Book Review: The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga

I have been in such extreme reading mode to the complete and utter neglect of my knitting and crochet. This may be the year I complete the fewest projects since I started knitting and crocheting. It is what it is. I just really have not been in the mood to work with my hands.

In any case, I just completed The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga. This book was a most interesting read--different from anything I've read in a long time. Balram Hawai, the protagonist, tells the story in the form of a letter to a Chinese Premier who will be visiting India soon. Why he chooses to write to this official? We don't know but we do understand that he has a deep admiration for China and the Chinese. I did enjoy the book although at times the author's incising critique of society and politics in India felt heavy handed. It was violent at times and really, if you're looking for a book full of tenderness and quaint stories about India, this is not the one. The author relates in graphic detail extreme poverty, rampant political corruption, as well as the often stifling and violent class structures and struggles and yet manages to infuse his tale with a kind of dry humor. Halwai comes from very humble beginnings, the son of a rickshaw puller who dies pitifully of curable tuberculosis. He manages to secure himself as one of two drivers to a very wealthy family. Soon, he drives the older/main driver out by revealing that he is Muslim (which points to the fact that there religious discrimination in India is very much alive). Halwai relishes is position as the main driver. It's a good job and his family back home knows it. He shirks his responsibility to his family by refusing to send money home--and we realize that he has really cut himself off/liberated himself from them, effectively separating himself from his roots (aka "the Darkness"). The turning point in this novel is when his master's wife kills a young child during a drunken joyride and his master tries to pin the crime on him. Something in him changes and you start to feel a fire burning in him. It's turns out to be quite deadly. I found it interesting that Halwai never really feels regret or takes responsibility for killing his master. As the reader, you find yourself feeling victorious along with Halwai that he is able to get away with it. He finds a way to break out of the chicken coop and you can't help but say, "Hooray! One for the underdog!" It's tempered though, by darkness because you know that the retribution the murdered master's family will take is to torture and murder Halwai's family. You wonder at the kind of soul that could accept that if it meant his own personal freedom. Still, during his fugitive run, Halwai takes along with him the young nephew or cousin who his family has sent to live with him realizing that the authorities would think the young boy was an accomplice to the murder and incarcerate him. Since "awful things" happen to boys in jail, Halwai takes the risk of coming back for the young boy. He's just such a complex and difficult to understand character! On the one hand, he's noble and caring. On the other, cold and conniving. Who is the true Balram Halwai? Good or evil? Both.

It stood out to me when he referenced yoga and Gandhi because as Westerners, we can be so oblivious to other places that often when we think of countries like India, that is what it all boils down to for us: Yoga and Gandhi.

I borrowed The White Tiger from the library a few weeks ago and took a while to get into it. When I went to renew it, it was on hold for someone else. I put it on hold again and it came in very quickly. I finished it last night. I wish I had more time and focus to give a more detailed review but I really enjoyed the book. I also finished My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Piccoult last week. I will review that soon, hopefully.

Books are my sanity.

I hope it's just hormones

For the last few days, I've been feeling so intensely that I want another child. The hubby, though, is quite happy with what we've got and doesn't feel any need at all to add another to the bunch. I don't know . . . I feel like our family is square right now (not that a square isn't a great shape) but maybe one would make it more round.

Speaking practically, however, I know it really wouldn't be a good move. Unless I could get a really good car seat configuration going on (which, if you research an '05 Subaru Outback seems damn near impossible), we'd need a bigger car. We'd need a bigger house unless we all just want to cram in here. All of this requires more money which would mean I'd need to find employment that brings in significant income (and in this economy would that even be possible?). But then that would mean I couldn't be a stay-at-home mom. What an interesting situation! With two kids, lots of budgeting and thriftiness, I can continue to stay-at-home. With three kids, no amount of budgeting and thriftiness would offset the added expense so I'd have to go to work. What's more desirable in the long run? Another child or staying at home with the ones I have?

Also, I have my hands pretty full and no real help from anyone besides the hubby. I'm doing a juggling act with the two I have. Is it really wise to be looking to add one more?

And I know in my heart that I really want a girl. If it ends up being a boy, how will I feel? It's just not fair to the new baby boy.

Anyway, I hope it's just the hormones making me feel this way and await the end of this moon cycle kind of, sort of hoping I don't see Aunt Flo this month.

After many years of not doing it . . .

