Showing posts from 2016

A Moment of Kindness

I feel like I changed the course of my day.

This morning on my way out of the neighborhood I spotted a small turtle crossing the road. I slowed down to a halt. Gave it a thought, and then drove around it. I looked in the rearview mirror. A car was approaching at full speed and I watched in horror as it road over it, without crushing it.

At that moment I made a u-turn and returned to the turtle. Just in time to watch its head re-emerge from its shell. Just in time to watch four other cars ride over it, almost crush it. I whipped my car into position in front of it. I put my hazard lights on, jumped out, popped open the trunk, grabbed a towel and scooped it up onto the safety of the lawn.

Something in my act changed my morning. As I went about my day, I felt vibrations around me. Still cannot put it into words. But I am glad I did not shrug off my immediate instinct to help the turtle. I did not succumb to the reasoning that I normally do. I attended to my first desire.

I shared my experien…

Surrender - Journal Entry


Stillness In the Wind

If you want to talk to the gods, tell it to the wind...
... his father had told him.  Yet how could he tell it? The winds were still The birds sang at the wrong time Tree frogs had stopped croaking Yes, flowers blossomed and leaves shed But at the wrong time Could he still talk to the gods,  Could he still tell it to the wind?

In Quest of Justice, a memoir by Rebeka Njau

A first look at the memoir of Kenya's pioneer writer Rebeka Njau, author of The Sacred Seed, Books Horizon (2003), Ripples In The Pool, Heinemann (1978) and The Scar(1965). Here is the first chapter of her soon to be completed memoir.

In Quest of Justice, a Memoir by Rebeka Njau
Chapter One
WHEN I decided to write the story of my life, I struggled to find the best way to express my deep and complex emotions. Finally, in memory of the poetry of my earlier years as a writer, I chose to open this memoir with the following lines:
My ears are plugged up By poisonous spittle of a grimy tongue; Times without number, Little birds have been twittering, joyfully at my backyard, But I cannot hear them. Falsity, scattered like seeds Everywhere I tread, Has driven me to extreme bitterness and pain, Making me feel powerless to forgive and forget.
Like a piece of rock that stands on its own, I stand alone beside a sweet-scented bush To ease my heavy heart. Then in desperate helplessness I approach the Mugumo tr…