Living with the Truth: A Book by Jim Murdoch - A Reader's Perspective

I have been a constant reader of Jim Murdoch’s posts in his blog "The Truth About Lies", and I marvel at his expertise in poetry and writing.
Jim Murdoch

I had that rare opportunity of reading one of his books entitled: “Living With the Truth”, and I have to say that it was a unique read for me.

I want to express my thoughts as a reader. I will not critic the book as I am not an expert book critic; but I am a voracious reader though, so I can say that in this area, I could dare to comment.

This is an informal write up of how I perceive his book: “Living with the Truth.”




The book cover

I like simple things at times, so when I saw the plain and simple cover, I became more curious of what the content would be.

I know that, “Thou shall not judge a book by its cover,” but I do that often when buying books. I read the title, and look at the cover and decide whether to buy it or not. I don’t read the summaries at the back cover because I don’t want to know beforehand how the story would evolve.





The content

When I read the first sentence: “Had it been Death that had called that day everything would have been right, ” it gripped my attention immediately.

What I perceive in the first pages of the flash back on Jonathan Payne’s life is that he was a man with natural urges and needs, and the author expressed this vividly. I laughed when I read this sentence: “She dozed off while he was doing it –but he did it anyway.” (referring to Jonathan’s ex-lover).

There were several such sentences in the book that left me chuckling or smiling and it created a lively approach to an otherwise serious and boring presentation. Think about talking about life, truth, faith and love, without the ice breakers!

I’d like to believe that the “serious looking” Jim has indeed a sense of humor and this has come out naturally in the course of his writing.

I; however, faltered after I reached page 7. After a few days, I went on to read up to page 13. This is the page when Mr. Truth intruded into Jonathan’s otherwise humdrum existence. This was the “read until dawn” page for me. I had to know what happened next …and then next…and then next.

I tried imagining Mr. Truth actually appearing at my doorstep and I, asking him all the vital questions that had bugged my mind for years. “Is there really a God?” “Is there life after death? “ Who goes to heaven?” “When will I die? (But I will have to ask this last, lol) “Are there other creatures in the solar system?” Some of these questions had been asked by Jonathan himself.

The author was able to convey credibility to his story by gradually revealing and weaving the small plots into the thought processes of Jonathan; his unbelief and denial at first, and then his final acceptance of the reality of Truth.

I have read countless books and this is the first time I have encountered Truth assuming the nature of a man. It is a totally innovative plot presented in a believable manner. How to effectively allow Truth to assume a human form and yet be the Truth that “it” really is. Jim was able to maintain this balancing act; not too phony as to lose the interest of readers : “He was actually fairly handsome, as best Jonathan could recognize looks in men…” but mysterious at the same time as to portray what “it” really is – an existing collection of verified facts : “ Most gods pretty much tend to look for exclusive devotion…” Truth said, when asked about God.

I enjoyed the conversations that Jonathan had with Mr. Truth and the eventual realization of Jonathan of the truth about himself.

The conclusion

The end of the story has left me in deep thought for several days. I even read it twice to see if I understood it correctly…lol…

I have searched for the mot juste for Jim’s story in the person of Jonathan Payne, but up to this moment , I found none that could accurately do so. The book may have a simple plot. Mr. Truth comes into Jonathan Payne’s life and with the help of Mr. Truth, he discovered inevitably the truth about himself.

It is not as simple as it seems however, because the story deals with the intricate webs of the human mind. It delved deep into Jonathan Payne’s aspirations, fears, regrets about past events, his doubts and intriguing questions about faith and the uncertain future.


It was an adventure in itself for Jonathan as it was for me. This reason is more than enough for me to recommend this book.

The conclusion was “sweet” but unexpectedly - shall I say – unjustified?

I want to expound more but you have to find out for yourself. The book has inspired several questions that I hope I could eventually seek the answers to, in my own personal way.

Each of us has his own individual journey to self discovery, just like Jonathan Payne; hopefully, just like him, we will arrive to the answers to our questions.

All in all, it was a wonderful, totally unique read.
Thanks Jim Murdoch for sharing this book with us.

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Memories for my Mother - (for Book on Inspirational Stories)

By: DURANO LAWAYAN

At an age where only memories could uplift her spirits, my mother was denied this one final chance at relief. She was afflicted with Alzheimer's disease and passed away on December 2, 2005.

The ailment began to manifest itself in 1992, a few months after my father's death. The images she nurtured in her mind all seemed to blur as`the stages progressed. Relatives theorized that her will to continue waned when the only man she loved passed `away. My concerns then were not on theories but on the fact that my mother was losing us, the children and grandchildren she had cared for and dedicated her life to - not in the physical sense, but in the meaning of all she had endured for us all - to see us successfully through. It is those memories of the efforts she exerted, whether we showed appreciation for these or thoughtlessly took for granted, that would provide the most meaningful reason for her existence. Yet these were continuously eaten away by an irreversible malaise that championed her plight into oblivion. She was almost unknown to herself.