I'm about to start . . . wearing makeup again. Nothing major. I was never a big makeup person. But I'm going to start wearing a light concealer again, getting my eyebrows done (threaded and not waxed since I don't have much eyebrow to begin with) and an eyebrow pencil. I used to wear M.A.C. cosmetics before--no breakouts and lasts all day long so at some point this week, I hope to get over to Macy's to refigure what works for my face again. I'm excited in one way but nervous in another way. Will I actually have the time to do makeup? Half the time, I barely get a chance to look in the mirror before I step out the door. But I'm going to make an effort. And also make an effort to change my earrings and put on some jewelry.

I'm also due for a new set of eyeglasses and I'm searching for frames that are beautiful and stylish and most important, that work for my face. I'd really love to go back to contact lenses but since I have a pretty severe astigmatism, I need toric lenses and they are really expensive. I've thought about laser eye surgery but I definitely want to go to a reputable doctor which means $$. I still need to see if my insurance company will cover "medically necessary" corrective eye surgery. I mean, it's worth a try. I really can't see more that 3 inches in front of me without glasses. Very dangerous.

Anyway, these are some things I'm working on just to put a little "umph" back into the way I look. Been playing plane jane for a little too long. It's getting tired. And I'm ready to feel flyy again.

Basil and Peach Cobbler

No relationship between the two. Just randomness.

Fresh basil from the garden. Delicious. These were chopped and sprinkled on top of freshly made vegan pizza.

Would you believe up until yesterday I had never had peach cobbler? One of the many problems with being a very picky eater--there's lots of foods I haven't tried! Anyway, I gave making a peach cobbler a shot and while it's not the prettiest cobbler ever, it was slamming. We had it with vanilla soy ice cream. Yum. I used the recipe from my mom's ancient (and falling apart) Betty Crocker cookbook (find the recipe here) with a few modifications (such as adding cinnamon and nutmeg and using vegan margarine instead of shortening and soy milk instead of dairy milk).

You're Making a Statement!!

So recently I read a post by Seattle Slim over at Happy Nappy Head (an interesting blog by the way) entitled "Solange's Bold 'Statement' Whether She Likes it or Not" and it really made me think. Solange and I are currently rocking the same basic hairstyle: a lowboy. The thing is though that for me personally, this style is definitely not about making a statement. If you've read this blog long enough, you know that. It came about almost as a necessity as I am not willing to wear a wig or weave or anything like that. I prefer to wear my hair naturally. Locks don't work for me or haven't. And anything longer than this length requires more time to maintain that I currently have. So this style is mainly worn because it is practical. It's not that I just love to rock a lowboy but thankfully, it works with my face and the hubby is okay with it. And it's certainly not because I'm trying to say something.

This whole topic is especially interesting for me because at one point, I did use my hair and my look to make a statement. I wanted folks to see me and know certain things about me right off the bat. My look was indeed a political and social statement and I was not afraid of pins, buttons, iron-on badges and bumper stickers. I didn't want to have 7 congo natty dreadlocks just for the heck of it. They were meant to say something loud and clear. But things have changed so dramatically for me. Whereas back then I was one of those folks always trying to figure out what someone was trying to say by their look, these days, I'm more inclined to let live. If you have something you want to communicate to me, please do. I'm not into reading signs and wonders--especially since I've misread them so often in the past. (Ever met the "conscious" dread type brother who turns out to be far less conscious than your average do-rag/fitted cap wearing brother?)

Now I'm not naive: I know that it's human nature to look at people, things and situations and make assessments/judgments. When we see an overweight person, we may think, "Oh, he's lazy or can't control what's going into her mouth". When we see a mom with lots of children, we may think, "She's such a drain on the system (if she's Black)/environment (if she's White)?" It's not always wrong to judge but we should go a step further and reach into ourselves to pull out compassion and humility to realize we don't know it all. At all. We should get off our high horses sometimes and just let people be. That overweight person might be on a certain life-saving medicine that packs on pounds. That mom of many might have planned carefully for (and have enough to provide for) all her children--maybe she even planned more carefully than you did. And that woman rocking the lowboy might be doing it because she just really can't deal with too much hair in the summer or simply because she likes how it makes her look. It's just so oppressive when how you look will make people immediately jump to conclusions. Although I know that is the way of the world--especially in the United States where everything and anything is all about image.

