Am currently reading The Dispossessed by Le Guin. A quarter of the way through I found myself rather bored, but kept going and now halfway through find myself serene and meditative. Not the most exciting novel, but it does make you conscious of existence, which is always good. Sitting outside now; it is nearly midnight. Air is cool, reminds me of camping.

Alas, the foreshadowings of inertia that one starts to feel at 30 years of age--I begin to feel it. The first twinges, indications of the body slowing down. A gentle reminder of resolutions to live each day with purpose, or at least observantly.

It's funny--I return to my religion by an unusual path: tales of fantasy and science fiction. After reading a particularly good novel, I'm reminded of invisible realities or massive things, and find myself in a prayerful frame of mind.