All the rest of these images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.
I love stories where loose ends are tied up, wrongs are righted, and resolutions are satisfying. I will not give away which elements of this tale adequately meet my criteria, so as not to spoil the ending for anyone, but I will say that I was sufficiently pleased. The Echo of Old Books by Barbara Davis spans the 1940s to the 1980s. The technology of those worlds is so different from today that we forget how differently life was lived until we are placed back in those settings. No social media, no internet, no Googling, no cell phones. Newspapers, books, telephones, and eventually micro phish.
There are layers of intrigue surrounding the uber-rich, pre-WWII antisemitism, psychiatry as a weapon against women (especially the act of having women committed to asylums), and societal shame surrounding children born out of wedlock. But my favorite parts are of course, the tragic romance threaded throughout both the books and the decades. The world seems to always have a problem with letting people who love one another be together, whether because they are the wrong nationalities, colors, classes, genders, ages, or religions. Add family rivalry, childhood loss, and war, and the chances of happily ever after go way down.
At least four generations are affected by the racism, classism, and evil perpetrated by several characters in this story. And the question of whether it is safe to open the heart, heal from the past, and give love a second chance, must be answered by multiple characters, each in their own time and place. Though the specifics of this tale are rooted in one family, the concept is universal. If people are unwilling to face truth, have the hard conversations, and find a safe home where they can be vulnerable, there can be no hope of reconciliation.
Davis, Barbara, the Echo of Old Books, Lake Union Publishing, 2023.
This image created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompt using AI on Gencraft.com website.
From The Love of My Life by Rosie Walsh:
“I invite you to think about an event in your past you’d do anything to erase.
You’re bound to have one, even if you’re young. And if you’re good at hiding it, it’ll be there on the strandlines of your own story: sand-camouflaged, unremarkable; visible only to those who know what to look for.
I was good at hiding mine.”
Rosie Walsh does an excellent job of making us question everything about the main character in her novel The Love of My Life. What sort of nefarious past has she kept hidden? Whose side should we be on? The quirky, adorable relationship between her and her unsuspecting husband makes us ache for them, wishing their tale could be less complicated. Can’t there be a happily ever after? Must there be ominous uncovering of stalkers, affairs, criminal activities, deception, danger, loss, and more? Why, yes…yes, there must because Rosie Walsh wants to drag her readers kicking and screaming through every revelation as though we are a character in her book.
Who is the love of Emma’s life? Is it her husband? Is it another man she is meeting in secret? Is it someone yet to be revealed? The twists and turns are well-timed, suspenseful in a way that makes the reader distrust nearly everyone and are satisfyingly straightened out by the end. I enjoyed every second of the tension in this book because it made me love the characters all the more for having endured the stress along with them.
Walsh, Rosie, The Love of My Life, Penguin Books, 2022.
All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.
I am reading Hafiz’s Little Book of Life, poetry by Hafiz-e Shirazi. He is challenging me to become more comfortable with ambiguity. I will share his poem and some of my thoughts on his poem (sometimes with the help of experts when the concepts are too hard for me), followed by a poem and some art inspired by his poem.
Hafiz’s Poem 36:
Alas for the mockers of those Who drink life to the very dregs
Only to abandon their own beliefs At the open door of any tavern Where their faith will be restored
Some thoughts:
Hafiz supposedly has double meanings in many of his poems, according to various experts. In this one, he could be talking about real drinking/partying, or the spiritual equivalent of feeling everything deeply, including joy, sorrow, and love. The people willing to drink to the dregs are the ones there until closing time. The real Mcoys. The mockers are those who set themselves up in judgment of and ridicule those kinds of people. Whether judgment of the literal drunkards or judgment of the deeply emotional/openly vulnerable/ecstatically connected people. Both can look rather similar to the untrained eye.