People who see me can and probably do make a lot of assumptions about this style and why I'm wearing it but honestly, that is their business and not mine. It's just not fair to insist that someone is making a statement with their hair whether they like it or not. It's based on unfounded assumptions and seeks to keep people tied down with labels and locked up in neat boxes. And for Black women, it seems, our hair is always speaking loud volumes for us. When will we just be able to be?

Look how they do/did Michelle Obama: What is she trying to say by ((gasp)) showing her arms? Uh . . . maybe that she likes dresses that show her arms?? Maybe it's just that simple. Solange is a celebrity too and obviously that opens you up to a lot more criticism than the average joe. She's still human. For a celebrity, an image can make or break you. I look at India.Arie (who by the way was rocking a lowboy last time I saw her) and I get so angry sometimes. Her music is brilliant yet it's almost like it would kill the radio stations to play her work. And you just *know* it's because of who they think she is and what she's trying to say even when she says she's not (e.g. "I am not my hair").

Most of us buck at unfair characterizations. We hate it when people tell us what we're thinking or what we're feeling. Yet every day people go around looking at other folks and deciding they know all about them based on what they see.

Hair, in particular, is such a politicized thing for Black people and I don't foresee that changing soon. Yet I'm looking forward to the day when Black women are free to do what they want with their hair without being forced to take a position.

Well, now that I think about it, maybe Solange, India Arie, and I are making a statement whether we like it or not. It is "I don't care that you think I'm making a statement--I'm living my life!"

Image "Exclamation Mark" courtesy of Leo Reynolds on Flickr.com

FO: Seraphina Shawl

Remember when I mentioned I had something to show but I couldn't yet because it was a gift? Well, the gift has been given! It was for my sister-in-law who visited a week ago. It was a joy to make because I think (or hope at least) that it will be put to good use. Also, it was a wonderful project because the crochet movement was fluid and the pattern was easy to memorize. Oh, and the yarn was great! I got the yarn super inexpensively at the Smiley's Yarn store sale--220 yards of super soft wo

ol yarn for $2.00. That price can't be beat! [The hubby was able to get all kinds of natural fiber yarns for below half price (I got him into the wonderfulness of wools, cottons, silks, etc . . . )]. So, the project was great all around. Here's it is on Ravelry.

Funny story: You know that having kids kills off brain cells. It has to. I had this shawl packaged and ready to go weeks before my sister-in-law arrived. Would you believe I forgot to give it to her before she left? Do you know when I remembered? Two days after she was back home!! I had to mail it. Doh!!! And it's so true . . . crochet uses more yarn than knitting. It cost me almost $8 to send this. I've sent similar knit items as far away as California for about $5. But I still love my crochet especially for projects like this.

Any . . . without further ado, my Seraphina Shawl!

On another note, have you ever realized suddenly that someone doesn't particularly care for you? You know, it took you a little while and then it just all of a sudden struck you? And then you're kind of embarrassed because it now seems so obvious? Why didn't you pick that up sooner? And then you start wondering why they don't particularly like you. What did you do? What did you say? And then you realize that you don't really care in the first place. Life goes on.

On another note still, if ANYONE can give me a straight-forward tutorial (no technological gibberish) on adding pictures to Blogger with a Mac, I would be eternally grateful. Right now, it's just incredibly frustrating and stupid. Thanks!

Let the Earth Be Moved

Spiritual Kinsmen

"Knowing that material and spiritual progress are essential to man, we must ceaselessly work for the equal attainment of both. Only then shall we be able to acquire that absolute inner-calm, so necessary to our well-being. Whenever conflict arises between material and spiritual values, the conscience plays an important role and anyone who suffers from a guilty conscience is never really free from this problem until he makes peace with himself and his conscience. Discipline of the mind is a basic ingredient of genuine morality and therefore of spiritual strength. Spiritual power is the eternal guide, in this life and the life after, for man ranks supreme among all creatures. Led forward by spiritual power, man can reach the summit destined for him by the Great Creator.Since nobody can interfere in the realm of God we should tolerate and live side by side with those of other faiths. In the mystic traditions of the different religions we have a remarkable unity of spirit. Whatever religion they may profess, they are spiritual kinsmen. While the different religions in their historic forms bind us to limited groups and militate against the development of loyalty to the world community, the mystics have already stood for the fellowship of humanity...in harmony with the spirit of the mystics of ages gone by.

No one should question the faith of others, for no human being can judge the ways of God."

-H.I.M. Emperor Haile Selassie I

Blessed Earthlight, Negus Negast!!

Peace and abundant blessings to all ones and ones ilebrating this day.