She died without recognizing any of us, nor her grandchildren, even at very close range. On several occasions, she would ask who we were , forgetting our response to the same query a few seconds ago. It often reminded me of a period in 1973, when even at a far distance, she recognized me and I could instantly feel her longing to hug me; despite being barred by soldiers and a wired fence, looking so gaunt, bruised, unclean and unrecognizable from loss of weight and psychological pain. I could feel the hurt etched in her eyes and see the tears welling her face, and I began to recognize the agony she went through, the pain of not knowing for several months whether I was alive or dead. The only positive factor the ailment brought was that she lost the painful events that transpired in the course of her struggle, to direct our lives the best way she knew how. It is a most bitter irony for her to be denied the joy of remembering that we all made it, in spite of ourselves and the depth of our youthful flaws. She lived in us but we faded in her. In a lot of instances, we were the closest strangers in her world, a world that increasingly became strange to her.

My mother was a natural soprano and she could liven up an evening with songs. She also delighted in seeing us perform and dance to the music of our generation, and adapted to singing and memorizing the lyrics of the 60's and 70's genre of artists and songs. In 2001, I bought her a karaoke machine and programmed it with songs she used to sing. What was uncanny was that she would start talking about events as a song was played. It gave proof that the songs which were such a part of her life allowed the flow of memories which were attached to it. Thus began my nightly concerts with my mother. We`were later joined by my kids and her other grandchildren. But the songs she chose to sing moved from the 60's to the 40's, until she could no longer sing any of those we programmed into the unit. Her disease was progressing fast.

On that final night, we tucked her to bed as she hummed an old folk song in her native dialect which we never heard of. She died in her sleep. But I was grateful for what memories returned when she played the karaoke unit. I was happy that even in fleeting moments, she was able to savor the mirth of the union with her family under the pleasant atmosphere of peaceful existence and carefree celebrations. I was extremely thankful that even in those rarest of times and tiniest of instances, she was my mother, and I her son.

My only lament was that I was unable to add more to her fondest memories when she was still in a position to remember. I am however assuaged by the fact that in some magical way, I was able to bring memories for my mother.

As always, Happy Mother's Day, Mom!


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

DURANO LAWAYAN of The Spitting Vessel is one writer I admire so much.

I know my description would not be sufficient to describe this brilliant, dynamic writer.

He writes about anything and everything under the sun, with such fluency and audacity. Yes, he writes from the heart and expresses his thoughts-no matter what. This extraordinary ability demonstrates a person who have been exposed to a lot of varied life experiences.

You should visit his blog to understand what I mean.

Thanks again Durano, for contributing to my soon to be published book - "Inspirational Stories of Bloggers All Over the World."

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CHAPTER 16: UMMA AYAM SINSANA (WHERE ARE YOU NOW?) The Realization

Note from the author:

I posted chapter 15 weeks ago. I know chapter 16 was long overdue but I have been busy with helium which I find to be an amazing site for writers.

This chapter was also written weeks ago, but I had wanted to polish it to perfection before posting. I was unable to do this though, even now, due to time constraint (work is at its peak).

I hope you do forgive the typos. If you see one, send me a PM...lol... or you could mention this in your comment.

Welcome back to the adventures of the Kalinga Man. I hope that you'll be able to connect this story to the previous chapters. Enjoy!



**************************************************
It was past 9 pm when Benny arrived home from school.

He stayed out late on purpose because he still was not prepared to talk to Julia.

The eerie silence that greeted his footfalls cloaked him with a sense of foreboding. The lights were all turned off, save for the one at the living room. The night was as silent as a catacomb, except for the chirping of some cicadas .

His heart did a double flip when a sudden thought struck him.

Where were Julia and Andre?

His footsteps quickened as he unlocked the door and walked into the shadows of the empty living room. Surely, Julia would still be awake?

His heart drummed steadily now in his chest. He could hardly breathe.

Scaling the stairs in three big strides, he flung the door to their bedroom.

Julia and Andre were curled up in a blissful slumber.

His breathing had stopped for a brief moment and was now laboring to go back to normal.

Weak at the knees, he groped for the chair and sat down.

For a second he had thought they had gone away – away from him.

His eyes were wet with relief. It was apparent they had been asleep for several hours now.

He stared at the two most important people in his life and realized that he would not be able to survive without them.

They were his life – his bloodline!

Julia shouting at him was a reflex reaction to the anxiety of what might have happened to their baby. He should have understood that. Of all people, he should have had an idea of how Julia would react.