Either way, the reversal is the heart of this poem. The very people who judge others for their predisposition to revelry, might be the ones who crave it most. They can’t let themselves go, but when given the chance or suddenly set free to experience something ecstatic, they are the wildest ones you’ve ever seen. So much tightly wound, principled, rigorous defense of faith can sometimes reveal a lot about a person. They are just waiting for that moment to be unleashed, to experience, to feel something. And only then will they get it. The only way to connect is to leap into the unknown and grab for the ring or trapeze or whatever metaphor works.
Now, as a recovering alcoholic, I can’t finish without adding a cautionary note. I am not suggesting real alcoholics go live it up and fall off the wagon. Those of us with the disease of alcoholism and who are in recovery have already had our substance-induced revelry experiences and should have now graduated to the more spiritual/emotional side of celebration. Learning to find the depth of love, sit in grief, experience the full spectrum of emotions life puts us through without altering our brain chemistry IS drinking to the dregs the way Hafiz means it. It is learning to live fully, without needing to escape. And nary a one of us should sit in judgment of anyone going through the same hell of the disease of alcoholism that we have been through.
My Poem 36:
When you get sober no one explains how much you’ll miss turning off your brain. It’s something you discover when the thoughts won’t stop, and you have to process the pain.
Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.
This book was a lovely little slice of life capturing the people of a small island town as they supported one another through the ups and downs we all experience. The quirky characters made me feel reminiscent of the Doc Martin show I used to watch with my husband about characters set in Portwenn, a fictional town on the coast of Cornwall, England. The gruff bookstore owner A.J., certain of never finding love after tragically losing his wife, reminded me of the doctor in Doc Martin with minimal people skills. A.J. loves books. Doc Martin loves practicing medicine. I’ll stop with the comparisons, but I should say that I am a fan of whatever this type of story is—odd outsider becomes an instrumental part of the community. He may be off-putting, but he’s our bookstore owner who is off-putting, sort of thing.
When a special gift is left for him in his bookshop, the life-changing effects are as dramatic and satisfying as one could expect. There is mystery, romance, tragedy, and comedy. And it is all wrapped in a heartwarming tale of people taking care of people. Now I will allow myself to watch the movie, since I finally read the book. I hope it is just as satisfying as the book was. I also enjoyed comparing notes with A.J. about his favorite short stories. I felt quite accomplished that I had read some of the ones he mentions at the beginning of the chapters.
Zevin, Gabrielle, The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry, Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2014.
All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.
Holidays take so much energy. Energy I do not have to share right now. The last month has been a lot. I don’t want to decorate, host any dinners or brunches, clean my house, buy gifts, make treats, bake desserts, dye eggs, hide candy, grocery shop, cook, or do anything involving pastel shades. I don’t have anything against any of those things, but the thought of participating in any of it makes me feel more tired than I already am. Add to that, I came down with a stomach bug and I just want to lie in bed for a few days.
I know holidays are important and create special memories, especially for children. I’m just not in the mood for all the hoopla and rigamarole. Thankfully, all 3 of my grandkids are in different states with different family members having wonderful times without me. That probably sounds horrible to say. I love them and want to be with them but also love that they have many relatives who want to spend time with them. I am very thankful for a large, extended family at times when my energy has been completely depleted.
Maybe next year. For this year, the newest granddaughter is snug as a bug in a rug with her parents up in Michigan, Charlotte is at a wedding with her father and his father at her aunt’s wedding up in New York, Julian is with his Abo and Aba in Texas, and I am going to take a nap. That sounds like the perfect Easter activity for me.
All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.
I am reading Hafiz’s Little Book of Life, poetry by Hafiz-e Shirazi. He is challenging me to become more comfortable with ambiguity. I will share his poem and some of my thoughts on his poem (sometimes with the help of experts when the concepts are too hard for me), followed by a poem and some art inspired by his poem.
Hafiz’s Poem 33:
Adam gave up Paradise
For just one nice ripe apple
What if one world is only worth
One hard stale raisin
?