Perfect Love!

Edited July 24, 2009--Is it really a coincidence that every July 23, it is pouring down rain all day long. July 22 was bright and sunny. July 24, bright and sunny. July 23, no way!!

Okay . . . I love thrifting . . .

Sorry if I'm beating ya'll over the head but I really do love thrifting. On that same thrifting excursion where I failed to get the set of 5# weights for $5.00, I did scoop up this little diddy: The Blomus Utilo/Tea Stick, great for an avid tea drinker like myself. On Amazon.com, it's going for $20.15. How much did your girl pay? $2.99. I almost feel redeemed. Almost.

If you're Black, don't get out of sorts or else!

When I read stories like this, I'm reminded that for Black people, especially Black boys and men, being in complete control of your emotions and reactions is so important. Crucial. Often times it is a matter of life and death. You're human, yes. But they don't see you as such. When they spit in your face, you've got to act like it's rain. When they ask you to step out on your own front porch because someone has reported a break-in, instead of asking you if you are okay . . . you have to oblige. Don't get irate. Don't get belligerent. Don't conduct yourself all disorderly. Don't respond like any other normal white human being would. Be non-violent. Be cooperative. Maybe then you'll get to sleep in your own bed tonight. Maybe then they'll treat you like a part of society and not like your perpetrating the part of a part of society.

What tools can we give our boys to help them learn to control their emotions and channel their anger and frustration? How can we keep our boys out of the hands of law enforcement? I know that for me, the mental discipline of yoga and meditation are key. It is a reminder to me to get my sons involved when I am doing yoga and meditating. I have to remember to encourage them to breathe and walk away even in small playground scuffles and sibling rivalries when they feel enormously violated and feel like they have been treated unfairly. I have to find ways to teach them of their inherent worth . . . that is not diminished by humbling oneself at appropriate times in order to preserve their very lives.

As a mother, it is so frustrating to me, raising Black boys in a racist society. A racist society that hates for us to call it what it is. That wishes we'd all go along with the outright myth that we are post-racial because of the election of Obama.

If you're a thrifter . . .

Don't you hate when you see something in the thrift store (or yard/rummage sale) and *know* you should get it but convince yourself not to, saying that it's not priced low enough or you don't really need it? Only to get home and realize it was priced to sell. Quickly. And that you really do need it? Have you ever driven back in hopes that no one else saw it and you could pick it up? Only to find that it is long gone? And then grudgingly admit that you knew it would be?

Well, that was me. Thursday at the thrift store I saw a set of 5 pound hand weights/dumbbells for $5. I convinced myself that it wasn't really worth it especially since I could probably configure the hubby's free weights and come up with 5 pounds (he has the weight bar and weights that you can interchange). Well. I came up with 4.5 pounds. I came up with 6 pounds. But I just couldn't come up with 5 pounds. Dang it!!! Saturday, first chance I got, I was back at the thrift store hoping and praying.

Yeah, right!!!

So I just bought two 5-pound dumbbells from Target. For $6.99 EACH. Dang it!! At least I know that weights last forever. Little consolation. (((insert kicking self in butt smiley here)))

Book Reviews: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao and Drown both by Junot Diaz

A friend of mine recommended I read Junot Diaz's work after I raved about Jhumpa Lahiri.  I started off by reading his novel, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao.  It was an okay read and I wasn't really impressed.  It made me chuckle a few times just because the narrator's language style is very similar to the style that folks from the South Bronx have but other than that, I really just had to press on to finish the novel.  There were lots and lots of footnotes giving the history of the Dominican Republic.  I felt like Diaz was trying to be cheeky but was distracting instead.  Eventually, I started to ignore the footnotes once I realized they weren't integral to the story.   I thought to myself that maybe Diaz is a better short story writer than a novelist.  As such, I picked up Drown, (here's the full text) which confirmed my thoughts.  He is a better short story writer.  This is the kind of writer that needs to get in and get out.  Yet and still, I was not bowled over by his collection of short stories.  They felt stunted in a way.  And as a writer, I hate to be critical of other's writing--especially folks who are published and acclaimed.  But I felt like he was trying to do something he just couldn't get done.  I wrote in a previous blog that I actually read three short stories consecutively without realizing that they were indeed three separate and distinct stories.  All the stories have this same kind of depressed energy and underlying tone that just doesn't propel you to turn the pages. Diaz, however,  is a good, solid writer.  His subject matter is also very interesting as you never really hear the story of immigrants from the Dominican Republic and for that reason, I do encourage everyone to read his work.  It's hard not to compare writers but I definitely prefer Lahiri, hands down.  There's just an elegance to her writing that Diaz doesn't possess.  It is also encouraging when I find new (at least to me) young successful short story writers.  My ultimate goal is to be published in the New Yorker magazine and so it really helps me focus when I read writers who have been.  