Slowly, he approached the bed and stood there just watching them.

Julia looked lovelier than ever, her face was that of a nymph in repose.

Photo by Perfecto Insecto

He knelt and caressed Julia’s hair and touched his son’s tiny hands. He closed his eyes with gratitude and basked in his loved ones’ physical presence.

“Ben? “ Julia mumbled, blinking the cobwebs of sleepiness as she awakened to Ben’s touch.

“I love you , “ Benny whispered .

Julia was fully awake now. “Did anything happen?”

She sat up worriedly ant stopped Benny’s caressing hand in midair.

“No, nothing happened. I said I love you.”

He persisted, finding her mouth, searching for her tongue.

Julia struggled at first but, the gentle prodding of Benny’s tongue in the sensitive areas of her mouth made her respond.

They clung to each other like two thirsty travelers who had finally found the much desired oasis in the middle of the arid desert.

It had been days since they made love!

No words were necessary after that.

They made slow, passionate love exploring once again the territories that they had once claimed and knowing exactly what carnal, blissful acts could bring them both to a blinding and explosive orgasm .

***********

“Anecdotal evidence comes in two specific meanings. First, is when the evidence comes in the form of an anecdote or hearsay,” The professor was doing his rounds , as usual.

“What is the second meaning?” His eyes scanned the room and focused on Benny.

Benny stood up. “The second is evidence that may in itself be verifiable and true. But this stems from generalizing an insufficient amount of evidence. If I’m a heavy drinker and die of an airplane crash at the age of 60, this would not disprove the proposition that drinking alcohol causes irreversible liver cirrhosis and eventual death. This is a perfect example of the evidence being true but not warranting the conclusion. ”

The professor was nodding vigorously, “ Yes, yes,” he was happy with the answer. “ and in these two cases, both conclusions are unreliable and therefore are called anecdotal because they don’t follow from the evidence itself.”

Photo by imjoshdotcom

After their class, the professor instructed Benny to stay. “Now, what does he want this time,” Benny wondered.

“ Mr. Lomiwan, I understand you had close ties with the outside forces?”

“ I beg your pardon, Attorney?” he had not heard that term for months now. “outside forces” was a discreet term used in civilized society to refer to the NCA rebels.

“You have been a kumander…and…”the professor was talking in sotto voce now.

“I’m listening ,” Benny urged him not so gently.

“and I have heard from a reliable source that your ex-comrades have put up a prize for your head.”

Benny looked at the professor for some interminable minutes, sizing him up and allowing the ominous words to sink in.

Of course, the professor knew who he was. His picture had been splashed all over the headlines of newspapers more than a year ago.

Even his classmates in law school must have known about him. How could he assume that he was incognito?

He was wary of the professor , remembering how he meant to embarrass him during their first week in class.

“What’s your take in all these, Attorney?”

“I want you to be safe.”

“Did they pay you for this?”

“I’ll accept that rudeness for the shabby way I treated you before, but listen to me -”

“C’mon professor, don’t tell me you’re concerned now about my safety?” Benny interrupted him.

“Listen to me, “ the professor fixed him with an angry glare, ignoring his sarcastic comment

“Don’t take this as a joke. Be careful, carry something for your protection, ” and he left Benny without a backward glance.

********

At home, Benny stared at the menacing glint of his colt 45 which has long been kept in the closet. The only gun which the government had left in his possession. “For your protection,” General Aman had said.

The gory violence he went through for several years in his life in the mountains however was certainly no longer welcomed. He would never go back to that way of life again. It had been a constant struggle to stay alive; always on the look-out , always on the move.

He have been forced out of circumstances to that path, and now that he has the freedom to choose between violence and peace - he would always choose the latter one. He would never succumb to using his gun - ever again.
Photo by eperales

He closed the box with a final vow and returned it to the closet. He sneaked a peek at Andre’s bedroom.

The baby was smiling in his sleep. He caressed Andre’s cheek and felt warm joy creeping through him.

Tiptoeing back to their bedroom , he enclosed the drowsy Julia in a warm, loving embrace and realized what a lucky man he was.

Outside the apartment, in the shadows of the trees, the lurking figure stood watching, as the light in the bedroom was finally turned off.



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"I Love Your Blog " Award From Caught in the Stream

I received a few weeks ago the "I Love Your Blog" award from Francis Scudellari of Caught in the Stream. I am extremely honored to have been given this award by an artist I admire so much- the quintessential artist.

Francis is a brilliant poet, storywriter and "abstoon" (that's what he calls his dynamic drawings-a cross between the abstract and cartoons)artist.

I had given him the award before in my Working Abroad blog and will be giving the same blogs again this award of admiration.

Thanks Francis for the honor and kudos to you!