one had been in to retrieve it.

Now I was genuinely upset; I sat at the table mulling over various reasons that could explain...

salima

indian eyes

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CHAPTER SEVEN Simone

Posted 02-08-2010 at 10:32 AM by salima (brokenwings)

Even before I got upstairs I knew something wasn’t right. As I approached the shop, I realized the sign hung backwards, reading “CLOSED”. I was dumbfounded; I tried the door as though it might open anyway, but it was locked. Well, there’s no need to panic, this isn’t so bad, I thought, maybe he’s just going to be a little late. So I sat at the table closest to the store and tried to occupy myself watching the living collage of people, mostly made up of business men and women, a few tourists, the beggars and panhandlers, some small children being dragged along by their caregivers, a mailman, and...

salima

indian eyes

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CHAPTER SIX The Guru

Posted 02-03-2010 at 10:31 AM by salima (brokenwings)

Before the lesson began, my first wish was to speak to Raj about poetry, since I was full to overflowing with appreciation for his; following that, the conversation would become much more difficult.

“Grace, how are things with you?” Raj was in the rocking chair, and he smiled warmly, but I found it difficult to be at ease.

“Just fine, Raj. I’m very glad to see you, and I spent a lot of time reading your book; I’m truly overwhelmed,” I said, as I sat in the chair behind the counter.

“What did you think?”

“I thought it was beautiful, of course...

salima

indian eyes

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CHAPTER FIVE The Poet

Posted 01-29-2010 at 10:29 AM by salima (brokenwings)

As I arrived at the shop, the first thing on my mind was to buy the book of poems, which I did.

“I will be interested to know what you think of them,” Raj said graciously. “One of my students provided the artwork with her designs of watercolor and batik.”

“It’s very unusual,” I commented. The name of the book was From the Ganga to the Mississippi. “I’ve written some poetry, but nothing of this caliber, I’m sure.”

“Don’t ever stop, Grace, or some day you may not be able to write at all.”

“I’ve been lacking inspiration for a very long time,”...

salima

indian eyes

Posted in Creative Writing

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