Wrong email address or username
Wrong email address or username
Incorrect verification code
back to top
Search tags: Prayer
Load new posts () and activity
Like Reblog Comment
show activity (+)
review 2017-12-21 19:15
Chernobyl Prayer
Chernobyl Prayer: A Chronicle of the Future - Svetlana Alexievich,Anna Gunin,Arch Tait

I went into the Zone from the very beginning. I remember stopping in a village being struck by the silence. No birds, nothing. You walk down a street … silence. Well, of course, I knew all the cottages were lifeless, that there were no people because they had all left, but everything around had fallen silent. Not a single bird. It was the first time I had ever seen a land without birds, without mosquitoes. Nothing flying in the air.


Chernobyl Prayer consists of monologues from people, who in one way or another has been affected by Chernobyl. People, who have been evacuated from their hometowns. Clean up workers. People, who have returned to their contaminated home stead. Children, who are suffering from various diseases. Scientists, who know what to do, but doesn´t stand a chance against the decisions made by the government.


I guess I don´t have to mention that a lot of these voices have died by now. This book is such a powerful, heartbreaking, agonising, infuriating and maddening read and it gives you an insight into the mindset of the Soviet people and their dependence on the state back then. It´s hard to grasp what has happened back then. This book provides a look into the lives of the people, who have been affected by this disaster.


It´s one of the best books I have ever read and I will let a few quotes speak for themselves:


The fear didn´t set in for a long time: for almost a month everyone was on tenterhooks, waiting for them to announce that, under the leadership of the Communist party, our scientists, our heroic firemen our soldiers have once again conquered the elements. […] From all the textbooks and other books we´d read, in our minds we pictured the world as follows: military nuclear power was a sinister mushroom, cloud billowing up into the sky, like at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, incinerating people instantly; whereas peaceful nuclear energy was a harmless light bulb.


People are always comparing it to the war. War, though, you can understand. My father told me about the war, and I´ve read books about it. But this? All that is left of our village is three graveyards: one has people lying in it, the old graveyard; the second has all the cats and dogs we left behind, which were shot; the third has our homes.

They buried even our houses.


And just a few people could kill us. Not maniacs and criminals with a terrorist plan in their heads, just ordinary operators on duty that day at an atomic power station. They were probably quite decent men.


We told all these jokes. They send an American robot up to work on the roof. It operates for five minutes, then breaks down. Then a Japanese robot lasts nine minutes before it breaks down too. The Russian robot works for two hours, then, over the walkie-talkie, “Okay, Private Ivanov, you can come down now for a cigarette break.” Ha Ha!


What was needed was potassium iodide, standard iodine. Two or three drops in a half glass of fruit jelly for children, and three to four drops for adults. The reactor was burning for ten days, and for ten days the people should have been taking that.


Book themes for World Peace Day: Read a book by or about a Nobel Peace Prize winner, or about a protagonist (fictional or nonfictional) who has a reputation as a peacemaker.


Svetlana Alexievich won the Nobel Prize in 2015.



Like Reblog Comment
show activity (+)
text 2017-12-20 20:35
Reading progress update: I've read 294 out of 294 pages.
Chernobyl Prayer: A Chronicle of the Future - Svetlana Alexievich,Anna Gunin,Arch Tait

If I could give a ten star rating, this book would have deserved it. It´s fantastic.


A full review will follow.








Like Reblog Comment
show activity (+)
text 2017-12-18 19:35
Reading progress update: I've read 60 out of 294 pages.
Chernobyl Prayer: A Chronicle of the Future - Svetlana Alexievich,Anna Gunin,Arch Tait

 I´m on page 60 and two things might very well come true with this book:


  1. It might become my best book of the year.
  2. It might utterly destroy me.



Like Reblog Comment
url 2017-11-21 09:39
Christian Meditation and Mindfulness
Conscious Parenting: Mindful Living Course for Parents - Nataša Pantović Nuit
Art of 4 Elements - Nataša Pantović Nuit
Tree of Life - Nataša Pantović Nuit
Chanting Mantras with Best Chords - Nataša Pantović Nuit
A-Ma Alchemy of Love - Nataša Pantović Nuit
Mindful Being - Nataša Pantović Nuit
Conscious Creativity: Mindfulness Meditations - Nataša Pantović Nuit

Meditation and Christianity

 is more-or-less defined as a mental exercise of concentration and contemplation, by either focusing on a single thought (e.g. meditation repeating a mantra), or by following an intuitive imaginative flow that involves relaxing the body, and calming the river of thoughts, with an aim to enter deeper levels of .

