Manuela Cardiga's Blog, page 22
May 14, 2016
There is no mystery, you know. All that Magic is is God's...
There is no mystery, you know. All that Magic is is God's love manifest in the world.
from "Conversations with Ivan Shapiro"
from "Conversations with Ivan Shapiro"
When it becomes imperative to deny an unpalatable or dang...
When it becomes imperative to deny an unpalatable or dangerous truth, the best and easiest way to do so is not by attacking it - which would only entrench it more deeply and make it even more likely to be believed - but to discredit the teller of that truth, and so dismiss it unchallenged.
MC
MC
Knowing uncertainty is everywhere makes us bolder.from "C...
Knowing uncertainty is everywhere makes us bolder.
from "Conversations with Ivan Shapiro"
from "Conversations with Ivan Shapiro"
History is a interlocking web of ongoing events, bringin...
History is a interlocking web of ongoing events, bringing us to the present as we perceive it.
What happened 400 years ago has repercussions NOW, and the ripples still travel; move past us
and onward into the future.
from "Conversations with Ivan Shapiro"
What happened 400 years ago has repercussions NOW, and the ripples still travel; move past us
and onward into the future.
from "Conversations with Ivan Shapiro"
You can bend numbers any which way, and statistics are sl...
You can bend numbers any which way, and statistics are slaves to every liar.
MC
MC
A lot of lies can be "proved " true, but truths can never...
A lot of lies can be "proved " true, but truths can never be disproved.
MC
MC
May 8, 2016
The friends you have are the truest mirror of the person ...
The friends you have are the truest mirror of the person you are.
From "Conversations with Ivan Shapiro"
From "Conversations with Ivan Shapiro"
The friends you have are truest mirror of the person you ...
The friends you have are truest mirror of the person you are.
From "Conversations with Ivan Shapiro"
From "Conversations with Ivan Shapiro"
THIEF OF TRANQUILLITYthis anger that thrums in my throat ...
THIEF OF TRANQUILLITY
this anger
that thrums
in my throat
i swallow
i choke
this hate
that blinds
my sight
this scream
this rage
this spark
of insane
let my heart
slow
let that
disfiguring
crippling
murderous
moment go
let my breath
heave
in and out
let that calm
descend
the fists
unclench
let the rage end
and i can be
myself again
Maanuela Cardiga
Excerpt from "TURQUOISE MOON" BOOK I: LEILA - Chapter III
Cyprus - St Joseph’s Convent - Lanarca
“You may have come here as postulants, hoping to escape the world, its sorrows, its burdens, its choices,” Sister Dominick pauses, “ You think to seek refuge in God; but there is no escaping service to humanity, and only by this service do we truly serve Him.”
Silent in the back row, Sister Mary Joseph runs her fingers over her rosary. In the quiet recesses of her mind she chants: Hail Mary full of grace…
“Your prayers are priceless, but your talents are needed. You are needed.” Sister Dominick’s gaze roves over the impassive faces in their starched frames.
“There are people in pain, the whole world is now struggling to find itself again in the aftermath of war and chaos. We are sending sisters to Palestine, to Africa, to India. We are sending women to serve God by service to our brethren. We look for women with the courage to heal the flesh, so they can reach the spirit - touch the lost soul within.”
Again those agate eyes seem to seek our certain faces. “Obedience to God’s will. That is what you vowed, my Sisters, so I set you a challenge tonight. Search in the silence of your hearts, ask God for a sign. Hearken to his call, my Sisters, and answer it with love.”
Love. Sister Mary Joseph frowns. Love. She has come here for the warm comforting embrace of God, for consolation, for forgetfulness, not to risk her sanity again in love.
“We come as brides, to serve for joy, and so let us serve.”
She kneels, she prays, and she waits. Her rosary, her counters of forgetfulness - each prayer a submersion of her self in holy silence - hangs from her hands; and around her waist under the coarse stuff of her shift, where modesty prevents even the Postulant Mistress from detecting its existence, hangs the turquoise on its scarlet thread.
The answer comes, as she knew it would. She was made for service, the whispering call is imperative.
Come, Leila, come to pray, come to love, come to serve. Come to Africa.
She will obey, and she will serve God in love.
From TURQUOISE MOON
Manuela Cardiga
“You may have come here as postulants, hoping to escape the world, its sorrows, its burdens, its choices,” Sister Dominick pauses, “ You think to seek refuge in God; but there is no escaping service to humanity, and only by this service do we truly serve Him.”
Silent in the back row, Sister Mary Joseph runs her fingers over her rosary. In the quiet recesses of her mind she chants: Hail Mary full of grace…
“Your prayers are priceless, but your talents are needed. You are needed.” Sister Dominick’s gaze roves over the impassive faces in their starched frames.
“There are people in pain, the whole world is now struggling to find itself again in the aftermath of war and chaos. We are sending sisters to Palestine, to Africa, to India. We are sending women to serve God by service to our brethren. We look for women with the courage to heal the flesh, so they can reach the spirit - touch the lost soul within.”
Again those agate eyes seem to seek our certain faces. “Obedience to God’s will. That is what you vowed, my Sisters, so I set you a challenge tonight. Search in the silence of your hearts, ask God for a sign. Hearken to his call, my Sisters, and answer it with love.”
Love. Sister Mary Joseph frowns. Love. She has come here for the warm comforting embrace of God, for consolation, for forgetfulness, not to risk her sanity again in love.
“We come as brides, to serve for joy, and so let us serve.”
She kneels, she prays, and she waits. Her rosary, her counters of forgetfulness - each prayer a submersion of her self in holy silence - hangs from her hands; and around her waist under the coarse stuff of her shift, where modesty prevents even the Postulant Mistress from detecting its existence, hangs the turquoise on its scarlet thread.
The answer comes, as she knew it would. She was made for service, the whispering call is imperative.
Come, Leila, come to pray, come to love, come to serve. Come to Africa.
She will obey, and she will serve God in love.
From TURQUOISE MOON
Manuela Cardiga
