Of late I have taken little notice of this blog, writing principally on papers or emails.

Got to the fourth chapter of Dickens’ Great Expectations—a slow reader that I am. Hilariously grim, Dickens bares the moral element of a child in such a way that as soon as a child becomes self-aware, he recognizes guilt and not innocence as his main secret knowledge. Dickens seems to have a belief in children in their virtues in correspondence to their nastiness. Conscience is such a terrible thing to the sensitive young Pip when it acutely judges and accuses him of stealing, even when his circumstance insists him to do so and reasonably (?) eradicates his guilt. This depiction of a child triggered memory of myself as a seven-year-old, ‘contemplating’ of (I did not recognize the word then for sure) suicide (my very first suicidal thought, that is) when feeling very badly about giving a hard angry spank on my brother’s shoulder (or back). This was done after a rather viciously mischievious act he as a five-year-old performed on me—he used a fork to scratch my face. Wicked, wasn't he?

The week 2-8July passed in disorderly haste, and I was dog-tired most often. Regretted for being a flop and went limp at Picasso’s Vollard Suite and PP’s presentation. I knew it was not dull or tedious, it was tormenting because I was worn-out. At home, I too often went fuming boiled over what I personally consider frenzied loud laughter over absurdities. Bedroom has been my emotional refuge. Patience was much needed, knowing each has his/her own idiosyncrasy. Others too have to bear with me: for my over-meticulousness in putting things in their place according to type/shape etc, for not being flexible. I simply dislike what they call disorderly order, like the chaos of a dining table after a convivial dinner. Sigh. I was so easily piqued by trivial things; the whole thing was a pure waste of breath.

Weekend was not sugar and honey. Things most upsetting and unpleasant were P. AT’s admission to ICU, C. S’ collapse at her house, K. T's anxiety—also a tearful squabble with AK shortly after PP.

Plied with mental exhaustion I did not really feel like going for Sunday’s OSG dinner, prefering the girls not to hear the unbosoming of a troubled person. It turned out that the humble rendezvous—the eating place across the church—did not hinder the wonder the meeting did on me. The thunder during the sudden downpour that prompted us of time, also the drizzles as I walked home, brought what John Newton told Wilberforce in Amazing Grace so vividly to my mind, ‘God sometimes speaks through thunderstorms, sometimes through gentle rain.’ There was certain truth reinforced during the meeting. Uplifted, this week so far has been going entirely unruffled. I truly hope that this is not just a passing craze, but something of lasting reforming faith; that it is not that I get so worked up after we all sit around together and practice togetherness, and assume the good feeling of togetherness is something of spirituality. I suppose caution born of humility is always well worth it?

It is eleven at night now, and I am going back to the torrent of words of Hagopian's Back to Basics.






Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it. (Romans7:20)

posted by Graciana@Home at 5:06 pm