St. Teresa of Avila 1515-1582 Christian mystic about meditation
Source: artof4elements.com/entry/203/christian-meditation-and-mindfulness
Like Reblog Comment
show activity (+)
text 2017-09-11 04:44
The Case of the Preacher Without a Prayer

A Professor Laura Kaylan and Detective Harry Gonzales Mystery

At first glance, Reverend Billy Roy Montgomery's parsonage office looked exactly as it did on the evangelist's Sunday evening program, Gospel Reflections: opulent furniture in mahogany and red leather, subdued lighting from a Tiffany lamp on the desk, shelves lined with leather-bound books. A second look around, however, revealed subtle and not so subtle differences between the genuine article and the studio stage set.  Here, solid oak bookcases provided the backdrop in every direction, instead of painted plywood that ended at the edge of the camera's field of vision.  The stage set never invoked the unmistakable aroma of fine leather and old wood that marked this room as the genuine article.  Like most TV studios, the Gospel Reflections mock-up smelled of hot lights, electric cables, and some technician's stale cigarette smoke and half-eaten burger.


But I digress, a quirk of personality I sometimes cultivate.


Summoned to the parsonage by a half-hysterical phone call from Reverend Billy's wife, I stopped just inside the open door to the study and marshaled the forces that would return me to some semblance of professional calm.  Reverend Billy's office did indeed look normal, except of course for the dead man sprawled face down on the carpet in front of the massive desk.  A wet red stain, too fresh even to have dried at the edges, covered the back of his once-white jacket.  The gold handle of the letter opener that had killed him gleamed in the muted light.

The tall case clock in the corner bonged discreetly three times.  I glanced at my watch; Billy's clock ran fast by about five minutes.  I glanced down at Billy; his time had run out.

The quiet sniffle from somewhere to my left dispelled a moment of contemplation.  A disembodied voice, floating on the morbid air, asked, "Can you keep everything quiet?  You know, out of the papers?"

Someone else might have laughed in reply, but few others, and certainly none of the cops who would arrive on scene within minutes, would have understood the request.


I turned to the huddled knot of people clustered in front of the closed door that led to the rest of the parsonage.  Pauline Bouchard Montgomery, who sometime within the past few hours had gone from being the wife of the most powerful evangelist in Phoenix to just another widow, separated herself from the group and stumbled toward me.


"That's why I called you first, Dr. Kaylan," she added.  "The publicity, if this should get out, would be . . . disastrous."

She tripped on the edge of the rug and only the quick action of a bathrobed elderly woman with the manner of a professional nurse kept the former Polly Bouchard from falling to the floor beside her late husband.

Polly accepted the nurse's assistance to a nearby chair, behind the desk and out of view of the body.

"I am the soul of discretion, Mrs. Montgomery, but as soon as the police get here --"


"No!" she shrieked, half rising from the chair until the nurse's hands on her shoulders brought her back down.  "No police.  We'll say it was an accident."


Her outburst, though brief, rattled me more than her earlier calm.  Her husband, a prominent personality in the religious community of a major metropolitan area, lay dead on the floor with a fancy letter opener protruding from his back, and she expected anyone to believe he died due to an accident? 


Yes, that's exactly what she expects, I thought. 


This attractive, slender woman in her early fifties came from a background that accustomed her to getting exactly what she wanted more often than not, no matter how irrational her request might seem to anyone else.


"I don't think you understand my position, Mrs. Montgomery," I began to explain as I walked closer to the widow and her caretaker.  Assuming a classic movie stance, I went down on one knee beside her and took her stone cold hands in mine.  "We have a duty to call the police.  Reverend Billy has been murdered, and the police have to find out who did it."


She gathered herself for another screamed protest; I squeezed her icy fingers tightly before continuing with only the slightest pause.  A man could not have communicated the emotional bond this way, but I knew Polly would respond to a woman's touch.


"I want you to tell me what happened as quickly as you can, no more than ten minutes, and then I'm going to call the police," I told her, with a quick look up toward the nurse, who nodded her understanding.  "Tell me everything, just as it happened, just as you remember it."

More posts
Your Dashboard view:
Need help?