The old stories of man’s rebellion against God to find himself are given a new twist in this novel which combines Greek mythology with the Book of Genesis set against a backdrop of modern technology. Forces are at work to awaken the divine spark inside a seemingly ordinary girl: goddess-incarnate-as-woman yet pawn of greater powers, Maia must tread carefully lest her search lead her to open doors that were not meant to be reopened. Here is Eve again tempted to repeat the act which caused that terrible tragedy: the Great Fall from Grace … or is it the path to redemption?
I am reminded of Tolkien’s Hiding of Valinor, of C.S. Lewis’ “Perelandra” and of Guillermo del Toro’s “Pan’ Labyrinth.” The book made me aware quite forcefully that another world does exist beside our own and only with eyes unveiled can we hope to get a glimpse of it. But as there are those who would once more rip down the veil itself to reveal what lies hidden, the heart is suddenly gripped with foreboding lest the time be not yet ripe for such a revelation. Are we ready to reclaim what we once rejected? The story of the Seven Sisters is our story, too. I can’t wait for the second book!” – Myra B.
We close our eyes and stem the tide but much as we try, images will begin to crowd our consciousness. Light filters in, a faint filtering of a prism, like waves breaking over mounds of hewn rock, and then a sound or two – voices that seem to belong to us but not – edging each other out until one or two take center stage and we are caught up in a story, much like a spider in its web.
From the window in my office, I could see a sliver of the sea.
At 4pm, it glistens, a beacon for those who care to look. The sun is directly above it and plays on its surface, and the sun’s clouds appear to be yellow graduating to orange, interspersed with white wisps and marred by the dot of a high-flying bird. I imagine the sky plunging to dark blue, at once, as soon as the sun touches the sea.
There is one space in my eye’s periphery where I refuse to look. It is an abandoned construction, the skeleton of a building, an eye sore, and despite my reluctance to look, I am quite familiar with it. It could have been beautiful, but it is not. Its remains stand tall – the symbol of human-nature-gone-bad. It told of the story of people refusing to agree, of a rift dividing partners, the drying up of money, and the final blow, hurling of lawsuit bayonets. I am sure it caused some pain to someone somewhere, maybe until now.
I read it from The Secret but it was Johannes “Meister” Eckhart who allegedly originally said this.
If the only prayer you said in your whole life was thank you…
I do not know who Eckhart is, except that he was a German theologian, philosopher and mystic born during the 12th century who wrote such controversial articles that he was tried as a heretic by the then-pope.
But this is not about Meister Eckhart or the Secret. This article is about certain prayers, and thank you.
You are writing. You want to be shaken to your core, inspired beyond belief, get your thoughts flowing but the words won’t come. Today is one of those days, you tell yourself, brows furrowed, while trying to figure out what it is you are supposed to do now. How do you get to the zone?
If the experts are to be believed, there is no zone. There is only you. And that you are blocking you.
Or you are blocking your chakra. And It could be stress, fear, insecurity or worry that are the culprits – negative emotions that are of your own making but ones you think you cannot heal or overcome – at least at that point in time when you are calling upon your inner genius.