The murder of nature upon your very soul
What must it be like to have the murder of nature upon your very soul? To have sacrificed all the world’s creatures for your own kind, and thereby lost your souls more completely than by any evil magic?
What must it be like to have the murder of nature upon your very soul? To have sacrificed all the world’s creatures for your own kind, and thereby lost your souls more completely than by any evil magic?
The god had been looking for a heart in the city, a heart that was worthy, a heart that knew true worship. And the god had found such a heart, and a voice that called upon Him without greed or demand, without wheedling or whining.
The heart of the prophecy did Enlil find in the stable while the storm raged, upon the altar that was the shore at the end of time.
But though the prophecy was fulfilled upon that moment, the humbling of the city had just begun.
For some days now I have physically left the room with the computer in it, and settled down somewhere to read. All the old joy came back, and I realized the internet was stealing the reading of books away from me. Reading is calming, absorbing, and refreshing for the mind after hectic surfing. Chaz and I have quiet chats where we sit close and she talks and waits for my reply and this is soothing after the online tumult. I like the internet, but I don't want to become its love slave.
You should definitely be reading Ebert's blog.
And yes, I read less. Less BOOKS. In all likelihood, I read many more words. I try and fit in reading as well, as that calmness is necessary, and lets your unconscious do its work figuring stuff out in the background.
Currently, I'm reading some Janet Morris / Thieves World fantasy stuff.