Some thoughts:
This poem feels a little cheeky. Irony keeps the interpretation in question. If Adam was willing to give up Paradise for an apple, was it worth it? What did he gain? Is Hafiz suggesting that the fall was an opportunity for growth? Most religious leaders of Abrahamic faiths would argue that such thinking is blasphemous, yet Hafiz goes on to ask about the possibility that such a trade could occur for even less of a temptation, a hard stale raisin. Maybe the eating of the fruit was not really of any consequence. Perhaps the development of knowing right and wrong, choosing free will, embarking on an individual hero’s journey was the inevitable event, given the curiosity of the creations who resembled the creator.
Hafiz doesn’t commit to any one view. He simply asks the question, suggesting that perhaps we do not fully understand the exchange that was made, beyond the basic information passed down through the ages. What is one world worth? Did Adam and Eve take their world for granted? Probably. Don’t we take our world for granted most of the time? But what if they also desired more? More than blind obedience. What are we willing to trade for peace? What are we willing to trade for safety? What are we willing to compromise on for those we love? Had Adam not eaten of the fruit, would he have lost Eve? There are so many questions left unanswered that only a fool would claim to know what they would do in the same circumstances.
My Poem 33:
By the light of a mid-month moon, my love gathered figs by the handful. Her plump, ripe lips, a sticky, sweet boon, as I kissed the taste of the tree’s jewel.
That rich ambrosia, nectar of gods, forbidden for reasons unknown. Angels eat the fruit, so I find it odd, that the restriction applies to us alone.
Why was I made and given this mate, if not to experience all and to learn? To know good and evil, not to hesitate, is the knowledge for which I yearn.
The taste of truth, bittersweet and bold, that’s what this is, what I’ve come to crave. The consequence is growing old, and learning pain only taught by the grave.
Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.
All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.
I am reading Hafiz’s Little Book of Life, poetry by Hafiz-e Shirazi. He is challenging me to become more comfortable with ambiguity. I will share his poem and some of my thoughts on his poem (sometimes with the help of experts when the concepts are too hard for me), followed by a poem and some art inspired by his poem.
Hafiz’s Poem 32:
While you slept The caravan has moved on
The desert is up ahead
Some thoughts:
As an intense sleeper in need of a ridiculous amount of sleep, this poem annoys me at the literal level. But if I look at it a bit more metaphorically, I can see what the poet is saying. We all must sleep, rest, withdraw from the world at times for healing and downtime. But isolation can become a habit if we let it. It is peaceful in our own tent, with our soft furnishings, and our quiet comfort zones. Outside is the noisy bunch with their opinions and foibles and, sometimes, annoying ways. But there are important qualities to community that we must remember to consider. It is only through community that we grow as people who can empathize with others, connect for companionship, and be nurtured and remembered. And in Hafiz’s time, there was safety, especially when travelling through the desert. It could be very dangerous to find yourself alone in a wilderness landscape. You might not survive. I suppose it is a good warning/reminder to find balance in our isolative ways if we are prone to such patterns.
My Poem 32:
While we slept, energy continued to transition from typewriters into clouds, from broadcast to streams, from nickels and dimes into crypto, from desktop computers to quantum AI.
While we slept, families continued to transition from mother, father, two children to whoever can cobble a life together, whatever the gender expression or lack thereof, or anywhere in between, from white with white only to beautiful hues of blended shades.
While we slept, societies continued to transition from patriarchal oppressive regimes to the beginnings of equality and inclusion, from workplace discrimination to women in leadership roles, wheelchair ramps, climate change and mental health awareness.
While we slept, religious institutions continued to transition from exclusive to more inclusive, from in person only to online participatory options, from fundamentalist to deconstructionist, from male-only leadership to some women in high places.
While we slept, culture continued to transition from consumerism to minimalism, from the status quo to conversations about privilege, from fat-shaming to body positivity, from nature destruction to environmental consciousness, from acceptance to accountability.
When we wake, will we bury our heads in the sand and demand a halt to change, a return to the past, or will we lift our chins, with eyes wide open, minds alert, mouths slightly agape, and join the caravan?
The desert is up ahead. It is vast and wide, and we will be left behind in our ruts of “we know best” and “tradition is all,” while the great adventure of life moves on without us.
Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.
All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.
I am reading Hafiz’s Little Book of Life, poetry by Hafiz-e Shirazi. He is challenging me to become more comfortable with ambiguity. I will share his poem and some of my thoughts on his poem (sometimes with the help of experts when the concepts are too hard for me), followed by a poem and some art inspired by his poem.
Hafiz’s Poem 31:
Our hands are short
The dates High up on the tree
Some thoughts:
There are so many different directions this poem could go. The dates, out of reach so high up the tree, could represent a goal, a desire, nourishment, or a promise of sweetness, joy deferred. In Hafiz’s Persian culture, they would have been a staple, part of many recipes as a sweetener. The inability to reach the fruit could represent our human limitations, our need for community, or the recognition that we must learn to think outside the box. There are ways to get to the fruit that don’t involve growing longer arms. We can climb, get a ladder, shake the tree, wait until it gets ripe enough to fall, ask for help from others, etc. Perhaps the poem is asking us to ponder our needs and determine what it is we most need to learn from the situation. Do we need to develop patience and wait for the fruit to fall? Do we need to learn to ask for help and get support from our community? Do we need to develop some initiative and do some problem-solving to get our needs met? Do we need to take a class in date harvesting to gather more information about our dilemma? Like I said, there are many ways to look at this and any of them could be a great lesson, depending on our circumstances.
My Poem 31:
I want to be rich enough to pay my bills on the day they are due, if not early each month.
I want to be so rich, the only thing I worry about is who to help next with the extra money I’ve earned.
I want to be the kind of rich that goes grocery shopping without tabulating a total as I go.
I want to be richer than it takes to retire all the great-grandparents in our family so they can rest.
I want to be the richest person who still drives a Toyota Camry and lives in a multi-generational home.
I want rich written all over my receipts for paying off every school loan for every relative and friend I know.
I want richer than rich opportunities to flow into every household of every human on earth who wishes others well.
I want to richify our schools, hospitals, libraries, daycares, nursing homes, and animal shelters with infinite abundance.
Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.
All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.
I am reading Hafiz’s Little Book of Life, poetry by Hafiz-e Shirazi. He is challenging me to become more comfortable with ambiguity. I will share his poem and some of my thoughts on his poem (sometimes with the help of experts when the concepts are too hard for me), followed by a poem and some art inspired by his poem.
Hafiz’s Poem 30:
The Alley of Prestige Is not for us
If you don’t like it Try changing Justice
Some thoughts:
Alleys are narrow, hidden, not the usual route the rest of us walk down to get where we’re going. Since Hafiz calls this an Alley of Prestige, I imagine he is talking about a passageway where most would not be welcome. It is probably where the top echelon of society rub elbows on their way to somewhere fancy and exclusive. I don’t think these are the people striving for healthy excellence, but perhaps those competing for fame and admiration. He is saying that people who are walking the Way of Love of taking a different route. We have different priorities.
It doesn’t mean we can’t have success or wealth or any of the other abundant blessings that are meant to come our way, but it should not be the goal of our actions. And if we don’t like the fact that the Way of Love does not chase prestige, our issue is with Justice. Reality is structured such that true pursuit of divine love requires the collapse of ego-seeking. If we spend all our time trying to rig the system, play the game of hierarchy, and resent not being admired, we might not be on the right path. We should not be focused on climbing the social ladder, competing for favor, or performing for prestige. Integrity, humility, and honor may not always get the applause, but they are on the side of Justice.
