[b]Jane Smiley
I always think that things have to happen the way they do happen, that there are so many inner and outer forces joining at every event that it becomes a kind of fate. I learned from studying Buddhism that there’s beauty, and certainly a lot of peace, in accepting that. I sniffed. A smile twinkled sheepishly across his face. Okay, okay, he said, how about this? If you worry about it, you draw it to you.[/b]
So, which is it?
There’s nothing more haunted than a house. Doesn’t matter where, how grand, how small, made of brick, straw, stone, or gingerbread, whether perfectly cared for or blown to bits. Beings gather there. Every house is a planet, exerting gravitational pull. Every house is in a dark wood, every house has a wicked witch in it, doesn’t matter if she looks like a fairy godmother…
Clearly, she had never been to my house.
Some folk learned the nature of God, that He was merciful, having spared a husband or some cattle, that He was strict, having meted out hard punishment for small sins, that He was attentive, having sent signs of the hunger beforehand, that He was just, having sent the hunger in the first place, or having sent the whales and the teeming reindeer in the end. Some folk learned that He was to be found in the world—in the richness of the grass and the pearly beauty of the Heavens, and others learned that He could not be found in the world, for the world is always wanting, and God is completion.
If only in your head.
…not to borrow trouble by worrying about it.
Let’s file this one under, “easier – a lot easier – said than done”
When your parents don’t like you, then you are free.
If anything, mine were indifferent.
The novel is, above all, an intense experience of prolonged intimacy with another consciousness.
And on your terms to boot.