“The secret is with the cherries—dark red—tart ones from Michigan,” she added. “After I pitted them, I cooked them down with honey and brown sugar ‘til syrupy, then whipped them in the food processor before adding them to the filling. Would you like to try some?”

It looked velvety-plain, blushed with regal hues. Slowly, I spooned some on my tongue, set a-tingle with inside-out sweetness and smacking with chocolate wafer cookie crust—yet instantly, sadness set in: I must swallow this treat.

Such experiences scrape free the perimeters of routine living, blow cobwebs aside, and open new vistas of joy. It’s all about plunging into the present moment, shimmering with inner harmonies, brimming with sensuousness, and replete with buoyancy. Pleasure peaks beyond imagining. However the imperative to hold fast such experiences paradoxically loosens our grip.

Yet we remember such foretastes of heaven. We’ve been visited and we know it.

Evidently the Psalmist had such an experience when he exclaimed, Taste and see the goodness of the Lord (34:8). That was over two thousand years ago.

We are in good company.

 

 

 

Advertisements

Graced storytellers, from all times, seize imaginations of their readers and plunge them within new learning, not always pleasant.

Such a storyteller is the Indian-American author Sejal Badani. Because her maternal grandmother’s shocking experience in the1940s still smarted, she felt compelled to weave some of her story into the novel The Storyteller’s Secret (2018). It unfolds like a finely wrought tapestry with panels of shimmering and jarring colors.

Meticulous research into Central India’s Madhya Pradesh contextualizes Amisha’s impoverished village: the irritant of the British Raj’s occupation, Gandhi’s teachings firing imaginations with independence, the Brahmans’ domination of the natives, the despised untouchables, arranged marriages and dowries, wives subservient to their husbands and their families, temple festivals and dancing, and household shrines with favorite gods and goddesses. Within this milieu barefoot Amisha works out her destiny wearing plain saris.

On every page tactile images engage the reader’s senses: feeling oppressive monsoon rains and scorching heat, smelling garbage-strewn roads and the dung of oxen, cows, and dogs, seeing candles illuminating the Hindu temple’s pantheon and oil lamps in homes, tasting spicy foods, hearing temple bells, shrieks, children’s laughter, and worked up by “joinings” or sexual activity—and always, the incense.

Badani’s dialogue works extremely well in propelling the story forward. Yet silences are pregnant with meaning: hurt, disappointment, violence, ecstasy, dread, and romance.

The New York Times and Amazon bestseller, The Storyteller’s Secret by Sejal Badani features Amisha, a spirited woman admittedly ahead of her time—the stuff of storytellers’ artistry. Do let Amisha touch you with her buoyant selflessness.

 

 

Outside my study window the leaves of the seasoned lilac appear mottled, bug-gnawed, its spring symmetry of glossy leaves torn asunder. Change is underway. There’s no stopping it, no emergency measures to prolong what had offered greening to spiking branches tipped by heady purple blossoms. September feels the first pinch of grief.

 

 

Yet, look closely—buds crown tips of branches, anticipating new greening but not before months of dormancy.

What can be said of the Master Gardiner’s empowering all life forms with internal growth cycles—even ourselves, seeded with burgeoning life to be shared in dark times and light? Such fruition plummets us, even now, into the mystery of co-creation.

We are grateful.

 

Available on Amazon

Advertisements
%d bloggers like this: