Post 10 Valentine Special



This is a special post for February.  A little of this and that.






Check this out! So easy and creative that you can make it not missing a beat with your writing!



Did you remember the flowers for your valentine?






All our dreams come true if we have the courage to pursue them.




















Post 9 The Black Girl in Search of God and Some Lesser Tales/Phillip Spires




The Black Girl in Search of God and Some Lesser Tales
The title piece in this anthology is a parable on the nature of religious belief. When first published in 1932 it caused quite a stir and I wondered whether the intervening 75 years might have rendered it something less of a shocker. I found that, apart from one violation of current political correctness and a few inevitable stylistic issues, the message had lost none of its poignancy and perhaps little of its ability to shock.

The Black Girl in Search of God is not a novel or a novella. It is not really a short story either. I choose to describe it as a parable because others have, but equally it could be classed alongside Plato's symposium as a vehicle for examining a philosophical idea. It's not a discourse, but it could be a meditation, albeit a rather energetic one. The idea in question, of course, is the nature of religious belief.

The Black Girl of the title is only cast as such, I think, to provide Shaw with a literary vehicle to convey his otherwise naïve questions about Christianity. To this end, The Black Girl is presented as a "noble savage", and thus a tabula rasa. It is here - and only here - that Shaw violates current correctness. The character could have been cast as a child, but then she could not have threatened to wield her knobkerrie, her weapon, and nor could she have been portrayed as bringing no tradition of her own. We must accept, therefore, that there remains a functionality about the role of this character. She does not represent anything, except her ability to ask the questions she is required to ask.

The Black Girl has been converted to Christianity by a young British woman who has taken delight in amorously jilting a series of vicars. She then becomes a missionary, despite her clearly thin grasp of the subject matter. She is, perhaps, an allegory of colonial expansion. She goes abroad to teach others despite not having achieved fulfilment or knowledge in her own life. It might be important that the teacher and the taught are both women.

When her convert starts asking questions, fundamental questions that the missionary herself has never heard asked, never mind answered, she reverts to invention, not scholarship. Shaw's intention is clear. She invents myth to mystify myth. And this cloak satisfies the curiosity of the average Christian, but not The Black Girl, who thus goes off in search of God.

And, guided by snakes, she finds Him. And not just once, because there is more than one God in the Bible she carries. There is the God of Wrath, who demands the sacrifice of her child. When she cannot comply, He demands she find her father so he can sacrifice her. A good part of the Bible thus disappears from her new-found faith.

She meets an apparent God of Love, but he laughs at Job for being so naively and blindly devout. More of her book blows away.

She meets prophets who, one by one, deliver their different messages, most of which conflict and communicate individual political positions or bigotry rather than personal revelation.

On the way she belittles Imperial power and male domination. She learns that most "civilised" countries have given up on God and hears a plea that people like her should not be taught things that the mother country no longer believes.

Scientists offer her equally conflicting opinions. They are careful only to describe, never to conclude or interpret. In a way, they are just modern prophets, each with their own interested positions.

There is an amazing episode where a mathematician implores her to consider complex numbers, the square root of minus x, which The Black Girl hears as Myna sex or perhaps its homophone minor sex, and is clearly a reference to feminism. Along with economic power and male dominance, The Black Girl sees guns as the highest achievement of white society. This anticipates the description of colonialism's trinity in Ngugi's Petals of Blood.

Then, in a strange section, an Arab discusses belief with a conjuror. These appear to be a pair of major prophets in thin disguise. But their discussions merely confuse the girl and their words skirt her questions.

And so she meets an Irishman, marries and settles down. She devotes herself to him, their coffee-coloured children and the fruits of their garden. Note that she does not devote herself to herself. She projects out, does not analyse within. And in this utterly humanist universe she finds not only personal happiness, but also fulfilment and, with that, answers to her own metaphysical questions that religion per se could not even address.

And so, as the parable closes, we ponder whether the Irishman she marries is Shaw, and whether The Black Girl is the questioning, non-racist, non-sexist, socialist and humanist vision of the future he has personally espoused.


Author Bio
Philip Spires
Author of Mission, an African novel set in Kenya

Post 6 Meandering Life's Memories #1






.....I will be able to watch the bucks, does, and fawns prance through the grassy field to reach the pond filled with brim and catfish for a drink of spring water.  I can sit up at night to listen to the owls flutter through the woods and the coyote as they stalk their prey, yipping and yapping on the run.  I can see stars, the moon, and plane traffic like I've never seen quite like here.

Here is my new home; a dream come true late in life....a blessing like no other for sure.  I have dreamt of a home to hang my heart since I lived in a foster home with my brothers and other children destined for futures unknown.  I dreamed every night a dream of my mother and wondered if she was alright, and would she ever come to rescue us.  I dreamed we would be together again and enjoy a home of love where nobody could bother us or tear us apart again.

Many years passed and many trials, as well as temptations, marched with those years.  A lot of water under the bridge, but I still dreamed of a home where there was not hollering, fussing, and stress or abuse as there was in our adopted home.  

I worried I would never have a home through every step of my life.  I worried if anybody would love me, want me, or see the real me through all the fog of life’s stage.

One day I asked God if He was going to give me a home and He said, "Follow Jesus, and reach for me....... and I will give you the desires of your heart."
I said I am weak, I make bad choices, but I love you.  I cried alligator tears and hung my head.

“I will give you strength.  Lean on me.  Listen to me in the quiet, I will guide you.  I love you, too.” He said softly.
I heard him plain as day.  Though I often made poor choices or stumbled and stalled, each time I brushed myself off and determined to survive everything thrown at me, I reached for Him.

There was not a single soul who understood me or my journey or wanted to.  There was nobody in my corner and there was nobody to comfort me.  I was led straight to Jesus and Jesus walked with me, though nobody wanted to see.  It was a choice I made and a choice they make, Jesus said.  God is my judge and they stumble, too.

It was too late for some; they chose to judge me and shove me aside, but Jesus says, they will see one day, as they walk their journey, to pay the hurt no mind.  To love them is who you are, and for them to not love you, is who they are…for now.  You see, that is how Jesus did and He knows we can do it, too.
So I left my past behind in the dirt where it belonged.  I sought to go forward blemishes and all, knowing Jesus loved me, failures and all.  He doesn’t want someone perfect, but someone He can love because I love Him enough to let Him in my heart to live.

So my new home is being built upon a rock without abuse.  I will decorate it with love and fill it with peace.  Much like He does for me.  This little light of mine….I’ll let it shine.  

My baby brothers and I used to sing this to no end when we were young and sat under the cool trees of a huge yard clustered in the shadows of a fine house we could not call home because of rampant abuse.

They used to call what we went through falling through the cracks.  I for one fell into walking with Jesus.

Just Gina


My two brothers and me post-adoption the first year;











Post 1 Welcome to Heartspun Dreamscape









           

I am delighted you have flip-flopped into my seaside happy place.  Pull a chair, dig your toes into the sand, enjoy the ambiance as we sit a spell.  We can sip our coffee, listen to the waves crashing, and perhaps get some writing done as we sit up under the king-size umbrella.  Be yourself.  Relax.  God bless you for coming.  A FREE COMMUNITY OF WRITERS & AUTHORS.
I follow in Christ's footsteps, and in turn, His lead is sure to reveal His will for me and perhaps----you.  His love is bound to prompt the first steps of your journey, as He has and does mine, by reaching beyond typical writing nuances.  Listen to Him.  Trusting in Him.  Everything falls into its rightful place according to Him.
Welcome to my home created for endeavoring writers and passionate readers looking for applicable content to glean from, capture, implement, and dazzle your fans with your works.   You can interact in assorted ways while honing your craft, fine-tuning your style, and learning from trade tips gathered from the Web, myself, or ones submitted by yourself.
 I hope you enjoy your journey with me; an avid reader and Spirit-driven writer filled with personality and passion. My works are crafted with a signature style. I hope you reap new ideas and are inspired to write a masterpiece or two yourself.  
Happy treasure hunting. 

Write on, my friend.