Sumangali Morhall | Spiritual Memoir
I’m currently reading Revelations of Divine Love, by Julian of Norwich (1373). Nobody knows Julian’s real name or where she began, and most other details are based on conjecture. But we do know she wrote some of the greatest prose of her time, and was even the first woman to write a book in English.
Since the Mystery Plays chart the story from Creation to Last Judgement, there is only God at the beginning – God with a Yorkshire accent. There’s a certain kindliness, a kind of certainty to a Yorkshire God – you’d probably know where you are with Him. He’d be firm but fair.
One of the very (very) few German words I know is the one for hedgehog. I don’t remember where or why I learned it, but it stuck in my head because igel sounds like eagle, and there can be no two creatures more dissimilar.
This year Easter came early, so I spent Good Friday at home, baking hot-cross buns and filling vases with daffodils and purple tulips. In amongst spring freshness and the cosy aromas of spice, I did leave time for reflection though.
I just found this enchanting short film, written and directed by Sai Selvarajan. It caught my attention by connecting India to Queens, New York The artwork itself is brilliant, and the story heartwarming.
Having had a bit of a grumble lately about saints not showing their human side, I was reminded of Saint Julian the Hospitaller, as described by Flaubert.
Miyamoto Musashi is Japan’s most famous swordsman. The account of his life, meticulously researched and documented by Eiji Yoshikawa in the 1930s, was carefully crafted into English by Charles S Terry 50 years later.
I revisited one of my favourite films last week. Every time I see it I love it more. Masterfully directed by Tran Anh Hung, it follows the life of a Vietnamese servant girl in 1950s Saigon.
They say that behind every great man there has to be a great woman, but behind a great woman? They do not mention. Perhaps we should look down toward the hearth.
My grasp of the Thai language extended barely beyond the basic pleasantries and the buying of food. This was mainly due to the importance of inflections and polite appendages, which English has no care for.
Dickinson referred to herself as a pagan. Some biographers would go so far as to label her a druid for her worship of nature. But was this apparently stubborn heathen life really built on atheism?
The heart in this film is undeniable, and it’s definitely not just for children. As the film’s motto goes: “You have to believe it to see it.”