Book Clubs

Book clubs were about point of view. The purpose of reading was about change. And points of view were about the perspective of others. Beyond myself.

Point of view. Even in the garden, the solemnity of time. In a story that was so much alive, the story about the future – about time. An awareness of the solemnity, in the beginning. In a relationship, in the search for the divine.

Book clubs. The proliferation of book clubs. Poets and writers with movement/soreness/strength of purposes, or something way beyond myself. Telling stories, over and over. Using words about how we think who we are? The humbleness of words – or hieroglyphics. Learning word order to tell the same story about the need to grow and change. About identity.

Who could see the unraveling, as it happened? To my world. Or even in the garden. In the story about the future, the story about time and the solemnity of time. In the world wanting a piece of me. She wanted a piece of me and I wanted a stake of her. Despite the doubts about what seemed most true, just one bite. Of the apple. Where was my attention? Where was her attention? What was the ambition of a woman? In such a perfect world.

The system. With just the one apple. In the story about the future – about time – this was not a story when someone challenges authority… but when a woman challenges God over the power structure. Because in a perfect world, who really needed either marriage or a spouse? In such a world, who even needed God and what seemed to be an inane rule?

All those questions, no real answers, in the beginning. As longings collide with the anger over powerlessness. Over both the past as well as the future. In these reality stories about fertility. And news systems of power.

Book clubs were about point of view. The purpose of reading was about change – recognizing a need to grow and change. We endow our lives with stories, in the words of David Remnick, the editor of The New Yorker. “Mostly they are the same lives, the same stories, over and over.” Stories about how we have come to know God. The same game over and over, with newer players. Players who wore the same uniforms, but something about the players had changed? Something about the young was changed? Had it been from too many commercials? Or the politics of too many commercials? About too many no-names whose names we were all supposed to remember in an election year?

Book clubs. Fertility stories. When someone breaks your heart. Like Cain later would. In another fertility story of the displacement of consciousness, about moral authority. With the development of point of view to discover God’s Will – or something way beyond myself. Like a woman’s will, like Eve. With a new desire for guaranteed safety. For fertility. For children. By reading and discovering something in the way of direction of God’s Will.

In the Torah, the point of view as…
Then the Lord called to the man and asked him, “Where are you?”

The winds of change. How fast things happen. After just one bite of the apple. When it was not enough to encourage, to applaud. When there was the need to act. On love. The growing awareness of the solemnity. In the beginning, with the ambition in the story, of the characters. The ambition of a man, the ambition of a woman in the world. Even soon outside the garden.

The point of time. In these stories. Where were you in these stories? Readers, like writers, with movement/soreness/strength of purposes, or something way beyond myself. Just as in the genesis of all fertility stories. Which started with just one bite? Before the reconciliation. When God more or less instructed Eve and Adam to stay together, in the end.

“I want to reach the deepest part of your inner being.” If there was one. With a developed consciousness of others. And the vows. Concerning the danger of living life outside of paradise, with the vows. To always be there. Whatever the news. No matter how little or how much affluence, which would pay for the commercials, affecting attention spans.

When someone breaks your heart. On issues of fertility or infertility. Or when a loved one dies. When losing the young. Or losing your youth? The seeds that spill over. In post war, with a displacement caused by the loss of consciousness about God, about moral authority, if not yet about family, banishing people with a love for the land, all over again, from the gardens? In a world with so many Ponzi schemes in urban areas, God having to star all over again in His relationships. In a world that needed sugar added to everything. On commercial television.

Book clubs. The purpose of reading beyond myself was about a changing perspective of others. And over time this led to deepening relationships between people.

The ambition of a woman, of a man. In the world. The new system of power which comes in a relationship. Who could see the unraveling, as it happened? To the systems of the world, with just one bite, maybe not unlike living in the European Union and seeing the currency unravel. When at the end of this story the man and the woman stay together.

Union. The tone. The chant. Michael Blumenthal wrote in his own autobiography that German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer had a point “when he said that the first half of life gives us text, and what follows supplies the commentary on it.”

In North America, the fad of book club among women starts another season in September. In another season as the modern woman challenges the power structure. With the Kindles. Because sugar and spice and everything nice just never really worked to change perspectives in urban areas with so much displacement, about deepening relationships about the future – about fertility.

For the instant gratification generation, with all of the hand-held devices, how do they deal with the waiting in the story? When the nomads were never very good at waiting. On issues like fertility. With the long growing seasons. And the gestation periods which ended in so much pain — especially in the long period of time before anesthesia. The waiting, after all the radical change in the beginning. All the questions, and no real answers. The discovery of the gestation period, for Eve. Outside the garden where for Eve, and even for Adam, creation had been so painful.

When the stories with great pain in a culture were the ones most remembered. And the ones about fertility read and re-read.


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