My Poem 30:
Wouldn’t it be lovely if the people rewarded with the most prestige, the biggest salaries, and the praise and glory were the people who give of themselves every day for the sake of others?
-nurses who lift and check and wipe and console and heal and save and carry our burdens when we are at our weakest and most vulnerable.
-teachers who fill the minds of the next generation and inspire our greatest creators of the future.
-health aids who do the dirty work of managing these failing bodies when they are at their worst.
-classroom aids who sit beside the child who needs the help, patience of a saint corralling the minds least open to knowledge.
-daycare workers who raise the babies while their parents must work.
-librarians who solve and guide and suggest and provide the hope and light of promise books represent for all.
Not that politicians and football players and Wall Street traders don’t have important functions in society, but I’ve never wept in one of their arms as I struggled with fear and pain and been comforted by their wisdom and compassion.
Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.
All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.
I am reading Hafiz’s Little Book of Life, poetry by Hafiz-e Shirazi. He is challenging me to become more comfortable with ambiguity. I will share his poem and some of my thoughts on his poem (sometimes with the help of experts when the concepts are too hard for me), followed by a poem and some art inspired by his poem.
Hafiz’s Poem 29:
Along the Way of Love
Worldly rule is A parasite
Some thoughts:
I had to ponder this one a while and use resources to check my ideas against. “Along the Way of Love” feels like it is talking about our path or spiritual journey throughout life. My husband’s martial art talks about “Budo,” which means roughly, “The Martial Way.” Some spiritual practices call it “The Walk” or “The Straight and Narrow Path” or “The Hero’s Journey.” Common threads in all of them are ideas of practice, movement, alignment, and surrender. In the Tao Te Ching, Dao is “The Way” and is the underlying current shaping our reality or the natural flow of our existence. The Bible depicts Jesus as “The Way” and a life patterned after his love, sacrifice, and humility is the ideal for Christians. In Hinduism, Marga is the path and Dharma is “cosmic order, right action, and duty aligned with one’s nature.” In Buddhism, The Noble Eightfold Path includes right speech, right action, right livelihood, and right mindfulness. Many Indigenous traditions speak of “Walking in Balance”, in beauty, right relationship, and balance with the land, ancestors, community, and spirit.
Any of these examples works perfectly with the rest of the poem because it is saying that, essentially, any outside force that tries to control “The Way” does so by feeding on us. Outside powers like governments, religious authorities, ego, systems that dominate, or hierarchies that control need someone to rule over. They survive by draining the life and spirit of their hosts. They cannot exist independently from us. Power that depends on control is a parasite. They require dominance, fear, maintaining an image, etc. If we are truly traveling The Way, we are striving for equality, love, surrender, vulnerability, and humility, all things that are opposites of ego-driven constructs.
On a more personal level, if we are trying to walk The Way of Love, it is not in alignment to act parasitic. Are we trying to control people around us? Are we trying to control outcomes, narratives, opinions, or events? Love does not try to control others. Love flows freely. Do we try to dominate conversations when we want to get our way instead of letting the conversation be fair and two-sided? Do we use our emotions to bully others into doing what we want, rather than keeping ourselves balanced and in check and recognizing that we are using manipulation as a tactic? Control clings, fears, threatens, traps, insists, interferes, and demands. Nothing that tries to control is love.
My Poem 29:
The plasmodium falciparum is the deadliest parasite for humans, as far as we know.
Over 600,000 people die every year from malaria caused by these tiny little one-celled creatures who fly through the air on winged mosquito ladies from one human host to another, multiply in our livers, then burst open our red blood cells, which we would prefer were kept intact.
Their feasting and multiplying is incongruous with our well-being, their only goal multiplication.
For them the glorious bursting of our cells is like fireworks, celebratory blasts releasing new generations into the river of life (our bloodstream) where they hope to be a lucky chosen one that will be sucked into the sky and helicoptered to a new host, where their descendants will begin again.
Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.
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