I went to return a book to a friend last night and found I had dog-eared several pages. Growing up in a book store I learned at a young age this was not the way to treat a beloved book. Nevertheless, sometimes i just can't help myself. I re-read the pages I had folded over and found the passages I had responded to so deeply. There they were, just waiting for me to find them and immediately I felt all over again the intensity and emotion I felt the first time through. I responded to them I guess because they reminded me of myself, or moments in my life, or feelings I have felt, and the author was able to express the feelings so precisely, so simply. So much so that for me it is almost like a religious experience. When I experience some piece of art, play, dance, music, poem, prose, person, nature, or more recently-- athleticism, a wonderful calm comes over me and I feel a light inside. I don't know what it is exactly, but it is magical.
This whole blogging this is very much of an experiment, a work-in-progress, and I am figuring out just what I'd like it to be through the writing. I like the idea of sharing something I found wonderful though, putting it out there, into the greater consciousness, like blowing the feathery seeds off a dandelion never knowing where or what they will bring... into the wind.

Here are the passages:

She was lucky enough to find a furnished apartment on a short-term lease in a pleasant, tidy little building on top of a hill on the outskirts of town. The view was superb. Nearby was a place where she could practice piano. The rent wasn’t cheap but if she found herself strapped she could always rely on her father to help out.
Thus Miu began her temporary but placid life in the town. She attended concerts at the music festival and took walks in the neighborhood, and before long she’s made a few acquaintances. She found a nice little restaurant and café, which she began to frequent. From the window of her apartment she could see an amusement park outside town. There was a giant Ferris wheel in the park. Colorful boxes with doors forever wed to the huge wheel, all of which would slowly rotate through the sky. Once one reached its upward limits, it began to descend. Naturally. Ferris wheels don’t go anywhere. The gondolas go up, they come back down, a roundabout trip that, for some strange reason, most people find pleasant.
In the evenings the Ferris wheel was speckled with countless lights. Even after it shut down for the night and the amusement park closed, the wheel twinkled all night long, as if vying with the stars in the sky. Miu would sit near her window, listening to music on the radio, and gaze endlessly at the up-and-down motion of the Ferris wheel. Or, when it was stopped, at the monument-like stillness of it.
p.145
We each have a special something we can get only at a special time of our life. Like a small flame. A careful, fortunate few cherish that flame, nurture it, hold it as a torch to light their way. But once that flame goes out, it’s gone forever.
p. 178

Sputnik Sweetheart
Haruki Murakami