Literature

"Literature" is probably not a good title for this post, now that I think of it. I have been reading voraciously, mind you.... but what I have been reading has not been literature in any way. As usual, I've settled into non-fiction books by journalists or op-ed writers.

I just finished "The Price of Loyalty", which tells of former Alcoa CEO Paul O'Neill's time as US Treasury Secretary. And I am about to embark - I think - on Woodward's "Plan of Attack." Why do I read books that just make me upset about the state of the world?

One book I brought with me is a meditation on stillness, by a Carmelite Nun who also happens to be an art critic. She shows a series of paintings, and then reflects on the stillness to be found in it. Some are portraits, some are scenic, and some are abstract, but all in some way are calming works that can be meditated upon.

I find it hard to reach a state of serenity while here, though, especially meditating on those paintings. I am in a feast of the senses already.

I'd even go so far as to say that sneaking over to my parents and writing blog entries is about the only chance I've had for real reflection. No - that's not quite true; I'm too reflective by nature, I suppose. But uncaptured insights are like blooming dandelions on a windy day - the fluff just flies out of sight. ;-)