Here's my current reading list:

1. White Tiger by Aravind Adiga (currently reading--It is taking a while for the story to get the ball rolling but it is an intriguing plot.  
2. My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Piccoult (which has been turned into a movie)
3. The Time Traveler's Wife  
4. The God of Small Things
5. The Color of Water

I'm not married to the order.  Let me know if you'd like to read any of these titles with me.  Feel free to make a suggestion. 

The Business of Being Born

I finally got the opportunity to watch this documentary and I was so pleasantly surprised.  I was worried that it would be heavy handed, preachy or fanatical but it was not! It presented a balanced advocacy for homebirth that appealed to intellect and reason but did not neglect the emotional and psychological aspects of giving birth. It goes into the history of birthing in the U.S., offers comparisons and interesting (sometimes alarming) statistics.  There are some graphic images (like drugged laboring women being tied down to keep them from hurting themselves and others) but there are also very beautiful and sweet images too.  I highly recommend this documentary.  

As a person who has had both experiences of giving birth, I can honestly say both were beautiful and transformative.  But my homebirth was empowering in a way I cannot fully describe.  I wanted to say to every pregnant woman I saw, "Are you low risk?  Is everything going routinely?  Yes?!?  You should have a homebirth!!!!!"  But I contained my excitement and eventually learned that you can't just be telling any and everybody you had a homebirth.  In fact, when you do tell folks you had a homebirth, the response may often be "On purpose?"  It's still viewed a Bohemian.  Backwards. Earthy.  Not cosmopolitan and advanced and chic.  You know, right in line there with breastfeeding.  

I honestly feel like if you are able to give birth in a hospital normally, you only narrowly escaped a whole series of interventions and a c-section.  I watched one of my best friends go through it.  She called as they were wheeling her in to have the c-section and I wanted to say, "I told you so" because I told her not to be induced.  Told her to let things take their course.  But it's hard because you're not a doctor and if a woman doesn't trust her own body, she needs someone to trust (the doctor) because this is not just about her--it's about the life growing in her.  I would love to see the business of being born taken out of the hands of medical doctors and put back into the hands of midwives and women.  I'd love to see more women begin to have faith in the process and not in the technology.  Birth is a natural process.  Not to be crude . . . but it's like having a bowel movement in a way.  Sometimes you need help but the vast majority of the time, it just happens.  

Anyway, if you've never read my homebirth story, take a moment to click the link on the sidebar.  And when you get a moment, see The Business of Being Born.  (I borrowed it from my library.)

There are blogs . . .

That I used to love to visit and read.  You come to find out that these blogs could actually make up a community because their visions and purposes mesh.  In fact, some of these bloggers regularly comment on each others blogs so, if you follow links, you end up realizing it's kind of a circle of blogs.  But I get way too emotionally invested sometimes all the time so I have been staying away consistently.  This is a part of the discipline I'm trying to cultivate in my life.  I've spoken about it before:  it's called tapas.   But I miss the insightful and on-point commentary and the intellectualism.  I miss the energy and passion you can feel through the writing.  If I felt I could visit these blogs again without falling headlong down a huge energy sap, I would.  For now, I wistfully look at their "most recent posts" on the sidebars of some of the blogs I do visit.    So far, so far, I haven't clicked, no matter how interesting the conversation might be.  :)  And I intend to keep it that way.  

Z1-isms

I was getting ready to brush Z1's teeth this morning.  Here's how the conversation went:

Me:  How'd you get to be so handsome?

Z1:  I practice.

I was rolling on the floor with laughter.  

Changed

Almost 8 years ago, my understanding of God changed.  I sat there at my father's church, in the back row, after playing the piano and realized that I didn't believe in the Blood of Jesus to save.  For a long time before that, I had accepted that there must be more than one way to salvation because I couldn't imagine that all these devout practitioners of other faiths were hell-bound but at that point, I realized that for me personally, Jesus Christ was just not the way.  I felt a lot of guilt and confusion at that realization because Jesus did in fact say, without mincing words, "I am the way, the truth and the life.  No one cometh unto the Father but by me."  I knew that no longer believing in salvation through the blood and victory over death because of the resurrection had now set my life on a different course.  I also knew that it would cause a lot of problems in my family--my parents being such serious Christians.  And if you know my father and mother, you know I'm not kidding about how seriously they take their Christianity--sometimes, I will hesitatingly admit, to the detriment of their children.  Anyway . . . 

I sat in church pretending for a few years.  Still played the piano.  Still ended prayers "in Jesus' name".  Kept up appearances for a while.  

In time, I found RastafarI and that spoke to me.  I was moved by the emphasis on going back to the root (Africa).  The words of His Imperial Majesty touched me.  The love expressed for HIM in reggae music profoundly moved me.  And the idea of God being not just someone I read about who existed thousands of years ago, but someone who was just here, who was African was mind-blowing.  I loved the livity of RastafarI.  The discipline.  The modesty as a woman (which I believed saved and ordered my life).  I loved the community and oneness.  The revolutionary stance and the rebelliousness against the wickedness that is Babylon.   The non-conformity.  But even as I embraced RastafarI, I still had some reservations that I tucked neatly away.  I wanted to belong to something bigger than myself.  I had issues fully accepting any human being as God.  It seemed like once the whole Jesus-the-Son-of-God thing had broken up in my mind, it was hard for me to look on anyone as God in flesh.  

Talking to people and reasoning with them, though, I came to find out that in RastafarI, there were so many different interpretations of His Majesty that really you realized that RastafarI is not a dogmatic religion in that sense but more of a philosophy and world view.  Some folks believed in the divinity of Selassie but not that he was the Almighty.  Others believed that Selassie's role was to point folks back to Christ.  Others believed that not only was Selassie pivotal but so was Marcus Garvey and Prince Emmanuel I.  Still others believed that Selassie I was divine but not in a way that we couldn't be.  In other words, Selassie showed us how to be fully human but fully divine, i.e. a physical representation of how it could be done.  This last understanding of Selassie resonated best with me but still felt a little false in my spirit somehow.  You walk out of the RastafarI circle and hear folks speaking of Selassie I sometimes with ridicule and sometimes with admiration and that to me reinforced my understanding of Selassie.  Personally, I never viewed Selassie as the full sum total of the Almighty Jah--just a part.  

So life moves on and I am trodding RastafarI much to my parent's dismay (and actually, you could say that I was disowned for a while there).  I'm comfortable in the livity and kind of reached a place of equilibrium in the whole "Who is God?  Who is Selassie I?" question.

Until about 2 years ago.  I don't know what happened.  Just one day I realized that my understanding had changed again.  Almost completely.  I'll save that discussion for a next post but I'm just at a place right now where I'm like, "whoa".  Is this what your 20s are all about?  So many drastic mental changes?  Though I've been happily married almost 6 years now, I totally get why folks recommend waiting.  There's a lot of kinks to work out.  And you don't necessarily want to drag some unsuspecting man (that you love, of course) through the rigmarole.  

I'm amazed sometimes at how my struggles with my hair/scalp have really pushed me along in my spiritual journey and in finding my ultimate path.   When folks say, "It's just hair",  I always balk because for me, it most certainly has not been "just hair". These days there are very few head wraps because I often deal with an inflamed scalp and really wearing a wrap with no hair to support it is . . . wack.  And you will catch me wearing pants from time to time because  . . . well, it's practical.   

In a few days, RastafarI people everywhere will be celebrating the Earthlight of His Majesty.  I want to attend Nyabinghi Ises . . . but how will it feel?  Will I feel like I'm keeping up appearances?  Hypocritical?  Or will it still feel all right?  And if a bredrin or sistren I know happens to read this blog, how will they react?  Would they burn fire?How would I react?  I sometimes want to greet a Rasta person when I see them but since I don't look the part these days, I don't unless I know them personally.  I wonder if it will be awkward one day to run into a bredrin or sistren when I so clearly don't look the part anymore.  At least, I'm happy to say, that while I consider these things, it's not worrying me too much.  It's my only life and I have to live it.  

I'm finding peace somehow where I am.  I'm not completely at peace but I'm on the precipice.  Have you ever felt like finally the pieces might just be falling into place but you don't want to get too excited because you were at this point before and they didn't fall into any kind of place then?  

Photo Courtesy of http://www.concurringopinions.com/archives/2008/01/the_paths_of_co.html